Sunday afternoon in The Jungle

I've been to my share of Major League Baseball and National Hockey League games, but when it comes to the National Football League, I can count the number of times I've attended a game on one hand.  The tickets are more expensive (if available), there are fewer games, and the weather often can be less than hospitable.  It doesn't help that may favorite team, the Cincinnati Bengals, has not been very good for most of my teen and adult years, which lessens the desire to bother springing for tickets.

Before today I'd been to an NFL game twice.  I saw the Bengals host the Detroit Lions in 1989 and Baltimore Ravens in 2004.  A friend won tickets to today's game against the Browns and invited me, so add a third game to my list.

For late November the weather certainly could have been worse.  It also could have been better.  The sky spit rain intermittently, and when the wind came through, it could get chilly.  I suppose I could have dressed warmer, although I was wearing the hat I knit in Bengals colors last year.

I'd been to Paul Brown Stadium once before, but I had little memory of the stadium's interior.  Maybe it's because the building is not owned by the team or maybe because it's used for a limited number of events per year, but the concourse lacks personality, especially compared to the baseball stadiums I've visited.  Is that how most football-specific stadiums are?  (While I haven't been inside, the one in Dallas most assuredly is not.)  It isn't a big deal, but unlike baseball team homes, this one was less than awe-inspiring.

The NFL's product is very friendly for the TV viewer.  To a certain extent that's to the detriment of the fans at the game.  The stadium experience was lacking in some areas.  Since our seats were in the corner of an end zone, there were times we were better off watching the action on the scoreboard to have a better idea of what was happening on some plays.  The length of TV timeouts is more deeply felt as you stand around waiting for the action to resume.  Although out-of-town scores and highlights are displayed, one feels sealed off from much else at an NFL game.

Those reasons, in addition to those I mentioned in the first paragraph, are probably enough to keep me from ever being a regular attendee at NFL games.  (That the team is a two-hour drive away factors in too.)  Don't get me wrong.  I enjoyed the time at the game, which was a good one in general.  The Bengals won in semi-dramatic fashion with a late field goal at the end where we sat.  I definitely won't complain about that.  Unlike other league's games, though, I don't know that seeing them in person is the best way to experience them.  Weird, that.

Into the past

I've seen Dave Alvin's name thrown around enough that I knew it even if the only song I'd probably heard him do before tonight was the one he performed during a season 2 episode of the TV show Justified.  I thought, why not go see him play this evening?  So I did.

The concert was a long one--and enjoyable--but what really won me over was the venue.  The Grand Valley Dale Ballroom seemed like something out of another era.  Apparently it has had quite a history, especially from the big band era.  I had no idea.

What a cool step back in time by entering this facility.  It's a wonder that it's still around.  You'd think it would have been torn down by now.  While easy to get to, it's off the beaten path and wouldn't seem like the place to bring in performers with national reputations now.  Still, I'd have to think that stepping foot inside is all that would be needed to persuade someone that this was just as good as any downtown club, if not better.

An independent promoter has started booking his roots music (for lack of a better identifier) performance seasons here since the previous spot is being taken over.  I've gotta say, I think he found a winner.  I can't wait to go back.

Blind luck

A new pro hockey season is here, and excitement is in the air around the local team.  They made some major moves in the off-season and should be better.   They lost 3-2 tonight, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself this evening anyway.

The picture at the top of the post shows where my seat was.  I joked how I was on the glass, just not the one anyone would think of.  Incredibly, though, someone wanted my seat and was willing to trade tickets.  When I found out where his was, I quickly agreed to a swap.  Where did I move to?

I went from eight rows in the upper bowl to six rows from the ice.  The trader had two friends sitting directly behind me and wanted to be near them.  That's also the only explanation why anyone would trade a ticket that cost more than double for mine.

I've sat in the lower bowl for a hockey game on three occasions.  One was lucking out and finding a scalper looking to dump a ticket close to the game and when demand was low.  Another time the franchise did an upgrade for one game of my partial season ticket package.  They're nice spots to watch the game, although they do have their drawbacks--and no, I'm not referring to the higher prices.  From this corner I couldn't see the flow of play develop as well, especially if it on the near side at the other end.  Still, the trade off is getting a much better sense of the game's speed and power.  Plus, with this being a sold out opening night, the crowd was really into it, which made for a fun environment down there.

As if being close wasn't enough, during a break the promotions team threw pizza boxes into the seating and one happened to land in my lap.  So I won a free large pizza too.  (If you've ever been curious what is inside the boxes, a coupon the size of a business card is taped inside.)

Sure, I would have been happy to stay in my original seat and leave with nothing more than the team winning, but this sort of thing doesn't happen often.  For one evening I gladly accepted the trade-off.

Daytripper

Vacation commences, so I hit the road and set Cincinnati as my first destination. I was in town for a big event later in the evening, so I wanted to get into town early. I used the extra time there to take in a movie at the Esquire Theatre in Clifton. I really liked how its exterior makes the building stand out.

Going to and coming from the parking lot I saw this sign painted on the back of a building. I have no idea what's going on there.

I capped the day by going to see Paul McCartney at Great American Ball Park. More on that to come in the next day or two. (Spoiler: it was a pretty great concert.)

Trick play

'Twas a very hot day for attending a baseball game, although after you were in it for awhile, it wasn't so bad. (Keep in mind that it was somewhere in the 90s.) A nice breeze tended to come down, and by the end of the game, our seats were in the shade. Which isn't to say I didn't sweat a lot.

With the way the Reds are stinking it up, it was probably just as well that my dad and I met in Cincinnati for only two games. Of course, as I realized last night, it was nice that we were able to meet up for even one. This wasn't something that either of my parents could do with their fathers when they were my age now. My mother was in college when her dad died. My dad must have been in his twenties when his dad passed.

I don't bring this up to bum out the room or myself, although it's certainly a bittersweet thought and not the sort of awareness one wishes to get while trying to fall asleep. (Yep, that's when it occurred to me.) If anything, I am now able to appreciate more the time I have with my parents, even in those instances when they get on my nerves. They never really had an adulthood with their fathers. I've been fortunate to have one with both of mine.

I've always been on good terms with my parents and never really had the sorts of major issues with them that I sometimes hear other people having. It's what I accepted as normal, just as I reflected that my dad must have done stuff like this with his father...except wait, no he didn't. To a certain extent I imagine that such a relationship might mean I take them for granted. How I was raised and get along with my family is more or less how it's supposed to be, right? Perhaps, but it doesn't necessarily turn out that way in many families.

Funny how what was supposed to be a short overnight trip to see a couple ballgames and which featured probably more talk about the team than anything else--such a cliché--gave me a greater perspective on how I relate to my parents.

Swing and a miss

Great seats, miserable game.

It'll be a quick 26 hours or so that I'm here in Cincinnati with my dad. That'll be nice. The baseball from our favorite team certainly doesn't appear to be.

If you heard us talking during the game, I imagine one might wonder why we put up with it. (For those who don't follow the sport, the Reds have been frustratingly mediocre most of the season and are playing uninspired right now.) I'm not very happy with the effort I see from this team and how it's being managed, but watching them--and griping about them, as necessary--is something I enjoy. I suppose you understand that or you don't.

Anyway, there's another game Thursday afternoon and then back home. A win would be good. Please.

A full plate

It would be fitting to write about my dad, what with it being Father's Day and all, and I might have done so if things had gone according to plan. I made the trip to Cincinnati to spend the weekend watching the Reds as a way to unwind from the end of the school year. I also intended for it to be a time to spend with my dad, as he lives far enough away that getting to the games isn't easy if you just want to go for the day. Since he and my mom are getting ready to close on a house and move, he couldn't join me. Assuming the Reds don't go in the tank over the next month, I've floated the idea of doing this in July.

Before the game I went to breakfast and ordered the bacon pancakes. I assumed it was more like bacon bits sprinkled into the batter rather than the sizable pieces you can see pictured above. They were good, although somehow the bacon's taste didn't quite come through as much being in the pancakes. But not to fear, I also got a side order of bacon, which was fantastic. (Hey, I'm exercising regularly, so I can sort of justify eating this.)

Plus, I walked all the way from Kentucky to Ohio. (OK, it was probably only a mile.) Of the things that I love, not paying much for parking is on the list. Three bucks to park for a professional sporting event? That's a win.

The Reds still didn't have much offense in them, but they managed to win and send me home on a high note. Although rain fell before the game, it held off until the top of the ninth. All in all, the weather was pretty good for mid-June.

The weekend was much more of a whirlwind than I'd hoped, but it was a pleasant 48 hours out of town. Let's do it again soon.

View from the catbird seat

Various observations from two days at the ballpark in Cincinnati:

-I saw a baby with pierced ears. OK, I can't vouch that they were pierced, but she had earrings. If the child can't yet walk, isn't this way too young for such a thing?

-With a lot of patience, I ended up getting a very good seat for Friday night's game through the online secondary market. (I wonder if it might have fallen a little more in price if I hadn't had to buy it before driving down here.) I figured that someone with a scattered single might get desperate to unload it, especially since most tickets were usually listed at face value or more. Considering I had to pay $10.20 in fees, a ticket even $10 less than face is no bargain when tickets are available at the box office.

-Ticket fees, whether from outlets or the resale market, are outrageously high. Maybe those in charge consider it transparency. It's more like highway robbery.

-I'm sad to see that many of the beggars that line the path on the way from the stadium to the parking lots and garages are familiar, in part because they're in the same spots they were a year ago.

-Old fashioned hand slapped burger? Isn't these handcrafted/artisanal descriptions getting just a little out of hand?

-Although tonight's game wasn't anything to write home about--the Reds lost again in less-than-thrilling fashion--I'm beginning to think that the outfield seats are not the way to go. Last night's seat had me much more involved than my right center perch. Good thing tomorrow's spot is along the first base side.

-I hate paying much for parking if I can help it. My usual spot appears to have gone up from $5 to $8 this year. Today I drove just across the river to Newport, KY to see a movie--two, in fact. The garage there charges $3 but refunded $1.75 for theater ticket validation. Since it was pay upon entry, I spent most of the day south of the Ohio border, went to the game by walking over the river and back on the bridge, and spent a grand total of $1.25 parking for what was around twelve hours. Victory!

-Seriously, though, even if I had to pay $5--rates there went up closer to game time--it's probably the same distance as where I've usually parked on Pete Rose Way. The upsides: the walk to the stadium and back is mostly uninterrupted by traffic lights or cars. I got out of there and on the highway as fast, if not faster, than my previous preferred spot. The downside: You can't always walk around people who may be taking their time.

-Can't complain about the weather so far this weekend. Friday night was a little sticky but gradually became more comfortable. Tonight brought some sprinkles for a few innings but was otherwise a very nice night in a month when it can be very hot and humid. More nice weather Sunday, please. (A win would be good too.)

-I may dare to begin my Sunday morning with bacon pancakes.

To the ballgame

I'd like to write about the night at the ballpark, but I feel like I'm already behind the eight ball when it comes to figuring out what I will be doing tomorrow before the game. The tentative plan is to catch a movie at Newport on the Levee and then spend the remainder of the time leading up to the game on the Kentucky side of the Ohio, but there are details to iron out before I go to bed.

It was a lovely night to take in a game, albeit a bit sticky early on. Thanks to a seller on the online secondary market who kept dropping the price of the ticket, I snagged a seat probably in the best spot I've sat in the stadium.

The game was a pretty good one, save for the Reds losing. Fireworks capped the night at the ol' ball yard. Hopefully I'll see more of those the next two days, as they're shot off when the home team homers and, more importantly, wins.

Birding

It was a good weekend for sitting on the balcony, reading, and birdwatching. I can't say that I've previously paid much attention to the birds around me, but it was peaceful keeping an eye out for what flew into view. Although I didn't always know what birds were in the neighborhood, this striking male cardinal was unmistakable.

I think this little one is a kind of sparrow.

The female cardinal isn't as impressively colored as the male, but at least I can identify what it is.

I guess what I'm saying is all of a sudden I'm considering getting some kind of field guide so I can determine what birds are hanging out.

Resigned

Since yesterday the big story around these parts has been the resignation of the head football coach at the huge state university in town. I was surprised that the announcement came now--the NCAA's findings aren't due until August--but I'm not surprised that he's no longer in charge of the program. As is so often the case, the cover-up can cause more trouble than the crime. (In this case the players made the initial rules violation. The coach's fatal error was not informing the appropriate people when it was brought to his attention.)

I've read and heard a fair amount of the reactions to the downfall of the clean-cut coach--or maybe not as clean as everyone wants to believe--and some of it drives me crazy. So permit me today's post to get this out of my system:

-The coach is not a martyr or a victim of the players' misdeeds.

Yes, the players broke the rules. So did the coach when he chose not to report his knowledge of their actions and then lie about what he knew when. Whether you think the rule regarding players being disallowed to sell or trade their memorabilia is sensible or not, everyone involved knows it's there, especially the coach. Hiding violations tends to get schools in more trouble than reporting them. The now-former coach knew that but played his cards differently. (And spare me about how honorable he was being, that he was protecting his players. This was about protecting a credible shot at a title run.)

-Everybody's doing it, so why don't we? Because two wrongs don't make a right.

The thinking goes that there's rule-breaking and corruption at all major college athletics programs, so what's the big deal? I agree that there's definitely plenty of slimy business in big-time college sports, but that doesn't mean we ignore it when proof of it exists, especially if you're one of the watchmen. (The coach has been quite vocal about his Christianity and published books about ethical behavior, which only makes his stonewalling and suspect decisions all the more distasteful.)

-There's a place and purpose for athletics in a college setting, but these incidents suggest that the major sports and the money involved with them are working at odds with the educational mission.

The answer is not to begin paying these student-athletes, which some think is the solution. For one, you'd have to pay all Division I athletes, most of whom are not in revenue-generating sports. How many people are going to accept paying the star QB the same as the last person on the fencing team? And I get tired of hearing that they're not being compensated. A full college scholarship isn't nothing. Whether they choose to use it or not is on those individuals.

-Don't kill the messengers.

A lot of fan anger, at least in the local newspaper's online comments, is directed at the media for reporting this in the first place. No one likes feeling duped--and I think that's part of what's going on with the anger being expressed--but aim that displeasure where it's deserved: the coach. The players involved were clearly no saints, but the guy getting paid millions to keep things straight could have minimized the damage that will surely be greater because of how the situation's been handled.

OK, that's enough of that.

Eccentric

Film fest blogging begins in earnest elsewhere tonight, so I turn to quick and easy blogging here.

The place pictured above was across the street from where I parked on Tuesday night for the concert. Something about the signage amused me. I particularly liked the strangeness--is it a joke or serious?-- of "If the store is closed, please just slide your money under the door."

In the club

Timing worked out nicely for me to catch The New Pornographers and The Walkmen in Cincinnati tonight and then head west for Roger Ebert's Film Festival tomorrow. I really wanted to see this pairing of bands--they'll be in Champaign-Urbana when I'll be there for the festival--and this evening's concert meant not ditching any films and shaving an hour off Wednesday's drive. (Granted, I drove about two hours to get down here, but tomorrow's drive will be shorter.)

I really need to be finishing up some stuff and then getting some sleep, so I'll refrain from posting pictures from the show or writing about it. Perhaps I can get to that after the film festival and on a slow blogging day.

What I did want to touch upon briefly was visiting Bogart's, the club pictured above. As far as I can recall, the last time I was here was in late June/early July 1999 to see Beth Orton with Kelly Willis opening. I know I saw The Afghan Whigs in this club, but that was probably in 1996 or 1997. If I haven't seen any other shows here--and none come to mind--it feels like I did. (Guided by Voices, perhaps?)

The place feels so familiar. I had a pretty firm idea of what it and the area looked like. While I didn't look around much after arriving and departing--I lucked into a parking spot almost directly across from the front door--it all seemed like I remembered, more or less. The spacious room, which is a long rectangle with a parquet wood floor and wood paneled walls, feels homier and doesn't feel as cramped as a similar Columbus club. It's a simple, unpretentious space that is a great place to see a concert, at least if you're near the stage, as I was.

It was a bit unusual to be patted down and asked to empty my pockets before entering. I can't remember the last time I've experienced that before going to a concert. (It wasn't to catch recording devices, as they ignored the camera. That alone tells you how much the new ordinary is entrenched at concert venues.) While waiting for the opening band to take the stage, a security guard confronted two college-aged women who'd been handed bottled beers by a friend. They weren't of age, and he tossed them all, best as I can tell. Never seen that happen.

Both bands were terrific. I had a great spot about three people deep from the stage. All in all, it was a great way to kick off what has been an annual spring trip for me.

First Four

I've returned to the Dayton area to take in the first round of the NCAA Tournament. The play-in game is dead. Long live the play-in games.

The first game between #16 seed contenders University of Arkansas-Little Rock and the University of North Carolina-Asheville was easily the more entertaining of the two. Both teams scrapped to see who gets smashed by a #1 seed on Thursday, but they played energetically and as if they were excited to be there. There was a late shot made to send it into overtime, so it wasn't a bad start to the evening.

The second game between two of the last four teams to receive at-large bids should have been better. Clemson and the University of Alabama-Birmingham have higher caliber players and richer traditions. Maybe it was the late start--tip-off wasn't until almost 9:50 p.m.--but this game was mostly a dud. UAB's passing was terrible, and they dug a hole they never really could climb out of.

Since I didn't get out of the arena until midnight, I was glad I'd already arranged to stay in town overnight. (There are two more games I'm attending Wednesday night.) It's still going to be a crazy day trying to take care of whatever needs to be taken care of, getting home late Wednesday night/Thursday morning, and rising at the crack of dawn to catch a plane to New York City.

Busy times. Hopefully fun times too.

Pretzel logic

About ready to conk out from an extremely busy day. One highlight: I finally was able to have a fresh, locally made pretzel from Brezel. Oh yeah.

Sweet

Columbus is a bigger city than most people realize, but it doesn't have much of an identity other than being the home of Ohio State. For those of you who don't live here, especially those outside Ohio, what do you know about Columbus? *waits* I thought so.

From what I can tell, this city has quietly developed a reputation for food. It's nice when Columbus gets some national attention, as is the case with this Time article about one of my favorite things in town. Surely I've written about Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams here before, and if I haven't, then suffice it to say that their ice creams are as good as they get. I have a pint of Meyer lemon yogurt from Jeni's in the freezer, and it's taken a lot of willpower not to gobble it all down in one sitting. (I haven't, thank you very much.)

So put Jeni's on your list of Places to Go in Columbus if you ever wander into town. (You could order some online, but it's kind of pricey, at least in my view, to have the ice cream shipped.)

Ch-ch-ch-changes

This afternoon I had reason to walk the main drag of the city where I formerly resided. I lived about a block from it from 1995 to 2007 and worked near it until approximately the same time. I'm not up there very often any more. I was startled to see how much it's changed.

I needed a new battery for my watch, so I headed straight to the jeweler that had done the job a few times through the years. I went to open the door to the business. It didn't budge. I took a couple steps back to look at the overhang. Their name was still on it, but apparently they closed shop as the space was now occupied by the wares of another business.

I'd spotted another jeweler sign across the street a ways, so I popped in there in the hope that this place could do the job. Nope, it was strictly a jewelry repair shop. The proprietor pointed me toward a clock store a couple blocks south.

So I hoofed it to my third destination, noticing along the way how many of the businesses were different from when I lived in the area. That diner has gone through two changes. There's a new chocolaterie. Hmm, that coffee shop wasn't there, and the one up the street has changed hands since I lived here. That's to say nothing of all the other new storefronts and sellers that I passed when making my way to the my first stop.

In the three and a half years since I lived there, this stretch has almost completely transformed. Sure, some places are the same, but I'd wager that more than half, if not 75% are not what they were when this was my neighborhood.

What a bracing reminder of how much changes and how fast time passes. On one hand it doesn't seem like it was that long ago that I lived there; on the other, it seems like a lifetime ago. The new face of that street certainly emphasizes the latter.

If I think about it, the same is true of where I live now. A bank is being built across the way. New restaurants have opened in the shopping plaza, and a car wash is now nearby. These changes are probably as dramatic as those made to where I used to call home. The difference is that I've witnessed this slow but steady shift in the landscape.

I can't say that I have any great observations other than it is an eye opener to realize how much our settings change and how readily we adapt to them, even if we aren't aware of it.

A study in scarlet and gray

Ohio State football is practically a religion around here. (After all, "Carmen Ohio" is set to the tune of the traditional Christian song "Spanish Hymn".) People around the state take it pretty seriously too, but in Columbus things seem to grind to a halt when the Buckeyes are playing. Just ask anyone who decides to go to the grocery store when a game is going on. You won't encounter crowds in the aisles.

I was an Ohio State fan growing up, became somewhat disenchanted with the madness around town (probably from the regrettable mistake of listening to local sports talk radio), and have been working my way back to rooting for the team while ignoring the other stuff. It's amazing how much more I can simply enjoy the games when blocking out the talk show hosts and newspaper and TV reporting and analysis.

Until today I'd never seen an Ohio State football game from the stands. I've worked two games in the press box, but that doesn't provide the fan experience whatsoever. I've seen the long gone and forgotten Ohio Glory (of the long gone and forgotten World League of American Football) in the venerable Ohio Stadium. I also saw a decent number of Columbus Crew games when they called the Horseshoe home, but they play the kind of football we Americans call soccer.

So I jumped at the opportunity to attend this afternoon's game against Penn State when offered a free ticket. They were playing a traditional power and decent team, which was better than could be said for the two games I saw from the press box. Oh yeah, I'd never been invited to go before.

We parked in a nearby neighborhood, thus avoiding the outlandish parking charges various lots were requesting, and hoofed it to the stadium along with the other 105,000+. The seats were perhaps not quite half the way up in C Deck, but suffice it to say that getting there required climbing plenty of stairs. We were near midfield, which made for a terrific vantage point on this lovely, unseasonably warm day.

It took awhile for the stadium to get hopping as Penn State had a 14-3 lead at halftime. The way the Nittany Lions shredded the Buckeyes' defense had people justifiably concerned. Then the tide turned and the party began. C'mon, when have you ever been in one place with that many people, not to mention that many with the same rooting interest? (Penn State fans were sprinkled among the sea of scarlet and few in numbers.) It certainly is something to experience firsthand.

Big time

You know how in movies when the small time performer, be it an athlete, singer, or actor, marvels at being on a big field, court, or stage for the first time? Perhaps the reality and magnitude of the situation puts some doubt in him even though he's doing something that he's done many times before. That's what I experienced tonight as I took my seat courtside to keep the official statistics for the Ohio State University men's basketball game.

I've been keeping official stats for Division III teams since the fall of 1995, so I've had more than my share of practice. I've worked NCAA Tournament games, high school tournament games, and a nationally televised high school basketball game. Nevertheless, none of those quite compare to sitting two people away from the Ohio State bench with a section of jumping, cheering students directly behind me.

My experience with the stats program is apparently a gift that keeps on giving. (Over the years that extra money adds up.) It boggles my mind how a school as big as OSU didn't have anyone available to input on the primary and backup computers, but that's why I got the proverbial call to do the job this evening.

Although I last used the program nine months ago, I wasn't all that concerned about being able to perform. Then I walked around the court, found my station, and realized how much was riding on my accuracy and speed. My work would be displayed to all media and on the scoreboard. (Now that I think about it, it also went out to everyone in real time on the web.) At TV timeouts I'd need to print multiple copies of the stats for the teams and assorted press. The tasks themselves were nothing I couldn't handle. Being in a bigger spotlight was something I was unaccustomed to, though.

I just sort of inherited the duty of running the primary computer. The other guy didn't seem eager to jump in there and take it, so he took the backup while I had the main one. I figured that I'd be fine once I put on the headset and the game began, but I was a little nervous. The computer's desktop and the process were slightly unfamiliar from what I'm accustomed to. Plus, OSU is ranked #4 in the nation, and this game, as lopsided as it would be surely be, was easily the biggest I would stat.

Luckily the spotters were experienced and made it relatively easy, even if it was kind of intense. To my dismay, about a minute in the person running the shot clock inadvertently reset it, so the referee turned to me to ask when the last missed free throw was. I've never had this happen before--mostly because at the other place I'm not courtside--and the spotters said they'd never witnessed it. I quickly pulled up the answer, but that was a wild way to start off.

Despite the boisterous students a foot or two behind me and being shielded from the action by Ohio State's head coach when the action was at my end of the court, I was able to lock in, press the right keys, and get the job done well. The spotters fed the information to me rapidly and accurately, and I was a machine in punching it into the computer.

In the end I had a good time and didn't feel as pressured as I anticipated in the minutes leading up to tip-off. It helped that I didn't make any massive errors (or am unaware of them) and was intently focused in the midst of the chaos.

Oh yeah, Ohio State cruised to the win.

(And obligatory knitting content: a woman in the front row on the other side was knitting before the game. I didn't notice her doing so during the game. Then again, with as fast as everything went, I honestly couldn't tell you how much of the game I saw that was mere feet in front of me.)

Playoffs

I've been waiting a long time to attend a postseason game that the Cincinnati Reds play in. I had tickets for a 1999 series that they ended up not qualifying for. I've watched them fail to make the playoffs since 1995. So while the Reds entered last night's game in the best of five series down 2-0 via a no-hitter and an embarrassing display of defensive collapse and loss of pitching control, I was still happy to be heading to the ballpark to see my team compete. It's the playoffs! I still believe despite knowing better!

It may have been a lucky break that had me there in the first place. I read that 250,000 e-mail addresses were submitted for the lottery to select those in the general public who would get first crack at buying playoff tickets. Out of my family, my name was the only one drawn for the NLDS (effectively the quarterfinals). I was also the only one to be picked in the second chance drawing for tickets to the NLCS games (semifinals). Come hell or high water, I was going to be at the playoffs.

I ordered tickets for my dad and two brothers, so going to the playoffs was to be a family affair and a fully day. We met at the hotel and went to a sports bar to watch the first half of the Bengals game before returning to the lodging to watch the rest. (The banks of monitors and noise was a little overwhelming for my dad.) That game ended with an unexpected but all-too-familiar disaster--the Bengals found a way to blow it late--but my enthusiasm for the Reds game remained high.

We arrived early on the riverfront and walked by the crowd milling around the stadium on our way to find somewhere to eat downtown. Wendy's was one of the few places open within a couple blocks of the ballpark, so it had a long line of fans waiting to grab a bite before the game. Everyone knew the uphill battle the hometown team was staring at, but the playoff atmosphere had people jazzed regardless.

The weather could not have been much more perfect. Here it was October 10 and one temperature display read 94 degrees at 5:30 p.m. There wasn't any humidity, though, so the heat wasn't felt nearly as much as it would be in July. With it being in the mid-70s for the game itself, who could ask for better this time of year?

The steamboat music playing over the stadium PA was a little strange--it's the Popeye theme!-- albeit appropriate considering the ballpark's location near the banks of the Ohio River. Almost everyone was decked out in red, and it was something to be a part of as the game neared and people waved their rally towels and cheered. To be in a big crowd--the 44,599 attending set a ballpark record--and root for the Reds with something on the line was why I wanted to be there. This wasn't an ordinary game. A loss meant the season was over.

Unfortunately an error led to an unearned run for the Phillies in the top of the 1st, which sort of broke the illusion that perhaps this game might be different. Still, being part of a crowd booing in unison at various members of the opposition and cheering when something went right was a lot of fun in spite of the outcome we all feared and anticipated.

The mood was generally pretty positive, save for the guy in front of me who booed Michelle Obama when she appeared on the scoreboard for a public service announcement about welcoming home veterans and later yelled at a worker collecting recyclables late in the game because he thought it was rude to ask him to pass along the empty bottles under his seat. At least where I was, the ratio of good, respectful fans enjoying themselves to boorish ones was about as good as I've witnessed at a baseball game.

And fine, if the Reds weren't going to win or really even threaten, at least the team turned in the most respectable effort of the three games and featured the Reds hard-throwing phenom (pictured above) nicknamed the Cuban missile. The fans still applauded the Reds on a successful season even when their elimination was complete. A loss wasn't the outcome any of us wanted, but the playing of this game represented a season of wins and hope for the future. All in all, that's not such a bad consolation.