At the end of the day I stood in silent reflection in an
overcrowded train from Minneapolis to St. Paul. The Twins had put on a terrible
show in front of over 40,000 people, and all I could think was that I hadn’t
been suckered into buying one $9 can of beer. Truthfully, I really didn’t pay
much attention to it even though it was all around me. I did have one moment
where I saw a Bloody Mary pass me buy with a cheeseburger on it and I thought
it looked quite refreshing. But then I thought of how much it cost, and how little
alcohol was probably in it, and that if I took a sip, the disaster that
followed would be the end of me.
I started my trip on at 11:00am by driving to work. Not to
work, but to park in the lot and take the train. The ride there was pretty
uneventful. There were a few fans heading in the same direction, but most
people seemed to be going about routine business. When the doors opened after a
cheerful voice told me I was at my destination, I got the chills. Not because I’d
been waiting for this moment for years, but because it was fucking cold and
fucking windy. I was an hour early for the official opening of the gates. I
assumed there were activities on the promenade, or whatever they call the
outside area. I was so wrong. So I stood in a line for an hour which fanned out
when the gates opened, negating the need to wait in a single file line in the
first place.
1:02pm, I’m in. I am handed a free Twins hoodie, and I
immediately put it on for warmth. It worked. My friend, who was travelling with
his sister from Mankato would arrive shortly so I wandered around, bought a hat
and a soft pretzel and watched the White Sox practice batting.
My friend Eric arrived. I haven’t seen him since the day he
left prison boot camp seven months ago. He, my other friend Mason and I became
friends while waiting for our turn to go to boot camp. Moose Lake prison housed
a variety of people and we made fun of them all. We bonded over games of
Monopoly, Cribbage, and so many other terrible games with names I will never
recall. It was so good to see him. I gave him a big hug. We caught up,
reminisced, and watched legends Tony Oliva and Rod Carew throw out the ceremonial
first pitches. We listened to a rather lackluster version of our National
Anthem and missed seeing the F-14 fighter jet do a flyover because our view
held no sky. We didn’t care, we were just happy to be there. Oh, we knew the
jet had gone over because it sounded exactly like a jet plane passing by only a
few hundred feet away. We could feel it.
Mason showed up a little late because his train was stopped
by Black Lives Matter protesters. He was aggravated and said from what he could
see, the protesters were all white, and the black passengers on the train were
upset, just like everybody else, to be inconvenienced by the show. But he made
it either way and we continued on.
It wasn’t much of a game, not for our offense anyhow. We
talked pretty much the whole time so it went quickly. Around the sixth inning
we went up to the very top of the seats in right-center field because so many
people had left and we were tired of standing. Even up there we had a great
view, and nobody seemed to care that we hadn’t been there until just then.
The game ended after three hours and five minutes with a 1-4
loss. I can’t wait to go back. I love baseball, and I love the Twins no matter
what. They are my team, and that is my stadium. I will never boo them when they
lose, and I will never leave a game until there are three outs in the final
inning. Someday we will win.
I have a lot I wanted to write about today because I haven’t
posted for a few days. I will be back to posting regularly as of today. Or in a
day or two. It’ll be a fun little surprise for you people. Shit, I didn’t mean you people, that’s racist. I meant you,
the reader, so calm down. Until then…
