Go Reds go!

Friday night, my roommates, Heather and Chenney, joined my friend Nate and I at a sellout Red’s game of Reds v. Indians. It was my first game of the season, and I came prepared. Reds ball cap, Reds tee shirt, and red suede shoes. (No red pants, still working on that.)

I wasn’t brought up on sports so I often have a hard time grasping the magnitude and significance of it, but I’ve enjoyed the few games I’ve been to. There’s something special about crowding into a stadium of 30,000 people and paying $10 for a coke and hotdog. You feel like you’re a part of a grand tradition of your forefathers and your forefathers’ forefathers.

On Friday night, the 4 of us felt like we were part of a grand tradition of losers. Right off the bat, the Indians scored 5 runs. One inning after another, we didn’t score. We watched helplessly as 0 after 0 blipped onto the screen next to our home team. At the end of the 7th inning, we still hadn’t scored, and the Indians were up by 6. It was hopeless. People started leaving and you could hear them mutter “suck” under their breath.

Then it happened. We scored. Bases loaded and we hit a home run. Then we scored again. It was 7-5. At least we could lose with dignity.

Last inning. Indians scored. 8-5. Our turn. One strike. Two strike. It’s our last chance, and Adam Dunn was batting. Bases were loaded. Miracle of miracles, he bats a home run. We win 8-9!

AHHHHHH the crowd goes balls wild! We’re jumping, we’re dancing, we’re praising the land of overpriced hotdogs.

We didn’t stay for the fireworks, but as I drove through downtown to go home, the fireworks lit up the sky, reflected into a million firelights in window panes.

It was a good time to be a Cincinnatian.