Monday, October 06, 2008
Angels sense overload
Friday night Travis and I went to an Angels-Red Sox playoff game. They gave out the thundersticks at the entrance. Fortunately the guys behind us clapped them above our heads and not beside our ears. A few seats down, though, a fan kept us going with cheers. I've never cheered so much in my life or stood at a game so much. Every so often I checked in with my subconscious: Remember this, I telegraphed. Remember the volume of sound, remember the color red, the green of the playing field, the way the players look so white and pristine.
Later, at home, where it was quiet, my ears were ringing, the way it sounds after you go to hear a band that is LOUD.
The Angels sadly lost this second playoff game and last night they played the Red Sox in Boston. Everyone was giving them up for gone. I was worried and nervous and said to Brian, I'm going to be very upset when they lose.
When? he said. When!? No, you have to say 'I'm going to be very happy when they win. When they win!'
I Googled the patron saint of baseball and found the name St. Rita. So all night we remembered St. Rita. Brian played the Rita Meter Maid song and substituted lyrics. I called out to St. Rita. After all, what could be more natural for a saint than to cheer on an Angel?
And when the Angels came back, I thanked St. Rita.
What a game. As my cousin John would say, What a fricken game!
In the LA Times Travel section yesterday, I loved the article about the Dominican Republic. I want to go there. Streets named after baseball players, baseball on ESPN in eateries. Such an addict! It could be worse; it could be much worse, this addiction of mine. It could be cocaine or shopping.
Tonight I teach at UCI so there will be no baseball for me. It's their fourth playoff game, which they have to win, or they're out of the running. I will be thinking of the game, though, and the players, and be reminding St. Rita, silently, to help our guys out.
I want to write about baseball; I just don't know what about yet.
But my sense overload of the other night isn't apt to go away anytime soon. Remembering is a good thing for writing.
It can be a very good thing, indeed.
Posted by Barbara DeMarco-Barrett at 12:26 PM