Just Another Night at the Ballpark

Sometimes the best laid plans don’t end up turning out the way you wished. Take last night, for example. My big brother picked up a couple of Nationals tickets from a friend of his who has season tickets and was out of town. The two of us had planned to meet up at the center field gate around 5:30 for the 7 o’clock game. We were both taking the Metro to the ball park, he from Rockville, Maryland and me from Springfield,Virginia. We had both been looking forward to it for weeks and the weather turned out to be absolutely perfect. All seemed teed up for a great night.

I leave my house in Short Pump at 2:10 in the afternoon. My GPS assured me that the Springfield Metro station was a mere hour and forty minute drive. All was going swimmingly until I got onto Interstate 95 heading north…

Yes kids, that tiny green sign in the distance is the Elmont exit and this photograph was taken while sitting graveyard-dead still. Not a good sign. But, Let not your heart be troubled, I reminded myself. This is exactly why I left so early. Ignorance of 95 traffic is no excuse for anyone who lives near the thing. It is the place where travel plans go to die a painful, excruciating death. 

But eventually the traffic began to thin out, just in time for this…

Was there an accident, you ask? No. Was there road construction? No. Was there flatbed truck full of naked models pulled over on the side of the road causing a festival of rubber necking? No. So, what caused the traffic to grind to such an inexplicable halt all the way from Quantico to Springfield? I have no idea. It is a profound mystery. Nevertheless, I didn’t arrive at the Metro station until 5:12. Then, the real fun began.

I am not a city guy. The Metro is a city thing. I’m sure if I had to use it every day I would get used to it and grow to appreciate its charms. To the uninitiated, this is not charming…

Yes, it goes without saying that I missed a connection that I was supposed to make and wound up going considerably out of the way. All the while I was texting big brother with my ETA. Finally I saw the big lug standing there in his Strasberg Jersey at the centerfield gate. It was 6:15. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s four hours.

Donnie’s friend’s tickets were awesome. There was a restaurant there with tables outside…

So, the Dunnevant boys were finally together with plenty of time to spare. We ate some ballpark food, caught up a little bit and marveled at the glorious weather and the obnoxious Met Fans who had somehow gotten tickets far to close to us.

The actual game was a tight pitchers duel and the two of us had a blast providing expert analysis and color commentary to those within earshot. Through four innings it was 0-0. To change our luck, I decided to excuse myself long enough to go to the W store to buy a hat. Twenty minutes later, I returned. The score was still tied but my big brother seemed oddly quiet. By the middle of the sixth inning he informed me that he wasn’t feeling well with a look on his face that I was very familiar with. Our sainted parents bequeathed to their children many admirable traits, however, from our mother both of us inherited an unpredictable , confounding, and devilish condition that we euphemistically call stomach issues. It’s virtually impossible to predict with any certainty why or when it will strike. Lucky for both of us, it is a rarity. But when it does arrive on the scene it is almost always at the most impossible time…like the middle of the sixth inning at a baseball stadium, an hour’s metro ride away from your automobile!! I will not go into any details, but the next hour was quite the experience, involving everything from a five dollar bottle of water and botched Uber attempt to an amazingly professional ambulance crew that saved the day. My brother is fine and at home recovering from the ordeal. In the middle of all the angst and turmoil, the Nationals walked off the Mets on a run scoring single in the bottom of the ninth from Yan Gomes. We heard the roar even from the ambulance!

Of course, my night was not over because I had to once again sample the unique pleasures of 95 south. My handy GPS took me on a perilous detour at some point which was of nebulous benefit since eventually it placed me back here…

I trudged along, and trudged along and about when I was all out of trudge, I pulled into my driveway at 1:18, a full eleven hours after I left.

Just another night at the ballpark.