This was a big deal for him, so I left work a little early. I figured with Friday night traffic, driving through downtown Los Angeles, I'd need lots of drive time. Turns out, I allotted too much time -- traffic was almost non-existent!
We were among the first 20 c a r s to arrive at the stadium -- the p a r k i n g lot gates weren't even open yet! After a short wait, they opened, and we had our choice of spots. We found a similar scenario at the stadium -- the gates weren't open there, either.
But soon enough, they opened, and Mark received his spiffy new Dodgers hat, in UCLA colors.
Mark was starving, so our first stop was the concession stand, where I purchased two Dodger dogs, a bag of chips, a bottle of water and a beer for $30. Mark thought that was a bargain, but then again, he's 10, and has no concept of money and its worth, unless of course it's his money.
We found our seats, which was pretty easy, because -- you guessed it -- the stadium was empty.
But we were not deterred. We watched the Pirates batting practice, took photos, watched the ground crew ready the field. We watched various people enter and exit the field, including one super tall guy. I told Mark he must be a basketball player, because he made everyone standing next to him look as small as a child. (Turns out it was Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, a UCLA alum, there to throw out the first pitch.)
Mark dug the game for all of one inning. That was the time the Dibbs man came down our aisle selling little chocolate-covered ice cream nuggets. Mark couldn't focus on anything but that guy. He begged and pleaded until I bought him a pack.
He was munching away, and told me how he was sure he'd be a really good pro baseball player.
"Wouldn't I, Mom?" he asked. "Wouldn't I be a good Dodger?"
"You would," I agreed. "Right up until the Dibbs guy walked by and distracted you." We agreed that he could keep his hyperfocus if the players hit boxes of Dibbs instead of baseballs.
Mark lost his focus (on the game, anyway) again after the second inning. That's when he started swirling his water around in the bottle and screaming, "Twister!" I had to remind him some people actually came for the game, not an imaginary weather report.
He focused a bit for the third inning, but as it closed, he wondered when he was gonna get his second dessert (I ate half of his -- damn those Dibbs! They are addictive.) I reminded him that I was an Angels fan, and if the game was boring him, I was happy to leave. So he pulled out his camera and spent the next two innings snapping pictures and taking videos. He took a picture of the Dodger he was most excited to see -- Manny Ramirez. Who didn't play at all. Apparently, $50 million is not enough to get him out onto the field.
By the fifth inning, we decided to roam a bit. Mark decided he wanted Cracker Jacks, so we bought a bag. I realized halfway into the bag it was a bad choice. The sugar hit Mark immediately and he squirmed uncontrollably in his seat for the next two innings.
By the seventh inning, we were done (we'd been there four hours by then!). We stayed long enough to sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." Mark root, root, rooted for the Dodgers, and I tried to out-shout him by rooting for the Angels. We cracked ourselves up.
The parking lot was noticeably more full than when we arrived, and we couldn't find our car. Our landmark ("remember that we parked behind the scoreboard") proved too vague, so we rambled a bit until we found it.
I hadn't even hit the freeway before Mark fell asleep. Maybe it was the sugar crash, or the walking, or perhaps just all the excitement from our big day. Either way, he fell asleep with a smile on his face, a new UCLA Dodgers hat on his head, and sticky, caramel-coated fingers. He was one happy boy.
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