My day at Fenway

Yesterday was a long long day. I'll start from the beginning and give you an idea of what it would have been like to live in my shoes for a baseball day.
Friday night wasn't an early night either. House party down the road and free beer means I had at least two or three during the course of the night
HA
I was awoken at 10AM by my roomate holding a Coors Light. For about six seconds my tired brain tried to form a sentence or excuse or way to say no. It didn't work, I gave up and enjoyed the frosty coldness and realized it was time to get down to business. We showered and left by eleven-ish, but not before a couple more beers each and two shots. Jimmy was late, typical, so he had to down two shots at once. What a trooper.

McDonalds came next, we can skip that part because it is disgusting. But I did explain to Lui how anytime you want to take someone's french fry or other food object, you must say "Yoink" as you do so. He caught on pretty quickly, I was impressed by his eagerness to learn.

Then came the bar before the ballpark. We literally opened the place, at least it wasn't hard to get a beer. I would say I had a pretty good buzz going, and my roomates were a little closer to drunk because they wanted a car bomb and another beer also.

Finding the seats was fine, just needed to grab two beers each before we got there. Beautiful day too, barely partly cloudy, sun wasn't beating down too hard, just good to get some color and enjoy some damn baseball. Then the booze started to kick in. Gilby is just an enthusiastic fan, I wouldn't say he was TOO out of line. But there was some lame family in front of us, that bought seats in the rowdy bleachers, and just wanted to enjoy the game. Who was worse in this situation? It might be a tie. My face started to hurt from laughter, and I'm not normally embarassed; normally I am the one making others feel that way. But some comments like "take off your tank top!" might have gotten to them. And once you make one comment, as did this guy with a little settle down request; you are just asking for trouble. That fuels the drunk Gilby. Every time something happened my good ol roomate had to say something. If Boston got a hit, he was telling everyone to shutup because the guy in front of us didn't want any cheering. Basically the five people in front of the four of us each turned around to tell Gilby and eventually Jimmy what assholes they were and how we should find our real seats, which were in the same row only a few down. He then goes and talks to security, my sign to exit. I grabbed my beers, not wanting to get kicked out in the SECOND inning, and headed to find those real seats with my other, less rowdy, and newly skilled in the art of Yoinking- Lui. We walked around and wound up in the wrong section and we were spilling our beer and it was a mess. So we went down to get food or more beer or something and see if my roomates got kicked out.

Somehow, they didn't, and found us better seats where they could be rowdy. Quick note, one of the guys sitting in front of us did have his collar popped, on purpose. It might as well have been a pink shirt, I think he was wearing a wristband to the baseball game. Hey buddy, I'm pretty sure neither team is going to call you in to pinch hit, you probably could have left the eye black at home. He deserved some douchebaggery just for being a cool kid. Onto our other seats.
Being four rows back in centerfield in the bleachers was a good time. I didn't watch most of the game, we all got way too drunk, and eventually with two outs, bottom of the ninth, down two runs with two men on, David Ortiz hit a walkoff homerun; one of baseball's treasures right there. Not often will fans get to witness that, so it was quite a moment. And boy did that place erupt. On another side note, Fenway is pretty damn good at keeping a wave going around at least one full revolution, impressive.

Leaving was sloppy. By then we had each baked in the sun, drank four or more beers at the game, and were friggin starving. Two of my roomates wound up with mustard all over themselves, and talked about it the rest of the way home. I feel bad for cab drivers that pick us up when we are drunk, I feel worse for the attractive women on the streets that have to feel our wrath. One group of girls, innocently enough, looked at us and said "full car huh?" to which Gilby replied "yeah, take off your shirt!" I can see how those are related. I felt bad so I apologized to her. "Sorry, he really meant take off your pants". Sincere, no?

The rest of the day was boring and included us passing out a lot, and way more drinking. I was margarita man and kept the glasses full when they weren't spilling from someone falling asleep. When I passed out, they threw books and a dog at me. When they passed out, I wound up and hit them with pillows as hard as I could. Pillows made from cement, bastards. I think I had my last drink somewhere around midnight, and everyone else had gone to bed. No I wasn't drinking alone, just the only survivor from a long, beautiful, baseball morning that turned into a sloppy typical mess. Ooh there was pizza too!