Opinion

Celestial Musings

Four tickets to see the Seattle Mariners play the Texas Rangers: $160.

T-shirts for three adults and one toddler: $80.

Having a Texas Ranger fan sit next to you when the Mariners are getting pummeled eleventy-million to one: maddening.

Is there any way, I wonder, to get refunded for tickets to a baseball game if the hometown team didn’t decide to show up to play? I’m wondering this because Hubby Bryan, Son Joshua, Mother-in-Law Mary Ann and I all went to the Seattle game Monday night watch a good baseball game. We got mugged.

OK, the Mariners did show up to the game. Well, they put their uniforms on and stood on the field, anyway.

They had no game.

In the first inning, the score was 4-0. It was about that time Joshua started asking to go to the playground (there is a little play area for the kids at Safeco Field). I figured I wasn’t going to miss anything, so off we went.

After letting Joshua run around the play area like a shoeless looney for about a half-hour, I figured it was time to go back to the seats.

Upon my return, perched on my chair was the highlight of the game: a big, thick, greasy quarter-pound hotdog and an ice cold Pepsi. It was at the exact second my husband’s love for me was confirmed.

It was one of those hotdogs I have tough time finishing at home because it is so massive. At the game, however, it was a completely different story.

Five minutes later, I was licking bread crumbs off my fingers.

By that time, it had become completely obvious that fans had become as disinterested in the game as the players seemed.

“Hey!” I yelled. “We payed money to be here!!”

A lady sitting in front of my son turned around and told us she and her husband had driven all the way from Idaho to see the Mariners play. They were decked out in Mariners garb, so I knew she was serious about the experience.

I complimented them on not running out to the field and pitching a fit. If they had, at least somebody in a Mariners shirt would have been pitching something.

At the beginning of the seventh inning, a mass exodus of fans began. After each batter, a few dozen more fans would get up and leave.

Bryan sat there glossy-eyed with a half-dazed, half-disgusted look on his face.

“I only have two less hits than the entire team and I’m not even playing,” he said.

I had no response.

“I’m all finished with baseball,” Joshua said. “I want to go home.”

“Just a little bit longer, son. The game’s almost over,” I told him.

“This game is over,” Bryan corrected.

At the end of the eighth inning, we packed up our things and left. We thought if we left at 9:30 p.m., we’d be home by 11 p.m.

This was not to be.

There’s this thing called traffic, which is created by a whole bunch of cars being on the road at the same time.

The phenomenon is compounded by a whole bunch of cars being on the at the same time when half the lanes are closed because of repair work.

This was not our night.

The stupid thing is, we can’t wait to get tickets again.

Celeste Cornish is the editor of the Bremerton Patriot.

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