Baseball? Are You Kidding Me?

Last night I went to the ballpark with my girl.

She said there's nothing finer on a cool summer evening than to kick back, grab some sunflower seeds, and watch a baseball game. Hmmm. Balls. Parks. Sunflower seeds. Sounded promising.

I soon found that this ballpark was a great place to be seen and admired. Turns out that baseball fans of all ages stopped by to shower my curly and generally cute self with love and affection. Snippets of conversation floated by as the more timid hoomans passed... "Look at that big cutie pie!" "Whoa! That's a big boy!" and "Hey, is he an Airedale?" There were two toy poodles on the scene, but they camped out and slept under their hooman's chair. Amateurs...

Hey. Have we met yet?

I did find, however, that while the atmosphere of the ballpark is intoxicating, the actual game of baseball is not at all what I was expecting. First off, they cut you off from the balls with a big wire fence. (Something about having to be on the team to play). Then when one of these so-called team members gets the ball, they get rid of it as fast as they can, and don't seem the least bit interested in sniffing, licking, or chewing on it. I just can't abide by that kind of disrespect to a ball. So I found other ways to amuse myself. After inspecting my girl's bag, I discovered the most amazingly tasty nuggets of salty goodness... SUNFLOWER SEEDS!

A guy can only take so much admiration before he gets a little peckish. I rummaged around a bit more and found my girl had a couple of lonely fortune cookies in her bag. I put on my sad face, lovingly placed my paw on her arm, and presto! Instant gratification (with a personal fortune to boot).

My first ever fortune cookie.







Checking out my fortune.







Here I'm trying to get a different angle on the fortune. My girl keeps getting in the way.

Oh yeah, my lucky numbers are 9 11 46 41 30 and 3.

The kid I went to see play baseball is my friend, Noah. He's a cocky 14-year-old hooman pup who thinks he's already a grown dog (he's almost there). I have absolutely no photos of him here - he's entirely too fast for the camera. But, he has a teammate who has the greatest name. GOOBER! Yep, that's right. I think his original name was Cole or something equally boring, but his hoomans and teammates all call him Goober. If you look really closely in the photo above you can see a kid in the upper left corner. THAT'S HIM! Obviously, there are loyal subjects of GooberStan wherever you go.










Despite my disappointment with the game of baseball, I had a relaxing evening of good snacks, sweet affection, and comraderie with my people. I still don't get it though. They should rename this game "Standing-around-scratching-ourselves-until-we-have-to-get-rid-of-the-ball-ball, instead of calling it BASEBALL. Sheesh!



Loving life in GooberStan,

Stanley