Hitting The Big 4-0 Milestone Birthday Calls For Texas-Size Celebration In The Midst Of Favorite Major Leaguers
This is a love story, but not the Harlequin variety.
This steamy tale is set in Texas. In July - when it’s unspeakably hot and humid and the countryside is a lovely shade of dusty brown. It doesn’t sound like the spot for a dream vacation. Unless, of course, you’re on a baseball pilgrimage.
By arranging for my husband to spend his 40th birthday watching his favorite team, the Seattle Mariners, take on the division rival Texas Rangers, I had agreed to sit through three outings of a game that I’ve always thought went on a few innings too long.
But somehow on this little adventure, I surprised myself by falling in love with baseball and with Texas.
Until last year, when the team won the Western Conference title in dramatic fashion, being a Mariners fan has been tough, if not painful. Still, my husband, John, remained true blue even when the Mariners were perennial cellar dwellers. He was unceasingly optimistic, saying if only they had some pitching or a third baseman or (fill in the blank), they might stand a chance in the pennant race.
Yes, honey, and Christmas will come in July this year.
Years ago, we made a pact that we would go wherever the team happened to be playing on John’s 40th. We were praying for Camden Yards or Comisky Park. We were even willing to face the rude fans at Yankee Stadium. But the baseball scheduling gods put us in Texas this Fourth of July weekend.
Of course, we arrived during a record-breaking heat wave. The heat index, which measures the temperature and humidity, was something like 115. That made my dangling metal earrings dangerous and turned outdoor pools into bath water.
Still, I admired the way Texans seem to take the shimmering heat in stride. When we arrived at the gorgeous, retro-looking ballpark at Arlington, we marveled at one woman who brought a wet hand towel which she draped over her thighs. Others cooled off with pint-sized, battery-operated fans, some which sprayed water.
Right off the bat, even though we were decked out in Mariners shirts and hats, our seatmates struck up a friendly conversation.
Y’all came down just to see the games? My brother lived in Spokane. What do you think of our park? I know it’s cliche and maybe even insulting to some Southerners, but I could listen to that delicious sing-songy accent all day long, darlin’. These people were so gosh-darned nice.
During that close Fourth of July match-up, when the Rangers’ third baseman Dean Palmer hit a two-run homer, our neighbors actually apologized.
Later, it was our turn to say sorry when Paul Sorrento hit a grand slam in the ninth inning to ice the game. So, this is why people get so excited about baseball. Our team had come from behind to win.
I was still giddy as we went back to our hotel - the same hotel the Mariners were staying. We decided to hang out in the lobby until the post-game traffic cleared out, then we’d go out for a celebratory drink.
We ended up staying, though, because we were enthralled by the parade of players.
Randy Johnson strutted by. Then, we spotted that night’s starting pitcher, Rusty Meacham. I walked up and said great game. He shook my hand.
Before the end of the evening I had congratulated Sorrento on his “grand salami” and told relief pitcher Bobby Ayala that his splitter looked wicked. We smiled when Edgar Martinez posed for a snapshot with a kid. Texas native Jay Buhner had his whole family in tow. And then we saw skipper Lou Pinella. We bowed our heads for a moment of silence.
It was cool seeing these guys up close, wearing street clothes and looking kind of bored walking around the lobby. Few people recognized them.
During the next two games, we met more gregarious Texans. People wrote down names of restaurants and clubs for us. They snapped our pictures. They pointed out Dallas Cowboy quarterback Troy Aikman’s office beyond the centerfield fence. A baseball buff filled us in on Rangers trivia. Even the vendors joked with us, predicting the Mariners would surely lose tonight. (They didn’t.) I couldn’t get over how polite people were, always using ma’am and sir and saying hello in the elevator. Civility is alive and well in Dallas.
I also loved the ballpark, where they played great music between innings. People sang their hearts out when they played a country song, “God Bless Texas,” and they stomped their feet when “CottonEye Joe” came on after the seventhinning stretch.
On John’s birthday, Martinez, his all-time favorite Mariner, hit three home runs, which took the sting out of turning 40.
On our last night in Texas, my husband generously agreed to indulge one of my whims. I made a dinner reservation at the worldfamous Mansion on Turtle Creek, a restaurant I’ve always dreamed of trying. This was quite a sacrifice for John considering it meant we would miss the last game of the series.
Happily, our meal turned out to be as sweet as a hanging curve ball. But between the glorious pan-seared oysters drizzled with a delicate barbecue sauce and the fork-tender ostrich steak, John excused himself to go check the score.
The Mariners were losing. And John was sure that things would be different if he were there. Like he was some kind of lucky charm.
Yeah, right, honey, I thought, as I drifted off into another heavenly bite of my raspberry creme brulee.
, DataTimes