Photo of the day

29 Jul

It’s a well known fact that Americans are obsessed with Baseball. Anyone who knows me even a little knows that I’m not a sporty girl, I’ve never even seen a full cricket match back home. So why did I choose to spend the day at the baseball with 38 000 drunk guys instead of the Art Museum? Well, I guess it comes down to culture.

I’ve been to seven museums in two weeks, and while they’ve been enlightening, illuminating, educational and beautiful- they’ve lacked the social aspect of travel that I love. In-fact, I wish people in museums would talk less, be more considerate and stop taking photos of priceless works of art. Really, other people in museums are just annoying distractions.

Given that I know nothing about Baseball other than ‘three strikes and you’re out’, and I’m in the city with the oldest Baseball Park in America, I figured I’d be silly not to get to a game. So off I went, with no friends, no plan and no ticket- just to see where the day would take me. Luckily there were scalpers galore, and I got a ‘bargain’ ticket for $30- it was pretty close to the field but it was in full sun, and my pasty skin couldn’t bear it so I moved further back to be in the shade and played ignorant tourist when I was questioned about my seating selection. I bought the match magazine, found a beer and started chatting to the guys next to me.

The crowd was full of college students galore, along with kids spending the summer holidays with their grandparents and it had a happy, fun vibe. Everyone was keen to help the lost-looking Aussie girl understand the game, and tried to convince me that I couldn’t attend a baseball game without eating a ‘Fenway Frank’ aka:hotdog.

I had been warned that the games can go forever, and after 3 hours of play and not many home runs, I’ll admit that I was bored and didn’t know whether to cheer or boo most of the time. Turns out the local team ‘The Red Sox’ lost against the Kansas City ‘Royals’, so the crowd went home cranky and disappointed.

I took this shot towards the end of the match, in the crucial innings that would determine if the Sox or Royals would win. Everyone is glued on the game, intent on not missing the hit. I did miss it, I was reading my Stephen Fry book. Typical Grace.

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