Yesterday, Saturday, my brain had a bit of a crash. So, worked on it in the morning with crepes and eggs. Worked on it in the evening with a nearly-Marianna’s-deep nap. Between the National League Division Series in town, a major project hurtling toward its final deadline, and a mix of travel and other work needs in the last month, the mini-crash was due. Just on the project and the travel alone, a month ago I had decided against another trip this weekend. I’d subsequently forgotten to stop adding more stuff.
But, putting my usual-but-heightened digital vs. existential concerns and my usual failed caring for my inner introvert aside for the moment, I think going to every game of the NLDS the Nationals played here was worth it.
Tickets came through luck, in a randomized Tickets.com waiting room. For the two games that interrupted the day, make-up work came before and after hours. With the games came so many nerves, but attendance itself kept last week and the last month’s accumulation at a manageable level.
Things I loved about going to the games last week? Going with so many friends and loved ones. Strangers encouraging each other about the team, in the stands and on the streets. Lines at my favorite concession stand staying short. The Take-on-Me hit. Innings where we struck out the side.
Suzuki’s reggae walk-up tunes and clutch hits. Harper trying everything to get himself out of a slump and succeeding. Amazing weather, in both hot and colder varieties. My dad getting ice cream. Lori getting hot chocolates. The Grishams texting relatives in Missouri. Eric’s binoculars. Teddy’s wins.
What might have been the perfect Curly W pretzel. The terrible red towels turning into red snow as we swung them. The perfection of Bustin’ Loose as a post-homer song, especially in the playoffs. Getting the opportunity (privilege) to sing Take Me Out to the Ballgame on three days in October.
I can’t remember or name all the moments that made the series so great. But despite the ultimate baseball outcome, they added up. “Columns come to me every week; elections every four years,” Charles Krauthammer told the Times as games here began. “Playoffs in Washington? Every 79. Which would you choose? For God’s sake, Halley’s comet comes more often.”