Holliday of the Damned

Our friends Sarah Marie and Stuart were kind enough to bring us along to a Rockies game last night that they had tickets for.   Chris and I loaded up on Subway, sushi, and cookies and readied ourselves for a good old ballgame.  When we got there, we sat behind two women who were... okay, remember the creepy twins from The Shining?  Sure you do, but since I'm trying to up the creep-out factor of Funundrum, here they are again:

Ew.  Now put these girls in matching Matt Holliday jerseys, make them look like the vaguely disapprove of everything around them at all times, and make one of them 55 and one 35.  There.  They were also radiating displeasure, not smiling like the joyful tots pictured above.

As soon as I pulled out my sandwich, a stiff breeze came up and blew away the bag.  Not one to suffer littering gladly, I jumped up to retrieve it.  Unfortunately, this caused a bit of tomato and lettuce to fall onto the younger of the Holliday Zombies just in front of me.  She recoiled and made a face like I had just taken a crap on her head.  I apologized profusely, but didn't feel too bad because her precious jersey looked like it was fairly unscathed.  This did not stop Cryptkeeper Mom from repeatedly and obsessively wiping the seat back with her hand before asking me in a nasty tone, "Do you have any extra napkins?  This stuff is NOT coming off."

The four of us were all wearing the thinnest, tightest possible veneers of concern, but I assure you we were all about to lose it.  Ladies, you are at a baseball game.  You are in the middle of a seething mass of humanity* and chances are very, very good that some of that humanity is going to come into contact with you in a less than optimal fashion.  How many times have my readers had nearly-full beers poured on their heads at a sporting event?  Raise your hand.  Right now you should be raising your hand.  And we all lived to tell the tale, holy crap.

So after this monstrously entertaining scene, we all went back to watching the game.  At some point I found my extra napkins -- I had been sitting on them.  Oh well.  The Holliday twins continued to elicit snorts and snickers from the peanut gallery, because every time Matt Holliday came up to bat, they would each raise identical Canon cameras in front of them and they would both take pictures of the Jumbotron showing his name and face. I'll let that sink in.  Can you imagine?  "How was the ballgame?"  "It was FANTASTIC.  Here's 8 pictures of a sign that says Matt Holliday's NAME on it."  Because this wasn't just once.  It was every time that he was up to bat.  I'm overly happy to report that this former MVP completely failed to achieve any level of greatness the whole night.  A strike-out, a pop-out, and then he died of embarrassment that these two women were so fixated on his Jumbotron visage.  "Hey!" he was heard to shout sometime during the sixth inning.  "You, up there in section 330!  I'm down HERE, you wacky uppity bitches!"  I heard him; I was there, don't question me.

I will leave our reaction to his performance up to your imagination.  As long as you imagine me yelling, "SUCK IT HOLLIDAY!" each time he forlornly trotted off the field, you will be imagining correctly.  

We spent the rest of the evening offering each other wads of extra napkins.  Second best baseball game ever.

*Slightly less seething and cramped than usual, considering the Olympics were on (and the Rockies suck).  I did experience a little withdrawal by not getting my nightly swimming fix.