Baseball, Cotton Candy, With The Occasional Fruit Bat
EVERY YEAR IT IS IN A DIFFERENT CITY. This year’s Annual National Church Conference is in Detroit (Dearborn, between you and me), but next year it will be held on the campus of Piedmont College in Georgia. That is going to be quite a change.
This year in Detroit (whatever), last year in Salt Lake City, before that in Omaha, Orlando, Phoenix, etc. – All big cities with top notch accommodations and facilities. Next year on a small college campus, sleeping in dorm rooms and sharing bathrooms. Hmmmmm?
I know why the powers that be are doing this – the college is a Congregationalist school. It’s similar to the relationships of some other schools. Notre Dame is considered a Catholic college. Baylor is Baptist. UC Berkeley is Medellin Cartel. Nothing out of the ordinary.
My wife, the lovely and unerringly reasonable, Dawn, and I have been going to these annual getogethers for a bunch of years now and I suspect that there is a strong voice on the city selection committee that belongs to a baseball fan. I think that because there have been a number of Annual Meetings in MLB Cities – Milwaukee, Phoenix, Tampa/St. Pete, and now, Detroit (yeah, I know). Having things happening in Baseball Cities means that we get to see live games in some really nice parks – and Tampa/St. Pete too. If I can ever find out who (or whom if you going be sticky about it) that Baseball fan is I will buy them a hot dog and a cotton candy.
The game this year was last night – The Detroit Tigers vs. The Cleveland Indians. A good matchup. We didn’t go.
With Dawn’s arm in a sling she did not need to be taking a bus ride to the ballyard over Detroit streets that have potholes big enough to provide lodging for Fruit Bats. She was also leery of being in a crowd of 40k baseball fans jumping up and down and diving for a foul ball. If a foul ball came close Dawn would be diving for it with the rest of them, so –we stayed “home” on the 6th floor of the DoubleTree hotel.
To be completely honest I wasn’t really all that disappointed. I don’t want to see Dawn uncomfortable or in pain and I wasn’t all that fired up going to see an American League game. I know. I’m a purist. I just happen to think that the “designated hitter” is a creation of Satan. See? It’s not complicated.
Next year we will be in Piedmont, Georgia. I’m wondering if someone will try to organize a bus haj to see an Atlanta Braves game. Already my fantasy brain cells are wishing that, if they do plan such a pilgrimage, the Giants will be up against the Braves. That would be worth a bumpy bus ride. I would insist on going even if I was in a full-body cast and stuck inside an atmospheric decompression chamber. “I can make it down the steps, just bounce me. I’m already in a plaster cast and a steel tank.” Heck, I’m tough. I still eat Mexican food.
I don’t know where we will be meeting in two years. I’m just hoping it is in a Major League City (read “National League”). I wouldn’t mind some place like San Francisco, or San Diego. I’d even be satisfied with St. Louis, but please, not Oakland. I’ve been in that stadium. It is, quite literally, an open running sewer. I mean it. Last season the sewage line were backing up and dumping raw nasty stuff into the dugouts.
Today is today and I have less than zero sway with the planning of this annual event. I’m just hoping that I will have justification to buy a hot dog and some cotton candy – any color my angel wants. The sky is the limit.