Inside the Rogers Centre last Thursday, about to watch the Blue Jays play the Orioles.
Foodie: Should we get a treat before we go to our seats?
Beast: I want to find those Tiny Tim donuts.
Foodie (reading food kiosk signs): Look, there’s hotdogs over there. Sausages too. And French fries, poutine…and chicken tenders! Look!
Beast: You hate chicken.
Foodie: Chicken tenders are not chicken! Look how crispy the coating looks!
Beast: I’m going to ask where the donut place is. I remember it so clearly from my youth.
There is no donut place.
Foodie: I saw you looking at those boobs over there. And I don’t blame you for looking. They’re extraordinary.
Beast: They should take a brain scan of a baby breastfeesing and see if it’s the same part of the brain that’s active when a grown man looks at boobs.
Foodie: Okay, clearly these donuts do not exist. Let’s just get another treat and then take our seats and then we’ll come back for hot dogs.
Beast: Okay. We’ll get hot dogs at the top of the fifth inning.
Foodie: What do you want now as an appetizer?
Foodie: What?! You have to get something! I can’t get junk on my own!
Beast: I’m not hungry right now.
Foodie: What do you mean? We’re at a baseball game! We have to eat as much junk as possible!
Beast: You go ahead and get something.
Foodie: This is bullshit.
Beast: Fine, I’ll get a $10 beer.
We took our seats (Actually, my boss’s seats, which are nicely situated behind third base. I was the last minute lucky recipient of the tickets when he couldn’t attend); the Beast armed with a warm beer and me with French fries.
Beast: Look at how much better dressed the Orioles are than the Jays.
Foodie: What do you mean?
Beast: The Jays just look sloppy–everything is too baggy and the uniforms look cheap. Look at that font! The Orioles just look better–more classic.
Foodie: Yeah, I see what you mean. They look like hip hoppers. Why don’t they tuck their pants into their socks anymore? I really like that.
Beast: Me too.
Foodie: I can’t believe how close we are. This is amazing that we got to come here tonight on FATB’s three year anniversary, don’t you think? I was just going to pick up some take-out.
Beast: Yes it is great.
Foodie: I’m going to get a photo of José running into the dughouse. My mom just loves him.
Beast: What did you just say?
Foodie: José Baustista? He’s a ball player–
Beast: –No, what did you just call that thing right there?
Foodie: The…what? What is it? The outhouse? The benchhouse? What’s it called?
Beast: The DUGOUT!
Foodie: This zoom function is amazing! I can’t believe I don’t use it more often!
Beast: If you stop taking pictures you can actually see a baseball game unfolding–and a pretty good one at that, too.
Foodie: Can you go get the hotdogs please?
Beast: Sure thing. Which place should I get them from?
Foodie: I don’t care, but just look for the ones that look the most ball-parky, you know? And don’t get me a fat wiener. I don’t like them too fat. I prefer a skinny wiener.
Beast: What do you want on it.
Foodie: Mustard. (Pause) And ketchup!
Foodie: That’s a good hot dog. You know those guys standing there and telling the players when to run to the next base? They should be illegal.
Beast: You mean the first base and third base coaches?
Foodie: Yeah. The runner should have to go on instinct.
Beast: WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?
Foodie: Well, think about it: they have some guy looking over their shoulder for them and telling them when to run and when to steal. That should be up to them to know. What are they even doing if somebody else is telling them what to do?
Beast: Everything is strategy in baseball. It’s not just a bunch of assholes running around a giant field trying to kick a ball into a giant net.
Foodie: Well I think those coaches are stupid.
Beast: I think you need to quiet down a bit.
Foodie: Fine. (Taking more close-up photos) My mom is going to flip when she sees all these awesome pics of Baptista I’m getting.
Beast: It’s BAUTISTA.
Foodie: OOH! Look at that lady’s chicken tenders!
Beast: You are acting like a f–king psycho! Stop it!
Foodie: I’m full and I don’t feel well in my stomach. Why did you let me eat so much junk?
Foodie: Are we staying for the entire game?
Foodie: That dancing Blue Jay guy is funny. That would be a funny job for Nick Edwards, don’t you think? He’s such a funny dancer. (Pause) You’d be good at it, too.
Foodie: You sure love baseball. Look how serious you are.
We stayed until the eighth inning. The Blue Jays won something like 8 to 4, which I think is a pretty high scoring game, for baseball. It was so much fun. It felt like there were a gazillion home runs and as a result, my face hurt from smiling and cheering so much. Although, once we got home, I felt like I didn’t really capitalize on my junk food quota on account of being full and funny in the stomach. So as a remedy, I made myself a root beer float.
I love baseball games!
Foodie: * 1/2