Approaching the bleachers at the start of a game, one must make a choice between down low and up high, and so often I have long stood comparing one choice to the other as best I could.
Although both equally lay, I have most often chosen the top row not only because it was empty and wanted wear, but also because I wanted to lean back on the railing up there.
Down low, there's a lot of talk about shopping and the office, and it feels kind of crowded. Kids are zooming around; they are bouncing balls, drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, and constantly begging their moms for something from the snack bar.
Occasionally, someone shows up with a dog on a leash.
The person at the scorer's table, bless her heart, is stuck in that low orbit.
Up high, it's like getting out into the country. There's more space, and the air is more pure. Nothing blocks your line of sight, either. You've got the whole field practically to yourself!
You're not really up there to avoid people, though; it's just about getting to a level where the inconsequential things are left behind.
You know what I really love about the top row? When someone makes the climb up to join you, there's an instant camaraderie, for everyone knows that in the top row no one is going to talk about much that's unrelated to baseball. It's like an unwritten code of conduct.
In the top row there will be no chit-chat about Mary Ann's amazing tabbouleh recipe, no he-said-she-said baloney, and you know what? No one even expects you to talk at all! Giving just a sort of "hey" look upon arrival will do. People up there are actually there to take in the game, and they don't give a cracker if anyone joins them or not.
Of course, top-row folks are misunderstood, but that's due mainly to paranoia inside the folks down below who subconsciously feel "looked down upon."
Sure, literally they are looked down upon, but, folks, let me say it again: Top rowers are watching the game.
They don't give a hoot about the amazing knock-off Jimmy Choo bag you bought in Bangkok, and, for crying out loud, buy your kid another Popsicle from the snack bar already. In the peace and quiet that would ensue, we could both get what we really want:
You'd be able to broach the topic of that new diet you're on, and I, well, I could get back into the zone on the row less traveled, and that would make all the difference.
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Although both equally lay, I have most often chosen the top row not only because it was empty and wanted wear, but also because I wanted to lean back on the railing up there.
Down low, there's a lot of talk about shopping and the office, and it feels kind of crowded. Kids are zooming around; they are bouncing balls, drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, and constantly begging their moms for something from the snack bar.
Occasionally, someone shows up with a dog on a leash.
The person at the scorer's table, bless her heart, is stuck in that low orbit.
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| Marcus heads for 3rd, and Will heads in to back up the throw. |
Up high, it's like getting out into the country. There's more space, and the air is more pure. Nothing blocks your line of sight, either. You've got the whole field practically to yourself!
You're not really up there to avoid people, though; it's just about getting to a level where the inconsequential things are left behind.
You know what I really love about the top row? When someone makes the climb up to join you, there's an instant camaraderie, for everyone knows that in the top row no one is going to talk about much that's unrelated to baseball. It's like an unwritten code of conduct.
In the top row there will be no chit-chat about Mary Ann's amazing tabbouleh recipe, no he-said-she-said baloney, and you know what? No one even expects you to talk at all! Giving just a sort of "hey" look upon arrival will do. People up there are actually there to take in the game, and they don't give a cracker if anyone joins them or not.
 |
| Shea picks a throw from Alex S. as Brandon hustles all the way through the base. |
Of course, top-row folks are misunderstood, but that's due mainly to paranoia inside the folks down below who subconsciously feel "looked down upon."
Sure, literally they are looked down upon, but, folks, let me say it again: Top rowers are watching the game.
They don't give a hoot about the amazing knock-off Jimmy Choo bag you bought in Bangkok, and, for crying out loud, buy your kid another Popsicle from the snack bar already. In the peace and quiet that would ensue, we could both get what we really want:
You'd be able to broach the topic of that new diet you're on, and I, well, I could get back into the zone on the row less traveled, and that would make all the difference.
Amen
ReplyDeleteI know he didn't just comment on my Jimmy Choo.
ReplyDelete