I should have known there would be problems when Downtown was flooded with Red Shirts. I was about ready to slap my fellow San Diegans silly for joining a band wagon..
until I started to hear the 'red shirts' speak...
With Boston Accents.
I pretty sure the whole city of Boston came to see the series.
We had amazing seats (14 rows from third base) in relationship to the field, horrible seats in relationship to our fellow patrons. We had three Padre fans in our section.
Three.
In a sea of several hundred seats.
Three.
Did we accidentally transport ourselves to Boston?
Chris and I would stand to cheer and we'd hear a loud, 'SIT DOWN SAN DIEGO! SIT. DOWN.' in a Boston accent screaming from behind us.
I turned around to glare only to be met by the man behind the voice three rows back - an exceedingly sweaty portly man holding a beer and a hot dog dripping with toppings. His greasy gray hair stuck to his forehead and sweat dripped from his chin and elbows.
I would have screamed back but my gag reflex is overactive and I was already dry-heaving at the site of him.
The lady beside me was friends with the group directly behind us. They let her know her skin was a bright shade of red so she asked the 'dawlings' if they had some sun block. They all nodded no.
'Burn Boston Lady Burn' was my thought.
Chris leaned over my lap, 'Excuse me, we have sun block. Would you like some?'
I gave him the death stare.
'Oh you're such a dawl. Would you share with a Bawstin fan?' She said with her thick accent and winked.
(I held back my desire to say, 'It's BOSTON. BO-STON')
‘Sure’ he said as he ripped my purse from my tight grip and handed over the sun block.
‘I hate you’ I muttered under my breath as he smiled at me with a look of satisfaction.
Unfortunately we lost. Stupid Padres.
But I learned a lesson, next Boston game I’m wearing a Yankee outfit.
Go Yankees.
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