Baseball & Broads

So a few months ago, we went to a casino night to benefit the local elementary school. I suffered through standing at a blackjack table with a bunch of soccer moms that saw no problem hitting a soft 17 when the dealer was showing a six. Or splitting fives against a dealer's nine. Seriously. I tried to keep a smile on my face because, after all, it was for the kids. I mean, they're our future and all that shit, so you know, just keep smiling and remind yourself it's not real money anyway. But they were playing so STUPIDLY. When they die and go to hell, Satan will tell them, "Why are you here? It was that time you hit on 19, you ignorant BITCHES!"

Well, somehow the gambling gods looked after me anyway and I won a fat stack of worthless plastic chips.

But it turns out that they weren't so worthless after all. I turned them in for raffle tickets, and promptly won six tickets to tonight's Orioles at Mariners game. Good tickets too. Third-base line, about ten rows up. I'm talking potential for foul-ball-head-injury-close tickets. Very cool.

Now, here's my real mistake. With six tickets, this evening will be a 3-couple event. Hilarious, fun people that know how to have a darn good time. However, we let the ladies do the planning. So where are we going for our pre-game dinner? Union Square Grill! Sure, a great place for say, an anniversary, a birthday or even a pre-theatre elegant meal. But a baseball game? What the hell?

So there you go. Instead of throwing down a first-class burger at FX McRory's or simply chillin' at the Pyramid Beer Garden, I'll be daintily dabbing my mouth with a starched linen napkin and paying out the wazoo for a meal that's going to fill me up as much as a ball park dog.

Damned women. Don't they know anything about baseball?