I did not go to Opening Day this year. Then of course that happened, and I wish I had gone to the game.
At last year’s Opening Day, there were a lot of very drunk people, including me, a kid two rows up from me who puked on his shoes and had to be taken away by his girlfriend, and these two, who according to the patrons seated around us, just got engaged.
My preoccupation with the Brewers season seems like an immature obsession, but I will point out that there was a time when I was — unbelievably — even more immature.
There was a time in my life when I thought it would acceptable to propose to a girl at a baseball game, perhaps even via the scoreboard or some other surprise gimmick. This was before the technology was available for the scoreboard-plus-jumbotron double whammy. The logic, I thought at the time, was solid:
“What better place to do it?” I would argue. “The ballpark symbolizes eternal summer, and enduring love and passion. Plus, if you ask in front of tens of thousands of strangers, she is less likely to say no.”
I remember this time in my life coinciding with the final days of Milwaukee County Stadium, when at slower games I would fantasize about purchasing the ballpark to prevent it’s demolition. That way, I could build a camp site or living room set out in center field with a tent, a couch and a fireplace. I could bring girls over and we could fool around wherever we liked… on top of the dugout. In the press box. We could ’round the bases… while ’rounded the bases!
In the ensuing years, I realized that not every nubile young lady would be charmed by being asked one of the most important questions of her life in front of tens of thousands of strangers. So these days, when I see
Marlene — Will you Marry Me? — Mike
on the big board in center field, I’m likely to be among those cheering “No!!! Don’t do it!”
Leave the romance to the Kiss Cam.