This one happened just a month or so ago, so the wound is still fresh......
I had managed to luck out and come by four tickets to a Pittsburgh Pirates game. It was a Saturday night game, the second in a 3-game series at PNC Park against the cross-state rival Philadelphia Phillies.
My wife didn't want to go, so I asked my friend Randy, Steve, our pastor, and one other friend, who didn't show.
We got to the stadium just as the game was starting, made our way to our section, stopping occasionally to gasp in the thinning atmosphere and to blot the blood seeping from our noses, and found our seats. Peanut heaven; two rows from the top. Nice thing about PNC, though, is that there really are no bad seats.
The game got off to a pretty good start, but the Pirates started to throw it in about 5th inning, and things were kind of slowing down. My mind began to wander in the late Spring heat.
The crack of the bat, the sudden roar of the crowd, and my mind came back to itself.
I, dressed in my Pittsburgh Pirates t-shirt and ballcap, started to cheer loudly, pumping my fist, as the Philadelphia player rounded the bases for a triple, running in another player, pulling ahead of the home team. Randy leaned over and whispered into my ear "you're cheering for the wrong team".
Oops.
There were some Phillie fans in the row in front of us, and they got a nice chuckle from it. The dozens of Pirate fans surrounding us, however, weren't so amused.
All in all, it was a good game, though. The Pirates actually managed to win, pulling off a homerun and two especially thrilling, acrobatic double plays, none of which, I made very sure, I missed.