Take Me Out, Part III

Oh yes, the game itself. The Nationals worked a no-hitter through several innings. Granted, it was their batters doing the no-hitting, but you take your no-hitters where you can get them. The Nats ended with a grand total of three hits. As a seatmate of mine complained, "I could have gone out their and gotten at least one hit!" Too true. The Nats probably would have added him to their roster, no questions asked.

There were no home runs. This is not a capital crime in a ballgame. Baseball is, after all, as much about speed as about power. But this game was played without speed OR power. Perhaps it was the heat, but the players seemed to hustle with all the enthusiasm of a third-grade nerd playing kickball in PE class. I should know. I used to be that kind of nerd.

Still, the game had its high points. The highest of those was the Presidents' Race, in which four people dressed as presidents Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, and Teddy Roosevelt--complete with hydrocephalic foam heads--race around the bases. Teddy was going strong, but he stumbled in the home stretch and lost to Lincoln. Afterward, I checked Wikipedia and found that Teddy has yet to win a race. The article was written with the loving detail that we have come to expect when Wikipedia approaches arcane trivia.

My dream is that one day the Nationals will host a Mediocre Presidents' Race. Who wouldn't want to see Millard Fillmore square off with Rutherford Hayes, Chester A. Arthur, and Gerald Ford? The comedy potential is limitless.

Another plus was the "Who's That Nat?" competition. The Jumbotron put up baby pictures of a Nats player and we had to guess who it was. That might not sound like a high point. I guess it really wasn't. The humor, though, was when I realized that "Who's That Nat?" could easily be renamed "Who Dat Nat?" This thought kept me giggling through the sixth inning.

At some point the Nationals manager was ejected. Don't know why, though. Perhaps the referee was simply appalled that anyone could be so dimwitted as to choose a career as manager for the Nationals.

We left somewhere in the eighth inning. Normally, I hate it when people leave sporting events early. In this case our crime was especially bad. It was 1-0! Anything could have happened in the last inning! We wagered that it wouldn't. And that's one bet that turned out OK.