Ok, baseball fans, I just witnessed my first baseball game
in another country. If you’ve never had
the pleasure, add it to your bucket list.
Let me set the scene:
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| Photo Credit: Kelsey Davies |
The sun is setting,
temperatures are dropping, and everyone is heading to the local stadium for a
good game of baseball. No official parking
lot is dedicated to this stadium (except for a small dusty field that is also
used as a short-cut road during the day) and so the surrounding streets and
parks are brimming with cars, motorcycles, bikes, tricículos, and horse-drawn
carts. Vendors fill the area, loudly selling
classic Nicaraguan treats like fried plantains, grilled meats, quesillos, fruits,
and other concession foods. People are everywhere.
I am accompanied by a
Nicaraguan family (father, teenage son, 10-year old daughter) and three North
American friends. Our guide (the father)
takes us up to the nicer, more expensive seats (worth <$2) only to find the
area jammed. All the seats are gone and
behind them is a crowd of fans 4 people thick.
As if to prove to me the place is indeed full, the father shoves me
forward into the crowd and says, “See? It’s full! We should have come earlier.” My face in someone’s shoulder, I can’t help
but agree.
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| Photo Credit: Kelly Chang |
We admitted defeat and
wander over to the less desired seats that happen to be free (which should make
them more appealing in my humble opinion).
These free seats were actually a series of cement bleachers lining the
two outfield sections. So, yes, we were
a bit far from the action. But we had a
great view and could see everything, so we weren’t complaining. With the sun
setting, the approaching night brought some relief from the heat of the
day. Unfortunately, our cements seats
had absorbed all of that heat and were now nicely roasting our butt
cheeks. Which was not necessarily
wanted, but unavoidable.
The section we found
ourselves in was filled with the people who were either 1) too cheap to pay for
a seat, 2) too poor to pay for a seat or 3) late. We fell into the last category. Thankfully, we weren’t as late as some others—by
the second half of the first inning, there was standing room only. By the second inning, there wasn’t even room
for that. No walkways or pass-throughs
were left vacant (imagine a butt to boob kind of crowd). But we had spots to sit, so we were
fine. We also happened to be next to a boisterous
group of half-drunk men who were harmless but loud. They also had the connections should you wish
to enjoy a cold adult beverage (not officially allowed in the stadium). Now, these men were a bit foul-mouthed but
otherwise good fun. Case in point: at
one point, one of the guys (let’s call him Baldy for obvious reasons) decided
to balance an almost full bottle of cheap booze on his head and proceed to
dance a version of the salsa.
Impressively, the bottle never fell.
I still don’t know how he managed it.
If the cement seat was
getting to you (a.k.a. unappreciatively turning your buns numb), you could
always stand up and cheer your team on.
This had the added bonus of airing out your bum from the excess
heat. If standing’s not your style,
there’s a solution for that too: just bring a couple pieces of cardboard or an
empty 2-liter pop bottle to perch yourself on.
Works like a charm.
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| Photo Credit: Kelly Chang |
Throughout the game,
vendors would walk the crowds selling all sorts of goodies. Women selling freshly sliced watermelon,
mango, oranges and all other varieties of fruits. Men selling cigarettes one by one (because
who can afford a pack these days?). And
if you couldn’t afford to buy one for yourself, your buddy might be nice enough
to let you share his. Or the very least,
take a nap on your shoulder.
Literally
every guy around me was smoking at one point in time or other, so you need to imagine
a haze hovering above everyone. Still
other vendors were selling loaded hotdogs and hamburgers and slices of pizza
(how convenient! I had forgotten to eat
dinner!). And let’s not forget the guy
selling noisemakers. These noisemakers
(also worth <$2) were shaped like plastics horns and conveniently came in a
variety of colors. They also
miraculously emitted a sound akin to that of an angry bus driver (the horn from
the bus, not the man). At every
appropriate moment, one was encouraged to blast your noisemaker as loud as conceivably
possible. If you were good, you could
also toot it in such a way as to create a sort of rhythm. It was exciting. And deafening. You were to blow this horn for: every good
pitch, every ball we got, every base earned, every good catch, every good hit, and
for intimidation. Mind you this list is
neither exclusive nor exhaustive. I also
blew it when I was bored.
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| Photo Credit: Kelly Chang |
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| Photo Credit: Kelly Chang |
Now, as for the game,
this one was a biggie. We are in the
semi-finals now, so it’s all flames and glory from here on out. Leon (my home team) was up against some team
from Managua (the baddies). Though there
were a few busloads of Managua-nites shipped in to root their team on, there
was no way they could drown out the deafening din coming from the Leon
fans. Cheers and songs and chants
(complete with hand gestures) never ended, making this game seem like a really intense
musical of a sports movie. Unfortunately,
there was no announcer on a loud speaker to announce the plays of the
game. In fact, I’m not even sure if they
had loud speakers (they did have REALLY bright lights though to shine on the
field #goodlifechoice). And the
scoreboard was conveniently blocked from our line of vision by a band of
trees. So, we were often left out of the
loop as to what the heck was going on.
But have no fear! There were
plenty of fans around that were actually paying attention and were more than
willing to share what was going on. If
you didn’t believe in their quasi-professional opinions, scattered about were
guys with headphones on listening to the game through the radio on their
phones. They were probably a more
reliable source of information… and they were always happy to help.
At one point, an
unfortunate victim of “wrong place-wrong time” found itself on the greens of
the outfield: a small black cat.
Confused by the din and the laughter, the cat scurried about searching for
an escape. Finally it made its way to
the back chain-link fence and, smelling freedom, ran right into the fence
thinking it to be a hole. Oops. Dazed for a moment, it realized it was
blessed with the gift of claws and balance and proceed to scale the fence,
jumping down to the other side a free cat.
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| Photo Credit: Kelly Chang |
It was quite the night. Needless to say, we whooped their butts. Like a million to 4. Take that, Managua.
Stay tuned!
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