It’s 3:45 PM; time to hit the road for Baltimore. Dad, my two brothers, and I pile into the trusty Toyota Tundra decked-out in black and orange. Game Day always excites me no matter how many games I’ve gone to. Everything about it is an adventure: the three-hour drive, stopping at Denny’s, finding a place to park in the concrete jungle of Baltimore, walking across the bridge to the stadium, and the game itself, of course.
The Yankees are in town, so it isn’t unusual to catch a nasty look or two from a few of their (likely bandwagon) fans, but it’s okay because we pitch a few back ourselves. We rightfully take our seats in left field, the best seats in the house, and that’s mostly because it’s where all the drunkards sit and it's the perfect place to catch a homer or spy on players warming up in the bullpen.
Waiting for the game to begin, I always find myself staring out onto the field. Although I know I’ll probably never step foot on it without being tazed and prosecuted, I can’t help but imagine the feeling of the lush green grass beneath my bare feet, tickling my toes.
It’s 7:43 PM; the park’s announcer asks us to please stand and remove our ball caps for the National Anthem. I look to my left and stand so I can see past my fellow fans to that wonderful Red, White, and Blue. With my dad—a retired Air Force Master Sergeant—by my side, I couldn’t be any more proud to be an American enjoying our favorite pastime.
As the woman singing begins the lyric “O’ say does that star spangle,” we all yell “O!” for our Orioles. The tradition always warms my heart and puts a smile on my face. Even when I watch Ravens games, I listen for that famous “O.” The Banner comes to a close and we cheer and holler as the announcer commands, “play ball!”
