Last night I went to the Toronto Blue Jays vs. Texas Rangers game, my 30th Jays game of the summer. The stadium was very empty. Apparently, being the day after Labour Day combined with the first day of the new school year makes this day in the calendar a bad one to be hosting a ballgame. My friends Andrew, Joe and I bought cheap upstairs tickets but snuck down in to the $50-ish seats. The SkyDome has some of the most stringent stewards I’ve ever experienced at a ballpark. Most places you can usually move around easily as long as you aren’t in somebody’s paid-for seat. But there are ways and it’s not too difficult. Andrew has an extensive guide to sneaking down to the better seats on his website, Drunk Jays Fans.
Anyway, the Jays beat the Rangers. Some home runs. Blah blah blah. We went to a bar called Wide Open, a narrow dark bar, drank more beer, shots of sambuca, Joe went home. Andrew and I looked for somewhere to carry on boozing. We discussed how gross the draught beer at a place called Java House is. One can’t be sure, but it always tastes like they have dirty pipes.
We ended up at Java House. A pitcher and wings for $13. Sweet. That’s what we had. We were sat on the patio, taking shit about baseball. At an adjacent table, I overheard two guys talking about “Love, Actually.” I asked them what they thought. They thought it was great. I agreed. Behind us, another guy chimed in. He thought it was awesome, too. A bunch of dudes all agreeing that an English romantic comedy was ace. Which was as unlikely a part of the evening as was Andrew and I spending the next hour or so chatting to a Croatian woman about baseball. But not as unlikely as the fact that, drunk as hell, I ate salad instead of junk food when I got home.