A night at the K

I chose the second picture in an effort to reach some of my sports-obsessed boys, and sure enough - there were happy exclamations and looks of relief on many faces in my 5th hour, which I regularly compare to a frat house. (19 boys and 6 girls, right before lunch. There is a lot of discussion centered on food, action movies, and Call of Duty. Heaven help me.) There was also a lot of eye rolling from those who initially saw no way to relate to the picture, but I encouraged them to think about what else could be going on in the stadium or to write about how they DON'T like sports. I thought that I, too, might struggle with this one since I don't particularly care for baseball, until I remembered...

Last summer, I moved. Goodbye craphole student ghetto apartment, hello palace on the west side. (I'm very happy to report that I signed an extension on my lease last weekend, so the palace and I will have another year together and I'm guaranteed another TWO summers in Lawrence!) Obviously, I was going to need some help moving, so my dad drove down to assist with the heavy lifting. It's a long drive, so he stayed for several days and there was the obvious obligation to spend some of that time with the grandparents as well. So Grandma hooked us all up with cheap Price Chopper tickets to see the Royals because Grandpa wanted to show off the new renovations at the K (as if he had done them himself or something...).

It was mid-July, and I had only been dating A. for a little over a month at this point. But being the patient, open-minded good sport he is, he was completely willing to come along for the crazy ride that is an evening with my relatives. So Grandma Price Choppered an extra ticket, and we all had a great night watching the Royals do their thing (lose). It was buck night AND fireworks night, and the peoplewatching was truly excellent. It's a special memory for me because it was one of the first (of many) times that A. and I discovered our ability to make ANYTHING fun when we're in it together (ask me about our UFC fights experience sometime). So, I'm happy to remember a bit of that evening in a poem.

Anticipation

Players perch on the edge of their collective seat,
expectantly eyeing the pitcher
whose back is turned to the runner
sneaking onto third.
High above, where noses are meant to bleed,
we lean back and laugh at our surroundings
as my hand sneaks into yours,
hidden from less sharp yet equally expectant eyes.

April 2nd, 2011