HOT DOGS or California cuisine?

A friend called me on Monday and said, "Meet me at the ferry on Wednesday. We're going to a Giant's game." Okie dokie. I haven't been to a baseball game in over 30 years and I know nothing about anything about the game. I do know I can yell "Batter! Batter! Batter!" which is what a friend in Colorado recommended. I recall yelling "Kill the ump!'" at the last game I was at, but imagine now that little ditty might get me put on a Homeland Security list. Instead of taking along a verbal repertoire, or notes written on my arm of witty baseball sayings or stats, I'll just sit there and smile and enjoy the sun (must remember to pack aspirin), the crowd (must remember to pack Purel), the noise (must remember to pack earplugs), and try to decide do I eat traditional ballpark food, including the dreaded bright yellow ballpark mustard (please tell me they have Dijon), or try something leaning towards California cuisine. Okay, I'm hoping they have some sort of vegetables other than fries. Being which city this is there is bound to be some sort of rice and vegetable dish. I told you I know nothing about baseball. I'm already thinking about the food.

I do like the idea of baseball, just not the enormity of what it's become. When there was a farm team located in my county I used to think it would be a lot of fun to go out for a summer evening in a small park and watch the boys of summer play while I relaxed. But then I have images of the films Bull Durham and Field of Dreams dancing in my head when I think of baseball. Simpler times.

I present to you some boys of summer from the early part of the last century. I have no information about them. They were playing the sport because they loved it, not because they'd get enough cash to buy a hideous monstrous house, drugs, jewelry, and fast cars. These guys were probably lucky if they knew someone who had a car that ran. And that's perfect. I'll be searching for that innocence tomorrow, but doubt I'll find it unless I see it in the eyes of a child. 

Click on either image to see it larger.

And to just get me in the mood, I want to hear John Fogerty sing the song that could almost make me a baseball fan.