when you're in america, you gotta eat greasy grub like an american, you gotta drink soda pop like an american, you gotta laugh at americas funniest home videos even if it aint funny, like an american, and then you gotta indulge in its favourite past time, baseball while getting ice cream shmeared on your face, pretzel bits in your hair, beer on your shirt and a hot dog down your gullet.
with an eleven dollar ticket in my hand, this was me being a yank.
it was the New york yankees vs the Detroit Tigers that was printed in black on my self-download ticket.(i printed the tickets in black and white).
as i rolled off the D-train there it was. a modern day colliseum, a newly built edifice to the biggest baseballing franchise, a diamond in the rough of The Bronx, a marketing giant, a neon sign big and drawing enough energy to power up addis abbaba, hues of blues and whites, and the typical hum of a big game event. this was Yankee stadium.
as i skirted my way to the nose-bleed seats, there stood before me on the concrete walkway an oasis of light,the ark of the covenant, a fully kosher hot dog stand. i had to. i had to buy the dog, a 6 dollar dog. having gripped my dog in one hand, i pivoted to walk away. and then, like a kung fu kick to the head, i turned leprechaunous green with sausage envy. i glared noticingly at all the other hot dogs around me. all the other dogs were foot longs dripping in sauer kraut, creamy mustard and fiery red tomato sauce, all looking like 1945 ally submarines waiting to blast the living daylights outta the germans while mine, yes mine was all of a puny 6 inches. quickly i averted my glance to stare at the blond with the big breasts and i realised what i had in hand.
this dog was coloured to perfection, airbrushed to look gently brown, and smooth as a russian engineered V rocket.this dog was there to inflict excitement on my taste buds, to make an assault on my very senses that were craving this simple protein/ carbohydrate tangoing duo. my mouth dripping in excitement took hold of this rocket ship to be pulped giving my pulsing blood an all american roller coaster ride. its soft consistent texture delighted me. this synthetically engineered sausage, with squirts of sachet tomato sauce was rapturous. it filled no gaps in my hunger, added no nutritional value, but it was blisteringly awe-some.
the 4 hour beer drinking, hot dog shovelling, ice cream scooping, lets-go-out-to-the-ball-game singing frenzy lacked serious excitement. like sinisterly watching a mosquito land gently on your flesh, piercing your skin to begin draining you of your blood, while you gently hang around till the wee bastard is all juiced up, flexing your muscle to watch a surge of blood burst the little critter to smithereens, but being irritated that the lil critter beat the trap having buzzed away at the last minute denying you a sadistic experience, thats...baseball.
from the western exploits of a malnourished lad
the russian bear hunter
No comments:
Post a Comment