I hate baseball with a passion, yet for some reason, I was intrigued by the fact that an American sport is played in Nicaragua with such enthusiasm. Brought by the marines from their presence in the early twentieth century, I felt like I should check out a game of the worst sport in the entire world.
Nicaragua is littered with baseball teams that usually represent a city. The teams are not always regular…as their season of play is determined by whether or not that have enough money at the start of the year. At breakfast, I inquired about when the next game was and found out that one was going to be played that afternoon. What the hell, might as well go waste an afternoon, right?
I arrived at the stadium with a friend, Amy, and honestly, was thoroughly impressed. It looked like a minor league stadium back in the states and the even the grass was well taken care of. But, my mind was set on a bigger goal…whether or not they would have food and beer. They did, and the food was amazing. Adapted to the culture, I found myself eating vigoron, which is yucca plant topped with seasoned pork. The local beer was less than a dollar a can, so I couldn’t have been happier.
My dad tried getting me into baseball growing up, but when I was probably four years old, I had a horrific experience. We were playing catch in the yard and he decided to be all fancy and throw me a fly ball. Instead of catching it with my glove, it me right on the head, and since then, I have never touched one of those “devil” balls. I go to baseball games occasionally back in the states, but instead of paying attention, I’m usually more concerned with whether or not it’s dollar hot dog night.
To me, baseball in Nicaragua is just as boring as it is in the states. The players take the field while attempting to show off their athletic skills in a sport that intelligent people could care less about. Usually, the pitcher throws a strike, and then the catch returns the ball. The pitcher then calls a time out in order to work on the strategy with his catcher.
“So, game is going pretty good, huh?” says the pitcher.
“Ya man, you are throwing really good. Hey, how does my ass look in these tight white pants?”
“O man, I think it looks great, seriously. You must have been working out. Hey, where should we go for dinner afterwards?”
“Don’t care, I just need a cold beer.”
“Right on. Don’t you love how the entire crowd is watching us right now, checking out our asses?”
“Ya man, I love it. Alright, let’s finish this game so we can go try to hit on girls afterwards.”
And so forth. I was bored by the second strike in the first inning, but I behaved and pretended I actually cared about the game. About halfway through, I saw a tree outside the stadium hosting about twenty locals watching the game. When I pointed this out to Amy, she instantly suggested we climb it and watch the game the local way.
“You know Amy, I kind of like my seat, and I like the cold beer I’m drinking.”
“O come on you little baby. What are you, chicken?”
“No I’m not, but I can go for some chicken right now.”
“Come on Eric.”
“I never cave into peer pressure!”
“But everyone is doing it!”
“Fine, I’ll go…but only because everyone is doing it.”
As we left the stadium and walked towards the tree we were going to attempt to climb, I realized how stupid this idea is. But hey, it’s forcing me to get into the culture, so I was kind of excited. Thanks goes out to Amy for being a little brat and making me get off of my fat ass.
I failed my tree climbing class as a child. Instead of climbing trees, I was to busy trying to create some type of magic show that scammed my sister out of a dollar. Numerous locals on the ground laughed hystrically while I tried to drag my sorry ass up this ridiculous tree. I eventually made it, and I couldn’t believe how receptive the locals were. Immediatly upon joining them, they offered me one of the best views of the game. I declined politely, most in part because I was quite content on the sturdy branch I was attempting to stand on. Starring down forty feet, I was drenched in sweat, mostly from fear of slipping, but still enjoyed the moment. After about fifteen minutes, I decided I liked sturdy ground just a bit more. I carefully made my way down, and upon entering the stadium again, I awarded my viligant efforts with a cold beer.
I was enjoying, well, pretending to enjoy this horrendous sport when some kid came up and sat next to me. Remember, I hate kids. I repeatably told him I had no money, but after a few minutes, he was still there. I finally broke and gave him some money, which was less than a quarter, hoping he would go away. He did, and I thought I was home free. Then, five minutes later another kid came. I couldn’t believe it. That little prick told his little prick friend that I gave him money! I just ignored him, but after awhile, he grew on me. He sat next to me for like twenty minutes (which is the longest I have ever put up with a kid) until he finally left.
Suprisingly, I was having fun, but it just stared to seem like the game was dragging on longer than usual. At this time, I looked up at the score board. I suddenly got extremely depressed, because I just realized I was at a double header.
O hell no… I can’t put up with any more damn sport. It´s been real… but I’m outta here.