A perfect moment I’ve been thinking about
I’ve been reading Fever Pitch. I haven’t seen the movie, and I think I’m just going to refuse to, forever. If you’ve read the book, here’s a question for you. How far into the book did you get before you thought, “this book is about me. This book is totally, totally, about me, and most of the people I know?”
(The second page.)
I have been trying to explain, to myself as well as other people, why I love sports venues so much. Smelly, crumbly hockey rinks. Decrepit ballparks. The quiet, sterile Air Canada Centre. The Bell Centre, which is beautiful and loud and home.
Very shortly after I learned the meaning of a word I never wanted to know, my friends Andrew and Sarah and I jumped into my car and drove down to Boston for the weekend. I spent the weekend in my favourite city, with some of my favourite people. Most of it didn’t really register, for obvious reasons. I wish I’d been better company at the time, but I know that wasn’t going to happen.
There are lots of perfect moments, don’t believe anyone who tells you you can’t have them all the time. Mine happen everywhere, but disproportionately so in hockey rinks.
And a ball park one time.
That weekend, Saturday evening, in the middle of a game between the Boston Red Sox and the Kansas City Royals, of all teams. Between my lovably loud friends and a group of very nice, very drunk people from Maine. I don’t know what the score was at the time. I don’t even know what the score was at the end of the game, just that it went into a million extra innings and the Royals won. I’m pretty sure people on both sides of me were talking to me. I couldn’t hear them.
For the first time in two weeks, for the very first time in two weeks, for a second, one second, the grief let up a little bit.