Last night I took my wife to the season opener for the Angel's, who are sporting a brand new logo, look, and feel. We missed the Navy Seal sky dive team flying into home plate from thousands of feet above Angel's Stadium. We also missed seeing astronaut Buzz Aldren throwing the honorary pitch. And we missed 45,000 people chanting USA, USA, USA.
Because we were stuck in the â€œpurse, backpack, and bagsâ€ line at gate no. 3. As expected, security was a bit tighter than normal but the problem was with Edison International Field Security and there lack of planning thereby compounding the problem. I believe I heard the â€˜Fâ€™ word a record number of times as people were throwing away their bags and purses just to get into the game on before the singing of the National Anthem.
But not all was lost.
Sometime in bottom of the first inning we took our seats near the foul line near third base. Then I opened the bag of peanuts and began a baseball induced feeding frenzy because itâ€™s not polite to leave a ballpark without an ankle-high mound of peanut shells at your feet. The crunch of the shells on your way out is the American equivalent of tossing plates on the floor to indicate a meal well done.
The Angelâ€™s lost to the Cleveland Indians 5-0. Our visitors had an amazing pitcher who threw a lot of incredible shots into the catcher's mit. And our team has young kids playing their first professional season game that comes with nerves and butterflies.
But going to the ballpark is more than what's happening on the field. It's about being with friends and family, being with strangers wearing home team jerseys and caps, and eating: hotdogs, cotton candy, and peanuts.
Nine innings and three hours later we dusted off the bits of peanut shells and made our way to the car.