Groooovy, baby

Wednesday night, City Island. Promotions, promotions, promotions. Cheap gets cheaper night. Notre Dame night. 70's night. If you couldn't find a reason to come to a baseball game Wednesday night, then there's just no pleasing you. I headed down to the Island Wednesday evening, still a little bleary-eyed form the late night before. Since it was 70's night, I decided to bring a little 70's of my own to the ballpark, and drove my '73 Volkswagen Beetle. The plan there was to, at some point, possibly take it out onto the warning track and throw t-shirts or softee balls to the crowd from it. When I arrived, a decent crowd was staring to file in, including a return appearance of the Middletown H.S. Band. They were scheduled to perform the National Anthem earlier in the season at a game that was, imagine this, rained out. Also in attendance tonight was my youngest sister Michelle and her 2 children Ryan and Haley. They had stopped in Harrisburg for the evening, on their way to our hometown of South Fork, for the yearly family reunion. When I got to the field, the guys were already underway. We got things done in our usual efficient, speedy manner. In attendance this evening, Frank, Doug, Jordan, Knute and myself. I noticed several of the staff had very authentic 70's attire on for the evening. I wish I had saved some of the clothes I wore in high school in the 70's. I would have been cool. The conversation in the cubby was about the clothes we wore back then, laughing about the double-knit leisure suits, platform shoes, lapels that could put an eye out, and ties as wide as the Susquehanna river. Good stuff. The game itself started off with the guys in a hole, trying to dog out. They never really did, dropping a 4-2 decision, wasting several good opportunities. The game actually had potential to finish in under 3 hours, defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory. I did make it out at a semi-decent hour, with no skunk visits or tarp pulls for a change. Thursday is the last game of the home stand, with all hands called in. Something special is going on tomorrow night. I don't know if some kind of announcement will be made (Eastern League Grounds Crew of the Year, maybe?) or what. Or maybe it has something to do with the little box Tim and Knute were burying in the infield as we were leaving. Tomorrow's promotion is the Diamond Dig. That'll be a hundred or so jewelry-crazed women destroying our infield. Oh well, I guess we'll see what tomorrow brings. Until then, later..