On Tuesday night, Andrew and I went to a tennis match to watch our local team, the Sacramento Capitals play. I’m not a huge tennis fan, but I got Andrew tickets for his birthday because he loves tennis. Despite it being 103 degrees, we trekked out to the courts. We were also total rule breakers and sneaked Subway sandwiches in—a major no-no, as they were totally checking bags. Good thing I brought my big purse and smiled sweetly. The match itself was good, despite the Caps getting spanked hard by the St. Louis Explorers. The Bryan Brothers–tennis legends–played and since they are some of Andrew’s favorite players, it was fun to see him get so excited.
A few observations after watching tennis for three hours with a huge crowd:
—Watching people’s heads go back and forth as they follow the ball is fine entertainment if you’re not quite sure what’s happening on the court.
—What on earth is the problem with people in bleachers?! We arrived a bit early, and settled in to our spots. A few minutes later, a couple tried to sidle in next to me. And by next to me, I mean on my lap. WHAT THE HECK?! I don’t want anyone sitting on my lap, particularly in 100+ degree weather. And I certainly don’t want a cougar who doused herself in some nasty perfume before coming sitting on top of me, while flipping her flip flop and flirting with her gentleman caller. NO THANKS.
—Also, bleacher sitters, if you bring those cushions, here’s a tip: sit them on the front edge of the bleacher. You leaning back against my legs makes the whole situation my personal hell. I don’t really like it, or you, and I don’t have a cushion which already makes me bitter. It’s sort of like being on an airplane—sure, your seat CAN recline, but I hate your guts if you take advantage of that feature.
—This particular stadium played 10-second snippets of songs every time they had even the smallest of breaks. Sounds nice, right? It is, until the middle aged women start dancing. The one on the row above me took every single opportunity to shake what her (freaking old) mama gave her. My personal favorite was when Black Eyed Peas “Boom Boom Pow!” would come on and she’d do her own sort of explosion for each “boom.” I enjoyed it very much. I think she knew that I was enjoying it since I stared. Probably a bit obviously. Oh well. Anyways, she wasn’t the only one—it seems to me that if you’re in your late 30’s, music is a personal invitation to shake it.
—The couple in front of me was very sweet. Kind of icky sweet, though. The man was rather furry—like back, neck, ear hair crawling up his back. His wife was very sweet, and it was clear that they loved one another. Perhaps a little too much. You see, halfway through the match, their hand-holding progressed until she’d removed her shoes, placed her feet on his lap and he was stroking from thigh to toe. It was awkward to say the least. Why, oh why do people feel as if that’s appropriate behavior for a public event?! I am all for some PDA, and Andrew and I are quite affectionate, but…wow. It was a bit extreme.
—The father-daughter behind us were very sweet. For the first few sets. The daughter asked cute questions, talked tennis and clearly adored her dad. Then the clock struck nine, and I was treated to whines about needing to use the bathroom, not understanding why the Capitals were losing, needing more ice cream or french fries, REALLY NEEDING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM, having a tummy ache, not knowing why the her friend didn’t want to come over, and on and on and on. Lesson to parents: if your kid is tired of tennis after an hour and a half—and I don’t blame her!—take her home. Poor kid was basically in tears before dad finally got the message and carted her home.
Anyways, despite the above observations/complaints, it really was fun. I’d definitely go back, armed with a cushion and far away from the couple and whiny kid.