Saturday, September 14, 2013

I was very glad that the work-day got ahead of schedule and we only worked into the early afternoon. It meant our evening got freed up and we got to go to a baseball game. I have no interest in baseball day to day, or in actually following a team throughout their insanely long season of a couple hundred games. When visiting out neighbours to the South though, when time permits and there is a Major League Baseball team nearby, going to a game is a fun way to spend a few hours. I've now done this in Florida, San Diego, Boston, and Atlanta.

Sure it's a statistic heavy, overly long, easy to be distracted from game. What it does have over the faster paced sports is that their surrounding stadiums are temples to the love of the game. Even modern fields like Atlanta's have a purposeful old-timey charm to them. Much like stepping in to a classic rep theatre like the Mayfair, it can really help you in getting lost in the moment. I can't say that I like baseball all that much, but I do enjoy checking in and watching a game in person every so often. I couldn't tell you the name of a single Atlanta player, unless I happened to be holding onto the souvenir plastic cup that has the picture of a player on it.

A midst the joy of unlimited popcorn and baseball headed mascots, there is the looming unfortunate name of the franchise. When 40,000 people are chanting and doing the 'tomahawk chop', I can't help but want to point out to them all that this might not be an acceptable thing to do. On a sliding scale of racism in sports, Atlanta Braves might not be as bad as the Cleveland Indians or the Washington Redskins, but I still found their tradition uncomfortable and cringe-worthy.

Atlanta won. I already forget the score. I will never forget the giant tomahawk-chopping cow.

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