Everywhere we go...

The Wizards season tickets have turned out to be the best investment in our mental health since the whole downsizing thing started a year ago. A night out in the profanity-soaked Cauldron section, blowing off steam. A guaranteed seat to top-level football playing. (Uh...well maybe that will come after the team adjusts to their new manager.)
Last night was a great example. Cauldron ticket holders were invited to see a Royals game for the low-low price of $5 a ticket and bring a little of our spirit to America's Pastime.
Mike and I were all over this the minute it came out. School night? Who cares. You don't often get a chance to see a professional baseball game that cheap--never mind how the Royals have been playing lately.
It wasn't until later that I began to think it through. The Cauldron section at the Wizards games is, well, pretty active. It's 45 straight minutes on your feet, screaming, singing and spouting the aforementioned abuse at opposing players. Then a short half-time break to sit down, then up again for 45 more minutes, plus stoppage. It's loud and accompanied by snare and bass drums.
How would that energy translate to the mellower confines of a baseball stadium?
For one thing, a baseball game is so much longer than a football match. We'd all lose our voices if we kept if that level of energy up for several hours.
And then there's the matter of neighboring baseball fans, who would surely be annoyed by the constant screaming.
Would we use some of the standard songs? Well, let's see...
"He fell down like a.." No, that one doesn't work.
"Who ate all the pies?" Well, there are probably plenty of candidates for targets in the average baseball lineup, but again, the neighboring fans might object.
"A rope, a tree, we'll hang the--umpire?" No.
"If I had the wings of a sparrow..." uh-uh.
(for other chants, click here)
In the end, it all worked out. We stayed in our seats, cheered at select times and stuck to lighter fare. ("Let's go Roy-als" eg.) Other "normal" Royals fans were far enough away--either by accident or by design--that there was no drama.
As for abusing the Indians, we had to content ourselves with heckling Indians right fielder Jamey Carroll, because he was the only one ever close enough to hear.
And I guess it worked, because the Royals won and pitcher Zack Greinke beat a team record for strikeouts (which we had to miss, because of our daughter's bizarre insistence at getting home early enough to get enough sleep for school. Sigh.)
So maybe the Cauldron was a good luck charm. Guess they'll just have to invite us back.

If I had the eyes of a sparrow

Practically the first bit of advice about optimism on everyone's list seems to be "find something to be grateful for."
So all right. I thank God, thank God this week is finally over.
While others we know were out on ski trips and cruises for spring break, we greeted each dawn with one new (lard) sandwich after another.
There was one glowing bright spot at week's end, though. Saturday night was the season opener for the Kansas City Wizards.
We've been going to Wizards games for a few years, now. But never with full season tickets. We committed to them last year, saved up and, as luck would have it, finished paying them off just a couple of weeks ago. And no matter what happens, those tickets will be the last things to be pried from our clenched fingers.
So we went last night and it was good--so good--to be back.
To be a Wizards fan right now is to suffer some hardship. We're still watching from a baseball stadium (Community America, where the T Bones play). We don't have the posh digs of the Chiefs fans or the Royals, to be sure. And we had a not-so-great season last year.
But being in a stadium full of people (and it was pretty full last night) who are, just by being there, optimists, was priceless, uplifting. We were all together in one place, unapologetically watching the best game in the world.
Before I get too weepy here, though, I have to admit that part of the appeal is the chance to scream swear words at the top of your lungs. Our "seats" are in the benched section called the Cauldron, many of whose members had been in the parking lot since, oh, 11:30 a.m or so.. (Wizards. Cauldron. Get it?) The kickoff was at 7:30 p.m.
So the Cauldron began in full voice. I always smile, a little, when I hear about the scandal caused by chants at other area games. Should the "chop" be allowed? And what about the KU students and "rip their....heads off?" Oh, Agatha, roll up the good doilies!
Cauldron cheers start with group swearing and individual (the guy behind us with the mini megaphone did some expert vamping). They then progress to profane singing. Bringing your kids to the Cauldron (and I wouldn't recommend it until they're at least 12) means having a talk about "stadium language" vs. "everyday language."
My people, in other words.
When we left, my throat was raw from screaming--along with all my cohorts--vile language at a common enemy. Alas, the Wizards did not win (it was Wizards 2, Toronto 3). But there's always going to be a next time. Maybe that's the lesson.

I'll close with this video of Vera Meyer on glass harmonica, which has nothing to do with anything.