The Fredösphere

Fans of the Detroit baseball have a fondness for the Tigers' triple-A farm team and its loopy name: The Toledo Mud Hens. The team has a history almost as ancient as the Tigers themselves.

Sadly, until Saturday, this Tiger born 'n' bred had never attended a Mud Hens game. Der Drübermensch was begging to attend a Tigers game, but I (wisely) negotiated him down to a Mud Hens trip: cheaper, easier access, closer to the action at home plate, and having the charm of the second tier. (I have an intense allergy to the hype that usually surrounds the king of the hill.) Der Drü regards no sports team as unworthy of his attention, no matter how minor the team (or, for that matter, how obscure the sport; lacrosse, anyone?) so he agreed.

The game was a sell-out with a crowd of 10K. The park is new. The Mud Hens dominated the game until the last two innings, when their relief pitcher's wild fastballs let the opposing team make things interesting. The crowd's impatience with that pitcher amazed me; the crowds I'm used to (at classical music concerts) usually allow quite a few more mistakes before they begin yelling "get 'em outta there!" The game's impresario understands that baseball is . . . (heresy alert!) . . . dreadfully slow-moving most of the time, so entertainment was provided between innings by Frisbee-catching dogs. Der Drü loved them, having (along with the Maharincess) a limitless sentimentality toward all fur-bearing creatures. Oh, and the fireworks at the end completed the non-athletic portion of the total entertainment package in a spectacular fashion.

On the drive home, Der Drü consulted the local sports schedule and familiarized himself with the ECHL, the double-A hockey league. Toledo's team is the Walleyes. He noted a team located in Elmira, and I jokingly speculated that must be a Mexican team. When he didn't immediately reject this idea, I ran with it, weaving a web of lies about Mexico's centuries-long tradition of hockey dating back to the Aztecs, the first ancient civilization to develop refrigeration. I figured when I described mounted warriors riding ice skate-wearing horses, he'd see through it. He was deeply skeptical but couldn't quite abandon his faith in the basic honestly of his dear old dad. That'll learn 'em.

(Tomorrow, the sport gets ever more exotic.  Is jousting obscure enough for you?)

Labels: Sports