Wednesday night we took the Chieftain to an Astros game for Father’s Day. Although we were on the losing end, it was a blast. We sat in the Crawford Boxes and witnessed eight homers and 29 hits. Going into the game, I had planned on posting about the Wino’s glorious return to beer. A reunion between a man and his brew. After all, I drank beer almost exclusively for close to 20 years.

Let me set the record straight, I still drink beer. It’s just not right to watch a football game with a nice glass of Merlot. Some situations are sacred, and wine is not a viable option. Take fishing for example. You will not catch me drinking wine while chasing down reds in the bay. Now I will sit down at the table and have some Pinot Grigio with the fish I caught for dinner, but that’s different.

So I had a few beers Wednesday, and they were good. My only complaint about the beer would be that I had to pee and missed the catcher and coach for the Astros getting tossed from the game. We drank suds and munched on $1 hot dogs. They even had Blue Moon for Fiona. It was exactly as I imagined. The game could have gone either way until the 7th inning. The only thing I would have changed was the final score.

But there was one element to the experience that was impossible to ignore. Beer drinkers are loud and obnoxious. This is NOT a complaint, I’m just stating the facts. Remember, just a few short years ago, this was me. There was this one guy that was out of control. He was having the time of his life. I say good for him. He livened up section 103, especially when he bought 20 hot dogs and handed them out to everyone around him. He led us in chants and supported the ‘Stros until he could barely speak. Fiona dubbed him Hotdog Horatio, because she thought he looked like Horatio Sanz from SNL.

My point is, I enjoyed Horatio, but I don’t want to be him. At least not anymore. For Pete’s sake, I’m almost 40 years old. In the old days, I could see myself arm in arm, singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” with this guy. Shotgunning beers while insulting the other team’s left fielder. I would like to think that I’ve aged gracefully; and believe me, I’m not very graceful after a dozen beers. That doesn’t mean I won’t tear it up from time to time, I just try not to do it in such a public place.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 13th, 2008 at 4:13 pm and is filed under Escapades. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.