In the top left corner of the screen are a guy in a red shirt and a guy in a navy blue shirt. That’s my friend James and I, in the first row of the outfield in the first of the three miserable 100+ degree heat games, where the Braves dropped two of three to the Nationals, but hey at least I got to see one win. I have to reiterate that I’ve never felt this kind of hot weather in my entire life; 101-102 maybe, but nothing that so effortlessly climbed well into the 110+ range ever in my entire life.
Saturday’s game’s first pitch temperature was recorded at 111 degrees, but being a 4:05 p.m. game, the shade actually came sooner rather than later, and protected us somewhat. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case today, being a 1:35 p.m. game; although the temperature was “down” to just 108 degrees at first pitch, there was no shade to be found anywhere. Today was the first time in my life I’ve ever felt affected by the heat, in a legitimate detrimental fashion. I found myself feeling lightheaded whenever we took a piss break, once a brief momentary bought of nausea, and there was a point where I stopped sweating because I apparently didn’t have anything left to sweat. Thankfully the park had courtesy water stations, and I drank the equivalent of about six 20 oz. bottles throughout the game. Kind of scary, to be perfectly honest.
Although I know this won’t hold true, but I don’t think I can complain about another 92 degree day again.
And here’s a picture of James celebrating a Ryan Zimmerman home run with his beer fist, which was apparently the cock of the walk all weekend long, being praised and complimented by home fans, away fans, Nationals players, and even warranting ownage on the jumbotron:
