TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME

But first we eat!

 

Dad was a big Mets fan, always getting free tickets for Shea Stadium, usually about 4 to 6 a game. He would take me and whoever else was interested, as long as someone else would drive. One day he came home and invited Mom, who although was a Mets fan, never watched the games. Mom was suddenly excited: she was going to a baseball game. All week long before the Saturday game, she kept saying how good those ballpark franks tasted and how much she wanted one. If you went by Mom, she would blurt out, “Oh those ballpark franks, so good.

Saturday came along, and along with me was Dad, Mom, my brother-in-law and my sister, as we piled into the car, Mom was missing.

“Dad, where’s Mom?” I asked.

“She’s in the kitchen wrapping some something to eat for the game.” He said.

Suddenly, out comes Mom, a brown paper shopping bag, filled with heroes of sausage and peppers, meatballs and sausage, and veal and chicken parmesan.

“Ma! What are you doing?”

“What?”

What is all that stuff?”

“Eh! We gotta eat!”

“But Ma, what about the hotdogs at the ballpark?”

“YOU’RE NOT GETTING ME TO PAY FOR A HOTDOG FROM THOSE CROOKS, I CAN FEED US CHEAPER THAN THAT HOTDOG COST!” Besides, all that salt!

Well, we went to the game, and I remember the awe on people’s faces as Mom unwrapped the aluminum foil and distributing the food, the surrounding fans marveling at the feast.