Baseball games have a way of putting things into perspective, while boring you to death.

On Friday I did something I never thought I would do (at least, not since I had friends of a legal drinking age turned 21).  I attended a baseball game, and was sober for its entirety.

In all honesty, I never thought I would last through an entire baseball game.  I love sports, but by "sports" I mean football, soccer, hockey, poker.... You know, games that take some serious skill. But baseball? They're scared of the rain, they keep their grass pristine, they wear pants tighter than that chick that played Peter Pan on Broadway (which is okay in football, because they're all muscle-y and actually endanger their health when playing the game), and then they think they can make up for these blights against their masculinity by kicking dust and spitting a lot.

However, the tickets were courtesy of Turner, and my family invited me, so I figured it would be nice to go spend some time with them.

Let me just say that the best part of the ENTIRE game was the end. On Friday nights, Turner Stadium does an awesome fireworks show. Seriously. It beat anything you'd see at Nascar (they have fireworks, right? I've never spent more than 3 minutes actively watching a Narcar race. Spoiler alert: They turn left) or the Stone Mountain Laser Show. My favorite fireworks are the ones that look like someone just threw firework confetti into the air. And I like the spinny, screaming ones that reminded me of Dementors (though I had to ask my little sister what those hooded, evil things from Harry Potter that shotgun out your soul are called.... She may have been a bit sketchy on my description, but she still figured it out).

The best fireworks. Because you needed to know.

So yeah, the fireworks were the redeeming factor. As I was sitting behind first base during the game, though, I couldn't help but notice how many freaking moths there were. And those bastards were having a fucking BLAST. They were swooping and dive-bombing the field, and I could almost hear their child-like, mothy laughter. I spent the remainder of the game watching the moths. At one point, I leaned over to Daddy and remarked on how much fun the moths were having, and his response was, "Just wait until the bats get here." The expression on my face was wildly similar to the one Mar would have later, when they were advertising the fireworks show on the jumbo-tron (is that what it's called?) and I told her that the whole show would be on the jumbo-tron, too, just like the advert. She made the same face, but hers quickly turned into a death-glare that may have actually killed me (in which case, death is almost exactly like life, except for the fact that you can't be killed twice by your sister's evil death glare about television fireworks at a baseball game).

As we piled into the car, Daddy told me what went down when I wandered over to sit behind first base with some friends of his that were filming the game for work. Apparently the children (who are 11, 11, and 7) were whining about when I was getting back so they could go get food. The toothless, hillbilly woman sitting behind them (who was also responsible for cackling like a freak and then yelling at her husband, "DIDJA HEAR?! DIDJA HEAR?! They made a chicken noise!! Ahahahaha! Yah, a chicken noise! They said it was because of a FOUL BALL!" halfway through the game) saw Daddy looking around for me and she decided to ask, "Sir, didja lose your wife?"

That's right. "Your wife." Dad laughed it off, and said, "Well, you either just insulted my daughter or complimented me," and the woman, in all her Southern hospitality, responded with, "Oh NO [in a whisper]. I sure didn't mean tuh insult anyone." Daddy continued to be friendly and chuckle, and the woman was mortified until another foul ball, complete with chicken sound effects, stole her happy mind away from the subject at hand.

Guys, my point is this. Fireworks are awesome. Baseball is lame. Rednecks can make anything hilarious. And the best way to get a girl to cut back on the drinking, and perhaps start getting a little more sleep, is by asking her father if he's missing his wife.

Thank god football season is here.