A chronology of events:
7:16 - The Rockies score three runs before we even reach the seats.
7:26 - Because I'm yuppie scum, I buy a panini instead of a hot dog. The panini uses prosciutto from the famed salt pig of Tuscany, and it's covered with a mixture of salt, salt mustard, and salt cheese. They serve it on breaded salt bread. Ten minutes into the night, I'm down $5,230, even though the tickets were free, and I'm eating a horrific sandwich. And you know the hot dogs were probably just fine.
7:49 - The Rockies score four runs
8:59 - The Rockies score six runs
8:59 - We get the hell out of there. It's the fifth inning, and the escalators haven't been switched to "descend" yet, so we have to take that MC Escher-designed ramp that declines at a .001% grade for six miles. The whole time I'm walking to the car, I'm muttering, hey, screw that game.
There was a time when I would never leave a game early. My reasoning: "Hey, one of these days, man, a team is going to come back from an eleven-run deficit, man, and the few people who stick around will be heralded as the purest fans ever." That was the late '90s. I made a lot of mistakes in the late '90s. Dropping out of college, Pets.com stock, Dave Matthews...it was rough sledding. Before last night, I don't think I'd ever left a game before the eighth inning. I used to pride myself on waiting for that once-in-a-generation, six-run comeback in the bottom of the ninth.
But it felt good to leave in the fifth inning yesterday. I didn't intend for the early departure to be some sort of personal statement, but it was. Oh, my, how it was. It wasn't a personal statement on the poor team this year, or even the poor pitching in this one particular game. It was a metaphorical middle finger to the organization for going 1-10 in games I attended this year. To this point, the Giants are 35 - 42 at home. That means they're 34-32 without me there. When I left the game, the Giants outscored the Rockies three to one.
I've paid hundreds of dollars of dollars for parking and train tickets, hundreds of dollars for lukewarm dinners, and hundreds of dollars for tickets this season, and my reward was one good game. So, yeah, I left in the fifth inning. And if I had to do it over, I would have done a little goat dance on the tickets before I burned them. I don't want this to be a "woe is me" post, so I'll just finish by writing this: Woe is me. You'd think I'd done something to deserve this kind of crappy karma, like spend hundreds of hours writing cynical and nasty things about the franchise and front office, but that's just not the case.
Comment starter: What is your personal trigger for leaving a game early? Five runs in the eighth? Six runs in the sixth? Do tell....