Beware of Giant Orioles

We took Kenny to another Orioles game today… against the Yankees, no less.   (This little guy is starting off his second year of life well!)   I have to admit that my biggest concern going into the ballpark today was that he might hear a few new words… words that I am in no way ready for his tender ears to hear.   But all of the  Yankee fans  around us were perfectly civil about the fact they were kicking Oriole heiney (the score was 1-7 when we left at the seventh inning stretch).

As I’ve written before, Kenny  loves the major league baseball experience, and today was no exception.   There were two minor issues we had to get past first, though:

1. The sun was very strong and very warm.   (Casey and I realized that we had only previously been to evening and night games and our seats,which are on the field just past third base,  are not exactly in the shade at 1:30  in the afternoon.   I ended up walking Kenny up into the shade a couple of times to cool him off.)   and,

2. The Giant Oriole Bird is scary.

There we were, in our seats on the aisle, Kenny in full Oriole  outfit with matching  hat, when the incredibly energetic and incredibly HUGE Oriole mascot appears right next to me, nearly on top of us, to lead our section in a cheering contest.   I was so excited at the potential photo-op that I jumped up with Kenny in my arms and started cheering right along with the big Bird.   I held Kenny up, sure that he would share in the enthusiasm, when all of the sudden I caught the look of utter terror on his face.   I quickly sat down and looked squarely at him and watched his little face crumple.   In that instant,  he buried his face in my armpit and howled.  

The last time he cried like that, we were in a pub in Maui watching Pittsburg vs. Colts playoff game,  and the crowd roared in disbelief at the Jerome Bettis fumble and ensuing mayhem.   Four-month-old Kenny was shocked out of his booties at the sound of Mommy and Daddy joining in the cry of “Oh no!” and shreiked like a banshee.   It took almost twenty minutes to calm him down, and we  decided  that maybe  he wasn’t quite ready for the sports bar experience.

Now he’s absolutely loved the cheering crowd at the games we’ve been to so far this year.   Kenny actually looks like he follows the game, and seems to enjoy rooting the home team on.   So this had nothing to do with noise; this was all about the fact  that this giant furry beast in his personal space  bore no resemblence to the sweet chirping birds he delights in  in the backyard.     This was all about a bird with a head the size of our kitchen table, wings flapping on top of his head and a tail that could easily take out Dudley with one fell swoop.  

The poor little guy took half an inning to venture his gaze past my shoulder.   All the fear was forgotten soon enough, though.   One extra-large soft pretzel later, along with some shady clouds to break the heat, and our future left-handed pitcher was happy as a lark once again.   He bounced in Casey’s arms, smiled and clapped, laughed and wiggled his little body to the beat of the music.  

He snuggled with me, played peek-a-boo with our hats, and drank enough water to fill a small camel.   By the time we got back into the car, he was exhausted and content.  

Thoughts of giant, gyrating birds long forgotten, and once again in love with baseball.