Juego Seis Del Serie Profesional (Nicaragua)

Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!!

There goes my right ear drum. It's from a whistle, one of those you go hiking with and blast on three times if you're lost in the wilderness. Except I'm in a baseball stadium in Masaya, Nicaragua, a town of about 70,000 a half-hour from Managua. And the guy keeps on blowing. For nine innings. You know how in America, when you're at a ballgame and the home team scores, everybody cheers and the stadium shakes? Well, imagine that noise level the entire game, without any break. Oh, and the home team never scored.

But what a game. Sal and I show up minutes before game time, bounce from scalper to scalper in utter confusion, and somehow end up with 100 Cordoba (about 5 bucks) seats just up the 1st base line from home plate, for only 80 C. Of course, there are no seats, so we stand behind the back row, but at least we're taller than everyone else. God Bless bovine growth hormones. The guys standing in front of us pass the Ron Plata, which goes down absurdly easy, and we have us a ballgame. The top of the 2nd, a batter gets hit, the benches empty, Masaya's manager comes charging out of the dugout, belly-first, and proceeds to scream at every single umpire on the field. After a few beers, I look for a bathroom, and realize its the wall right behind me. One fan manages to climb on top of the overhang for a better view. The guy in front of me starts in on why he loves us so much as he staggers side to side, soon to be hauled off by the cops. By the 7th inning, our Nica compadres have all dropped out, the Boers of Managua are trouncing our beloved Fieres, but the noise hasn't dropped a notch. The game ends, we walk past the riot police surrounding the stadium (got to keep the Boer fans separated from the good folk of Masaya), and wander through town looking for food. And that's the last thing I remember.

3:30 AM

Sal's alarm goes off. I pop up, briefly wonder where am I and why I'm awake, and start packing. I have a 4AM bus to catch to the airport, and I'm flying back to the States. I hustle out to the curb and wait for the bus. While waiting, I make a contribution to the foul-smelling gutter fluids with some choice bile of my own. I recall that the only thing worse than flying hungover is still being drunk. It's my lucky morning.

And with that, I end my latest adventure, and begin planning my next one. Where am I now? Rochester, New York. Where am I going next? Quito, Ecuador (with a brief detour in NYC). Why am I posting this? Cuz too many damn people asked me to keep them updated on what I'm doing post-college. What am I going to be writing abooot? As I aspire to be a real-life geologist, I'm gonna pretend to make intelligent, impartial observations about the world around me. We'll see how it goes.