Thank you, Mr. Lerner

Thank you for everything. Thank you for the red curly W cap and the red Nationals shirt you gave me this weekend. Thank you for putting the red carpet around the stadium, a sparkling crimson invitation to enjoy baseball at RFK once again. Thank you for getting the players out to shake the hands of those who give them the chance to play a game for a living. Thank you for the flowers outside that are in the form of the curly W, the trees around the park, the newly paved and painted VIP parking lot. Even if we aren't VIPs, it still looks quite nice. Thank you for the new food court, and even though I couldn't afford the $9 margaritas, though they would have tasted wonderful in yesterday's heat, I still am glad that the food court is there for the fans who don't understand that you eat hotdogs at baseball games. (Shoot, my undying cynicism creeps up even in my sincerity.) Indeed, the food court may even bring the casual fan to the game, and more fans always enhances the quality of cheering. Thank you for opening more concession stands so we don't have to miss entire innings just to get a draft beer or a soda. Also, thank you for the kids' zone, where they made balloon designs in the shapes of brooms though the Nationals had only won one game in the series at that point. But most of all, thank you for making a baseball experience at RFK fun again.

I attended both Friday night's grand reopening and Saturday's game, and it was a very good weekend of baseball. I hadn't been that excited about seeing the Nationals all season (and I had been to 11 Nats games prior to Friday.) The magic of baseball was back; I could feel it as soon as I rushed out of the office on Friday at 5pm and headed down to the Metro to go to the park. The train was packed with red at that time; usually people don't stroll into the ballpark until right around or after the first pitch. Everyone seemed to have smiles on their faces, and the train was buzzing with anticipation for that beautiful game we call Baseball. Seas of red flowed out of the Metro stop amidst calls of "Tickets! Anybody need tickets!" and the ringing out of the resident busker's saxophone as the crowd bumbled about the changes that were taking place under the adoptive parents of the bastard team of baseball.

An arousal of the passions that ignite a baseball fan's fantasies swirled around us like a big tent revival for this heavenly game. Outside the stadium was a slice of that melodious joy that baseball can bring, red carpet royal like we actually mattered, brass band playing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" to a chorus of fans who sang along, sweet laughter of nostalgic innocence, spontaneous cheering, hands clapping, ushers and employees like jukeboxes of thankyous, grateful supporters from zealots to newbies, not a frown on a face. My delighted heart raced as I approached the main gate as enthusiastic as a child, and the whole world ceased to exist for those few glorious hours.

The game itself was a good one. The fans got into it early on account of the scoring but seemed to disappear when the Cubs came back to take the lead. However, in the eighth inning, section 534 was having a blast donning rally caps and screaming as loud as our cheap seat voices could muster. (If you were that guy in section 534 row 11, about seat 8, 9, or 10, please contact me. I was the girl in row 10, seat 18 with the backpack and the World Baseball Classic shirt.)

One of the biggest suprises was the lack of Cubbie blue perverting the stadium. Sure, there were some Cubbie fans, but no more than the number of Reds fans or Phillies fans or Dodgers fans when those teams come into town. The prices for the weekend were jacked up for the Cubbage suckage and my $7 tickets were $12, and since I had already paid for three games for the price of two, I did not go to Sunday's games. If you cheap it, they will come. I'll be getting those new $3 tickets on Tuesday and Wednesday to see Barry and the FIRST PLACE Giants. Woohoo!