We depart tomorrow morning for a fabulous weekend in Cleveland, ostensibly to watch the Indians and the Pirates. We — meaning Uncle Crappy, The Wife, HP and the Drunk Dude — have tickets for Friday’s game, and the ladies and I may go to the Saturday game as well. DD will be out of commission on Saturday night, as DD’s band has an engagement to play a private gig.
I initially thought we could get away with carrying in DD’s gear and claiming we were with the band. HP and DD agreed that in most circumstances that would be with no problem, but in the case of Saturday’s party — a class reunion for an all-boys private school — it might not be such a good thing. I agreed; I don’t like my own reunions that much, so why in the world would I go to someone else’s?
So. Friday, we drive to Chagrin for a stop a Chuck’s, the ungodly beer and wine store there, and then head to Strongsville to an Indians team shop at the mall there to stock up on cold weather gear for Friday night’s game. I offered The Wife the use of a nice, heavy Cleveland Browns sweatshirt, but for some reason she refused.
I’m not sure what’s on tap for Saturday, but I imagine beer will be involved. Possibly baseball too, and in that case the hot dogs will be present as well.
But we’ll probably skip the apple pie.