I love minor league baseball. I really do. Actually, I love any activity that includes a giant hot dog with mustard and onions on it and that scenario seems to present itself most frequently at baseball games.
Which explains what I was doing with the 80s jumped up and hit me in the face.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Let me back up. The family and I headed to Indianapolis to attend an Indians game. As at most of these outings I cheer for the home team, but on this particular night, I found myself being swayed by the allure that are the Lehigh Valley Ironpigs.
I know, I know. Ditching my allegiance to the home team is horrible, but I had reasons. Two specific, irrefutable reasons. Let’s discuss.
People. They wear sassy red shoes as part of their uniforms. Let me just be honest here. I’m a sucker for sassy red shoes.
And two, a particular player caught my interest. He stepped up to the plate and took his batter’s stance. Our seats were close enough (second row behind home plate) (close enough to potentially be either sweated on by a player or smacked with an errant glob of semi-chewed sunflower seeds) for me to read the name stitched on the back of his shirt. Duran.
Say that name again. Duran. In fact, let’s all say that name again aloud. Duran. Duran. As in 80s pop super group Duran Duran. Hello? Girls on Film? View to a Kill? Notorious? Rio? Hungry Like the Wolf? Yeah, them.
Holla. I may have just jumped the fence and become an Ironpigs fan. Can you blame me? The one-two punch of sassy red shoes and a player named Duran (Duran)? I think not.