A few weeks ago, I was standing outside a divey establishment on Colfax Avenue, waiting for a couple friends to arrive. I met a young man and for the sake of my truncated memory, let us call him Kip. Or Steve. Kip or Steve just flew into the Mile High city and wanted to know in which direction he should walk were he to manufacture an encounter with a comedy club. I pointed northwest towards the Denver post, indicating that Comedy Works was a good 8 blocks away and I also suggested Rock Bar, a hotel bar gone bar-bar which hosts a diverse array of amateurish comedians trying to make it funny. Kip or Steve seemed interested in Rock Bar, but quickly morphed his interest in comedy into a diatribe about how every establishment in Denver seems to have the name “Rock” in it.
This never occurred to me, but I’m a selectively observant individual, and I never really cared if there was any particular trend in the naming of businesses in the lower or upper downtown area of Denver. But seeing as how the young gentleman whose name escapes me just flew in from Tampa, I was intrigued that he had such a breadth of knowledge regarding names of places in Denver.
“Falling Rock Tap House, Rock Bottom Brewery, Rockyard Grille, Rockbar…you see, people in Denver have an obsession with rocks”
I told Kip or Steve that I didn’t quite think that we have an obsession, perse; rather, many establishments, breweries in particular, like to “tap” into the whole Rocky Mountain vibe. I told him that there’s probably similar trends in Tampa Bay. Like “By the Bay Brewpub” or “Oceanside Tavern” or “Crustacean Kitchen.” He quickly shot down my point, indicating that there aren’t really any “brewpubs” in Tampa. Or in Florida for that matter.
“Huh,” I said. “I guess that makes sense.”
I got to thinking of this exchange with Mr. Florida last night when I was at a Rockies game, sitting in the Rockpile (a.k.a. the cheap seats). The only motivation I had in going to the game was the fact that the tickets are a double-take-able $4 and it was a beautiful, warm spring evening. It was the first time I’ve ever patronized the Rockpile and I guess I expected a crowd akin to the one in Major League, where Randy Quaid and company are bantering about OBP’s and Cy Young nominees and the like. I expected to see die-hard Rockophiles with their spiral leather-bound programs, documenting every play, discussing how long before Jimenez goes back on the DL. Stuff like that. You know, the people that love the sport but think that paying $34 to sit field level just watch a bunch of 23-year olds play a game is ridiculous.
This wasn’t the case. Instead of Randy Quaid, I got 12 20-somethings that looked like they came out of a Bret Easton Ellis novel, paying more attention to their skin complexion in the setting sun than the game of hardball unfolding 485 feet away. Behind me were two men that couldn’t leave work at the office; instead, they decided to discuss what they wanted to discuss at the meeting on Thursday. Then there was the DMS Student Council. A group of 29 13-year olds all wearing safety yellow t-shirts, all eating hot dogs and drinking cokes. I actually had no issue with them. They were quite pleasant.
Don’t get me wrong, I think it takes a true enthusiast to sit through 9 innings of crotch-scratching baseball with a focused stare and a critical eye. But I was just expecting these enthusiasts to be sitting up in the Rockpile. Cheering the loudest, but to no avail, since the Rockpile is so far away from the field, you need to consult a pair of binoculars to actually determine which team’s on defense.
So while 90% of the people in the cheapseats didn’t know that the Rockies were playing the San Francisco Giants, let alone the score of the game, I’d say that 98% of them were having a good time. And the next time I go to a Rockies game, I can’t think of any other place I’d rather sit.
Joel, you’ve successfully managed to write about my two least favorite things: baseball and rocks.