Swing and a Miss!


Yuk! Said the man sitting a few seats away. YUK! I don't get it!

My wife and I were at a Giants game, seated in primo spots along the right field line just in front of the opposing team's bullpen. Close friends have season tickets to these seats and every now and again Sher and I attend games they can't get to, and always have a wonderful time. Besides, when our defense takes the field Hunter Pence is RIGHT there, so what's not to like?

We've also been known to bring our own picnics to games: some nuts and prosciutto, leftover grilled chicken or duck breast, cheese, even salad. And wine, of course, though paper cups are no Zalto substitute. 

The couple seated next to us, one of whom is the fellow quoted above, are also season ticket holders. And because our friends had told us about them we introduced ourselves and carried on a lively conversation throughout the game, even about the height and history of the pitcher's mound.

At one point we discovered that it was this guy's birthday. Let's call him Walter. Now, Walter is a beer guy — nothing wrong with that — who takes long breaks from the live action to enjoy the superior suds offered at the Public House beneath the stadium. 

Hearing that it was his birthday, Sher offered him a pour of a Simone Bize Bourgogne rouge Les Perrières we'd smuggled — I mean, brought — into the stadium.

YUK! Said Walter. YUK! I believe that four Yuks were ultimately exclaimed, and I sensed Walter's flair for the dramatic arts.

I found the entire sequence quite amusing, though Sher was concerned that I might punch him. I mean, yes, I enjoy this wine for its coolness of tone, bright berry fruit and spice aromas, lightness of body, and earthy finish. But to a guy like Walter it must have seemed as out-of-the-blue as a foul ball rifled directly his way.

These reminders of different tastes are important. In the world I live in — you, too, probably, if you're reading this — wines like that Bize are the ones that bring us pleasure. And I'll admit to having uttered a yuk or two of my own over the kind of fat, hedonistic fruit bombs that most people enjoy. Maybe even Walter.