The morning started with a drive from Pasadena to Simi Valley. Apparently this is not a very popular commute route, because I was actually able to go the speed limit, beyond the speed limit, and get to the Reagan Library before it opened at 10 AM. So, after some picture taking of the view, I went inside the Library and Museum. Nothing really great there except for the rotating exhibit, which was the history of the U.S. Calvary. That was actually very interesting, but also is pretty pointless for me to go into too much detail because it will be rotated out by the time you read this.

After the Reaganness I went to the tourist trap of Santa Barbara. Apparently, it is law there that everybody must own a dog, or everybody must be walking one. Had lunch, moved up the coast, saw a great restaurant name in Lompoc -- Hi!, Let's Eat -- and then had to veer off the 1 if I wanted to get to Bakersfield. That was some interesting mountain driving, bascially because it was pretty townless and I saw a gas station selling for $3.22 (this was well before Katrina). I then get into Bakersfield, and see the day descend into parody.

Since I am short on cash, I am trying to find a bank. They don't seem to have banks in Bakersfield. They had a bail bonds district (must be keeping Captain Stiles busy). They even had a Euro-style roundabout. But a surprising lack of banks. I finally found a credit union, got my money, and was off to the ballpark. It is never a good sign if you don't have to pay to park. Oh, you would think that is a good sign, but that means there won't be enough people here to go through the trouble of paying an attendant.

I get to the window, I ask for "any seat not looking into the sun", since it is nearly 100 degrees and for some really stupid reason home plate faces west. I was told by the ticket attendant (the only ticket attendant they had) that don't worry, they wouldn't start the game until after sundown anyway. So I get a ticket, move to another seating area because that ticket sucked, and was on my way to answering the age old question -- if they play a baseball game and no one shows up, does it count in the standings. A quirky part of the ballpark is that centerfield is only 354 feet from home plate (due to some train tracks, they unfortunately eschewed the chance for a Brewster's Millions moment), although it is a 15 foot fence.

I pretty much have a section to myself. Somebody comes by in the sixth inning and sits a couple of rows up, but other than that, it's going to be one lonely evening. There's no mascot although their web site says there is one named Heater, he must work weekends. There is some overweight guy who dances during inning breaks, but that doesn't count. But, in the eighth inning, there was magic in the air. A foul ball was hit by a Lancaster player and was going to go halfway between home and first. But it strikes a pole, and changes course towards the first base stands. One bounce. Two bounce. An eight seat roll directly into my hand. I didn't even had to get up, and I had it. A foul ball. Over hundreds of sporting events I have caught many things -- two footballs, three pucks, many basketballs, Jimmy King, but I never had a baseball. Until now. So, despite everything wrong with your town, the heat, the baffling state of your economy, I did get a prized possession. All is forgiven.

Current story, the ball took two bounces into a mostly empty section where I picked it up while it was rolling.

Story 20 years from now, where I leapt out of my seats and snagged a screaming line drive mere milliseconds after it left the bat while the remainder of the full house was either ducking or wasn't ready.