What’s this discomfort I feel? What is it about watching the Nats play at home this year? Why do I squirm in my chair?
It’s those coveted front-row seats behind home plate, the ones reserved for the rich and well-connected, the splurgers and the lucky.
This year, however, gratitude replaces envy. I’d much rather watch from my sofa at home, from the upper decks or the outfield food court just behind Jayson Werth’s long hair. I’d rather watch from anywhere than sit in those Delta-sponsored airline seats. It may look like first class, but air travel means discomfort, whether you’re subjected to TSA scrutiny or not. The food. The smells. The tiny stinking toilets. Airlines equal discomfort.
Even on this glorious $1 hot dog afternoon, I’d rather catch the radio broadcast as the Nats take on the Brewers than sit in those horrible airline Barcaloungers reserved for people of means.