Getting a date to second base ... the real second base

A few weeks ago, I was supposed to meet my on-again/off-again man for brunch at the Grove and nearly threw a fit when he said, “The Kentucky Derby is about to start. I’ll meet you when it’s over.”

“But I thought we had a plan,” I wailed.

“Julia, the Kentucky Derby lasts for like two minutes,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the Farmers Market in 20.”

Understand one thing. I am not really a sporty kind of girl. I don’t play softball or hang out in sports bars to meet men. I’ve been to two professional sporting events in my life -- and that includes college. I don’t own any sports-related memorabilia (except for a Lakers car flag purchased in support of said man, a rabid Lakers fan).

I do, however, pay attention to trends, and when a recent survey by the dating service “It’s Just Lunch” said that two-thirds of women (but only half of men) think a baseball game is a great place for a date, I thought, why not? It’s summer, I like hot dogs, and it’s the last thing this guy would ever expect me to suggest. It’s fun to throw them a curveball once in a while.

“You want to go to a Dodgers game?” I asked.

He was underwhelmed. “Don’t you think that’s kind of boring? Or is it about the guys in tight pants?”

“No,” I urged, laying the sporty spice on thick. “There’s a lot of suspense. It’s a lot more exciting than horseracing.”

“Well, maybe. The Dodgers and the Angels are both in first place.”

“But I want to see the Red Sox play,” I said. (I’m from Boston.)

“Well, the Red Sox only play the Angels, so it would be a pretty long drive.”

“We’d have to go all the way to San Francisco? I’m sure they’ve played somewhere around here.”

“You’re thinking of the A’s, not the Angels. And they’re in Oakland. The Angels are in Anaheim. The Giants are in San Francisco.”

“The Giants are a baseball team?”

My head was spinning, and I’m really not a dizzy blond. I just don’t know much about sports. It was like trying to explain the difference between a mule, a pump and a kitten heel to a man who’d never worn shoes.

Anyway, we settled on a game the following week -- Dodgers vs. Cubs. They’re from Chicago.

I chose the seats carefully. Bleachers were ruled out because A) cheap seats are definitely not romantic, and B) you can’t drink in the bleachers. Turns out our seats near first base put us at risk of decapitation all night long, since there were about 18,000 foul balls, but that added to the excitement.

And man, does baseball need a little.

During the three-hour event, there can be 10- to 15-minute stretches of pure boredom. I think this explains the wave, the beach ball and “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” These traditions get your blood pumping and give you something to look forward to. But the slow pace of the game also gives you time to appreciate other things -- for instance, those goofy pictures of the players that are flashed up on the board each time they’re at bat. Most of these men are handsome millionaires who I’m sure have no trouble getting dates, but their pictures make them look like cheesy bachelors from a 1980s dating service.

After about my sixth swat at the beach ball and my third time riding the wave, I was even laughing at their names. Grabowski sent me into fits of giggles. “Oh, I’ve met a few Grabowskis in my time,” I said, nudging my date.

In truth, it was a pretty dull game -- until a fluke event occurred. A Dodger named Alex Cora hit foul ball after foul ball (14 total -- about eight of the ones that nearly took my head off), and then he did the unthinkable. He hit a home run. In terms of drama, it was the most amazing thing I’d seen -- until Derek Fisher’s 0.4-second miracle basket against the Spurs the very next night. Yes. I know about that, thanks to my date, the rabid Lakers fan.

Anyway, such moments made the tedium of the rest of the game worthwhile. That, and being part of quintessential Americana, amid the throng, part of the masses.

What killed the mood, though, was the massive throng in the parking lot after the game. In the “It’s Just Lunch” survey, 77% of the men said they wouldn’t mind if their date wanted to leave early. Believe me, this has nothing to do with chivalry. It has everything to do with the fact that when 43,000 people are trying to exit a baseball game at the same time, a traffic jam ensues.

It took an hour to get off Dodger Stadium property.

By the time we got home, we were exhausted. The combination of amber bock, car fumes and frayed nerves had not set the scene for a night of passion -- just a night of passing out tired. But it wasn’t a total loss. We did something different, and we did something outdoors to kick off the summer.

Maybe next week I’ll drag him to Friday Night Live at Hollywood Park to see the horses.

Julia Gaynor can be reached at [email protected].