No, I’m not kidding, and I’m not being ironic.  Sure, hipsters are supposed to be largely apathetic, and people in my age bracket and career path tend to be pretty skeptical about America, at best.  But I love the United States, and here’s why.

Friday night, Brendan and I went to Comerica Park in Detroit to see the Tigers play the White Sox.  I scored upper left field box tickets.  Row A.  As perfect seats as you can get for the amount of money we were looking to spend.  We drove down from Ann Arbor early, went vintage shopping in Royal Oak, visited his mom, whose birthday is today, and went to the ballpark.

It was the perfect night for an evening game.  It wasn’t any hotter than 80 degrees, the sun was sort of in our eyes, but that’s why you wear a ball cap.  The first 7 innings were played smack dab in the middle of the blue hour, when everything that happened on the field looked like it was a movie.  We grabbed 22 oz. beers, Italian sausage with grilled onions and peppers, and peanuts.

Nate Robertson pitched a near-perfect first two innings.  We led the Sox up until the end, and although the game was a loss, it wasn’t a bad one, nor can anyone say we lost to a team we should have won against, and it was probably one of the best regular-season games the Tigers will play at home this season.  Though nobody in Detroit likes Todd Jones lately, (or ever, I guess) our entire section spent the game shit-talking pitcher Gavin Floyd, and a surprisingly sloppy White Sox team.

On top of that, our section ruled.  Directly behind us was a National Guard staff sergeant in fatigues.  Above us and to the right were a pair of construction workers and their girlfriends who, between innings, griped about OSHA rules.  To their right were another cluster of college kids.  Our direct neighbors were groups of younger guys, probably fresh out of college themselves.  The whole section got a little drunk and a lot rowdy by the end of the game.

The entire ballpark was up in arms for the last three innings.  It was electric, and although Jones served a home run straight to the Sox in the ninth, I don’t remember being at such an exciting sporting event in quite some time.  I’m sure it helped that I was a little bit drunk.  After the game we proceeded to our favorite Detroit nightspot to enjoy drinks, friends, and some really ace Arlo Guthrie, Hank Williams, and Johnny Cash covers, courtesy of a girl in a blue polka-dotted dress who can yodel like nobody’s business.

Americana is the new indie rock.  Discuss.

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