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Author's note: This column was originally written while I was working at Ohio State's The Lantern as the sports editor during the summer of 2007. The Dodgers-Reds game in question took place on Tuesday, Aug. 7.

It's funny. On the day that Barry Bonds broke the all-time home run record, I didn't take notice. An avid sports fan, I almost always am among the first to hear about the big news, and this news was almost as large as Bonds' head.

Instead, I was driving back from Cincinnati to Columbus. It's embarrassing to admit this, given that I already stated I consider myself an avid sports fan, but I have a dirty little secret.

I had never seen a Major League game.

Turns out it was 103 degrees in the 'nati Tuesday, and oh, was it humid... the term "swamp ass" is an understatement.

Growing up in Portland, Ore., the only professional sport one gets to watch is basketball. Portland is home to the Padres' triple-A affiliate, but that's obviously not major league.

Along with fellow Lantern editors Zack and Graham, as well as my roommate Jared, we headed down to the Dodgers-Reds game at about 3:30 p.m. Tuesday. Sure, that's early for a 7 p.m game, but Graham said it best: "You've got to see batting practice at your first game."

Right off the bat, I have to say that Cincinnati is one of the most difficult cities to navigate on the planet. Jared was the driver, but even I was getting frustrated. There are only a handful of signs that tell where to go, and they're obstructed by trees, buildings and overpass supports. Throw all of that in with a plethora of one-way streets in a city with which none of us were familiar, and you have a recipe for disaster.

It got worse before it got better. Turns out it was 103 degrees in the 'nati Tuesday, and oh, was it humid. Not exactly what I'd consider ideal conditions, but I digress.

After wandering around aimlessly downtown, we finally found the stadium (no signs at all, remember?). It probably took 30 minutes to make a 10-minute walk, and by the time we found Great American Ballpark, the term "swamp ass" is an understatement.

This is where the breaks started coming.

And coming And coming.

At the ticket counter, we saw all of the August promotions. Lucky us, it read something like this:

For whatever reason, making jokes about old baseball players never stops being funny. Ever.

"Aug. 7 vs. Los Angeles Dodgers: Dollar Dog Night."

It only got better when we talked to the guy at the ticket counter and found the Reds are so desperate to put butts in seats, the tickets are all about half price. We sat in left field, second row up, or perfect territory to catch a home run from a right handed hitter. What's the price for such prime real-estate?

Ten bucks per seat. Not too shabby.

After batting practice, we sat down with $1 dogs and $5 Pepsis in hand as starting line-ups were announced. You've got to love the Dodgers. That entire roster is young and talented, except for two players: Nomar "the walking groin pull" Garciaparra and Luis Gonzalez.

Yes, that Luis Gonzalez. He's still playing. Who knew?

That set off a barrage of what would become a running theme throughout the night. For whatever reason, making jokes about old baseball players never stops being funny. Ever.

Once with Rafael Furcal on first, we speculated whether or not he'd asked for Jeff Conine's autograph. I imagined the exchange going something like this:

"Hey Jeff, can I get your autograph?"

"Yeah, no problem. Young kid at home?"

"Nah, it's for my dad. You were his favorite player growing up."

Inning after inning of old jokes ("Mike Stanton? He's almost as old as David Weathers"), Nomar's groin jokes (There's a 65 percent chance he blows out his groin jogging back to the dugout), and "only the Reds would bat Norris Hopper leadoff" jokes (followed by "their clean-up hitter has five home runs. Gotta love the Reds" jokes, etc.) delivered us to the seventh inning stretch.

Time for another $1 dog.

With the Reds leading 4-0, the Dodgers sent out Rudy Seanez in the bottom of the seventh.

Jared (Dodgers fan): "Rudy f---ing Seanez? Are you kidding me?"

Graham (also a Dodgers fan): "Down by four and they're giving up already? Don't they know they're in a pennant race?"

Me (laughing, Red Sox fan): "You're done. He lost us probably 20 games last year."

Jared: "In the last hour or so since leaving the gas station, we've gone roughly 100 miles."

Me: "Driving 100 miles per hour will do that."

Zack (also laughing, Astros fan): "He's almost as old as David Weathers."

Then in the eighth, after the Dodgers blew a two-on, no out situation for about the 237th time that game, Seanez comes back out for a second inning of work. At that point I was making sure Jared and Graham couldn't get hold of any sharp objects.

After somehow getting through two innings without giving up a run, we headed to the top of the ninth, Reds still leading 4-0. The highlight of maybe my entire life comes next. Who do the Reds send out?

Announcer: "Now pitching for the Reds - No. 25, David Weathers."

Yes, that David Weathers. Hilarity ensued.

Somehow, an 87-year-old Weathers closed out the game, and a half hour walk back to the car followed. Seriously, it's that hard to get around Cincinnati.

An hour and 15 minutes later, including a stop for gas, and we were back in Columbus. Yes, you read that correctly. 75 minutes.

Jared: "In the last hour or so since leaving the gas station, we've gone roughly 100 miles."

Me: "Driving 100 miles per hour will do that."

So ended the experience that was my first Major League Baseball game. Although I probably shouldn't have waited almost 21 years, I can't imagine a better way to do it.

A day later, after reading and hearing nothing but Barry Bonds for 16 hours, Graham walks up to me and says, "Josh, next time we go to a game, your friend is driving."

Agreed.

Tags: cincinnati reds