Nats and Brats
I followed the crowds to RFK Stadium last night to see Washington's new obsession, the Nationals, play my Atlanta Braves. It was a good game (and I didn't really mind the Nats winning), if you like old-fashioned, pre-1990s baseball where a couple of key double plays, rather than six or seven home runs, decide the thing. And RFK, for all its decrepitude, felt right, with a bit less of the constant artificial noise and commercialism that spoiled my last trip to Camden Yards.
The seats were great, except for the fact that they landed me in a nest of Young Republican Hill Staffers, who spent most of the evening networking and showing off their new spring wardrobes instead of watching the game. But in the top of the ninth, when the Nats choked off a Braves rally, even the Brats around me joined in the chant of "D.C.! D.C! D.C.!" that shook the old stadium, and for a few minutes, even the old anti-Washington populist in me was seduced.
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