The Great Blackout of Aught Eight

So I was ready to shut this down by the third inning. After reading Boswell this morning and seeing that there was at least some public recognition of the things that have been bothering those of us less enamored with soon to be Gaylord Nationals Park. After finally being able to walk up to a Nats Dogs and get a half smoke without waiting for twenty minutes. After finding a Home Run Ale somewhere other than the Red Porch, I was feeling it. My two kids were having fun. Lannan had yet to implode. The blog was going to be deleted when I got home.

And then...

...half the lights go out. It's too dark to play. I'm hanging out near the back of 104 and one of the ushers I remember from Section 209 at RFK comes over and says hi during the over 30 minute "intermission" which was a BLAST for my daughters of six and nine.

"Remember this ever happening at RFK?" I ask. "Nope," he says grinning. "We uh, got a few more things to iron out over here."

I'll say.