Thanks for nothing, Band Mom

The Twins have a larger percentage of local high school marching bands and choirs for the national anthem than I am used to.

I'm not asking for Marvin Gaye every night, but it seems at time like there's a clockwise rotation around the Twin Cities where if you want a spot on the field, you're welcome to it. Prince can only do the anthem so many times, I suppose.

Normally, once the pitchers start warming up in the bullpens, security shoos away the looky-loos so that folks who actually paid for the seats can see what's going on. The exception was apparently during the Red Sox series.

As I was going through and editing, deleting and basking in the pictures I took while Curt Schilling was warming up, I was driven nuts all over again.

The reason? Band Mom.

She'd managed to convince security that she should be at the bottom of the aisle to see her kid(s?) march onto the field. Apparently, the team-provided photographer wasn't good enough for her.

She appeared in roughly half of the pictures and since I saw her early, I framed most of the shots so that I could cut her out later. She was uncuttable in a few. I wouldn't care, but she was dead in the way for any decent shot where I could catch the back of the jersey with the name plate.

Bummer.

So, here's to you, lady. We're happy your kid is the fourth trumpet and hope it was worth being in everyone's way to commemorate the day they stood on that sacred carpeting and played to a crowd that forgot where the high school was as soon as they were announced.

I'll never forget you.



(Photos from MinneapolisRedSox for Siberian Baseball and ruined by Band Mom)