I don't know if you've already read this, but I got a big kick out of Kevin Goldstein's post on Baseball Prospectus Unfiltered today.
M: That's cool, I guess.
[Highlight of final out begins]
M: Wait, how is that a no-hitter?
K: What do you mean?
M: That guy just hit the ball.
K: No, no. A no-hitter is when nobody is safe - nobody gets a single or a double or a triple or a home run.
M: I just find baseball so disappointing.
This reminded me of a conversation I once had with my dear friend Mis Hooz at a Tigers game. (I think I may have once also tried to explain how a player didn't get a hit, even though he hit the ball, but I don't remember that story as well.) I made her come with me to an early August matinee in the first year of Comerica Park. Of course, it was hot. Damn hot. And as you know, there is very little shelter from the sun in the stands. So we were cooking. And Mis Hooz was not happy.
She tried to sit there with me for two innings or so. But the sizzling of her fair skin became too much to bear. There just wasn't enough beer or water available to make her comfortable. After I pointed out how the head of a bald man in front of us was turning a scary shade of watermelon red, Mis Hooz lets out an exasperated sigh, turns to me and says:
"When the #@$% is half-time? I can't take this."
Anyone selling sunscreen that day made a bunch of money that day, as Mis Hooz cleaned the park out. She probably contributed a sizable chunk toward beer sales, as well. At least that's what her stagger up to our seats five innings later seemed to indicate.
I think we've only gone to one baseball game since then, and that was some time in April. And Yankee Stadium has a little more shade in the upper deck.