We got up a little later today and, seeing that the Salt Lake Bees, the Triple-A affiliate of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, were in town, we decided that we'd see the game. They were playing against the Las Vegas 51s, so named for Area 51 ... two states away, on the other side of New Mexico. (I suppose the name "Las Vegas Gamblers" doesn't afford the same ring.)

I can see why the Angels are struggling this year, as the Bees failed to hit or play god defense. In one instance, the 51s were up by one run with runners on the corners and one out. The Bees picked the guy off of first, throwing down to second to get him out ... allowing the running on third to score. Apparently the entire infield was unaware that, in baseball, you have to be able to count. Their first baseman also dropped some throws, and overall their play was so poor that my dad nearly started pulling for the 51s.

However, the game took a back seat to the fans. One heavyset and balding Red Sox fan had a beer in his hand, and his dog sipped on it a bit. The man, not wishing to give up any of his beer, then began drinking out of it after the dog's snout had been in it! Words cannot describe the revolting. There was also a man down in front that apparently had no feeling in his rear end, and his pants slipped down every time he stood up. He stood up rather a lot.

Salt Lake City, or at least the part that we're in, doesn't appear to have many police officers. While we got free parking outside the stadium, as we arrived after the game had began, trash was blowing in lots of places and panhandlers were rampant. (Two of them were together on a street corner, one in a motorized scooter and another smoking. I'm pretty sure they didn't need to panhandle for income.) Another fellow wanted tickets - a reverse scalper of sorts. I'm certain that it's just the section that we're in - Salt Lake City is very big - but I was surprised that the police didn't round them up at least so they could keep warm.

Tomorrow: a long, lonely drive to Reno, Nevada.