Here's a story: after my senior prom, I went to an after party thrown by a guy who was not exactly my biggest fan. My date, in one of my favorite pieces of high school subterfuge ever, used her cache with him to get me in the door. Nice. I ended up repaying the favor by staying fairly late, hanging long after my date went back home, and until the party had dwindled to three or four other people. We went down to the guy's basement and flipped through some jokey horror movies on the premium channels.
Being a teenage boy without the premium channels, I was shocked to see how much the myths about Showtime and Cinemax being dens of, uh, adult cinema were actually just truisms. Being an "ironic" teenage boy, I immediately demanded that we turn on the worst possible one. If memory serves, it was about some kind of lusty detective: just the worst version of plasticized human sexuality ever put on display. I thought it was hilarious.
Unfortunately, the rest of the party, particularly the host, did not share my enthusiasm. So, as night turned into early morning, I laughed and laughed at awkward television while a few other people sat around uncomfortably. After about five minutes, someone changed the channel, and then I went home and went to bed.
Will this be a reasonable facsimile of tonight's festivities as the Phillies play the Giants out west? Boy I hope not. But it's definitely a possibility. The Giants, unlike the Miami Marlins, are an actual baseball team filled with mostly real baseball players, and not just otherworldly automatons that have imperfectly aped the actions of an MLB team. If the true Cliff Lee shows up, this could be more Ocean City, NJ than Harleysville, PA on prom night, but we shouldn't get our expectations up too high. We should admit that it very well could end up as an awkward shuffling of feet as we switch to see how much of Conan we can catch before hitting the hay.