The score after four innings at Camden Yards was 0-0.

"Because of the heat and awful humidity this afternoon," the announcer said, "attendance here at The Yard is not what was expected. But, as you can see (the camera scanned the upper deck on the third-base side) quite a few faithful fans are giving their support to The Birds on this humid, with a capital H, day. We're only two games out in the Eastern Division, and fan support makes a difference."

Mark picked his beer off the coffee table, while the camera picked up a slice of upper deck fans: A small boy sitting on his dad's lap, waving cotton candy at the cameraman, a pretty young girl yawning, a family of five raising a toast to the camera with their hot dogs, a young man in a suit and tie talking on a cell phone, an infant wearing an Oriole hat sleeping in its mom's arms, a woman in sunglasses and a straw hat leaning to her side presses her lips on the man's cheek next to her, and he returns the favor, a teenage girl with purple hair and a fat man standing up, his bare chest painted Oriole orange and black.

The camera returns to home plate. Hatteberg adjusts his batting gloves, runs his left palm up the length of the bat, takes his confident stance, and the pitch is a called strike three.

"Wait a second," Mark says to the TV, "that lady in the stands kissing the guy on the cheek was Janet...my Janet. It was either her or a twin I never knew about in 15-years of marriage."

He waited a few innings for the camera to return to the stands. It didn't. Too late in the game. The point had already been made. Attendance was so-so. He grabbed the phone book, got the number for Camden Yards, called and asked for the Personal Service office. He told the lady who answered the phone that he had an emergency and wanted his wife, Janet Page, paged. She was. She did not return the call.

The pitching duel continued and the game hurried along. Mark stayed glued to the TV, hoping against the odds that the camera would pass over the crowd again, so he could see, to make certain, although he was already certain, that the lady in the sunglasses and straw hat was Janet. She never wore sunglasses and she did not own a straw hat, but if she had gone to the game with someone instead of to the Garden Show with Eva, her former college roommate, she could wear such a disguise.

During the seventh-inning stretch, the game still a scoreless tie, the camera did return briefly to the stands, this time to the lower deck, first-base line, the glib announcer noting the number of fans wearing baseball gloves to "snag that souvenir foul ball, a treasured memento."

While the next commercial ran, Mark ran upstairs to the bathroom, and back down to the kitchen for another beer. He sat on the edge of the couch cushion, hoping to catch another glimpse of the upper deck above third base, thinking maybe an incident of some sort might force the camera to sweep the upper deck. It never happened.

In the last of the ninth, the score still tied, Jay Gibbons hit a "walk off" home run. The game was over. The Orioles walked off the field, the players exchanging high fives, as they headed to the happy dugout. Mark focused on the fans, filing out of The Yard. Lots of tall, thin women, but none was Janet in disguise.

Mark knew it took forty-five minutes, allowing for traffic, to drive home from Camden Yards and about a half-hour to drive from the Convention Center where the garden show was being held. Forty-five minutes later Janet's tan Honda pulled into the driveway, and Mark watched her get out of the car.

"Oh, my God," he said out loud, "she's wearing sunglasses and a straw hat."

Janet, smiling broadly, came through the side door, walked over and gave Mark a big hug.

"What's with the sunglasses and hat," He asked in an accusatory tone, "and where have you been?"

Janet took off the glasses and the hat and dropped the glasses into the hat.

"Where have I been? How many beers have you had, anyway? I went downtown with Eva to the Garden Show at the convention center. You knew that."

Very pleased with herself, she strutted into the kitchen to "get me a beer too."

Mark commented loudly, as Janet walked toward the fridge, "Yeah, I did know that. But I was watching the game on TV and I saw a woman wearing sunglasses and a straw hat...by the way...what's with the glasses and hat?"

"Mark, sweetheart, it is HOT out. I guess you wouldn't know sitting in an air conditioned room, drinking beer, and watching TV. And it was hot, hot, hot at the show, which is mostly outside. So Eva and I got the backs of our hands stamped, and left the show to ran over to a Dollar Store and picked up...da-da..." She put back on both the hat and glasses, "our Hollywood celebrity props. When we got into the car, we checked out ourselves in the mirror, and liked the way we looked so much we decided to keep wearing the props. Anyway, what were you saying, dear?"

Mark shook his head. "I said I saw a woman in the grandstands...uh...she looked a lot like you, even with the disguise. And I thought you two characters may have changed your mind about the garden show and went to the game instead."

Janet pooh-poohed Mark's comments with a flick of her fingers, and took a long swig from her beer. "So I kept my new glasses on, so what? And what's with the creepy questions? And Baseball? You know I don't know squat about baseball. I don't even know how many points a home run counts, or whatever."

She took the glasses off, but left the hat on. "I'm going to get you another beer, and then..." she pointed to the couch..."then you and I are going to play a little game right there on that couch...straw hat and all. Then, when that game is over, we'll go over to Lucille's for antipasto and pepperoni pizza. How does that sound, handsome?"

Mark smiled and pinched Janet's cute buttocks when she walked past him.

"Oh," she stopped and turned toward him. "Did the Orioles win?"

Mark, still uncertain about things, lied. "No, they lost. Blew the game in the last inning."

"Really?" Janet replied, "I heard on the car radio that they won...but what do I know? I wasn't hardly paying attention."