A week ago tonight, at just about this time, we were returning to our room at the Marriott Marquis in downtown Atlanta after an exciting three hours at Turner Field watching…rain.

As previously noted, by a marvelous confluence of the stars, the Fish Marlins were playing the Atlanta Braves on the same days we would be in town for the CBA. So off we went, about an hour before game time to get something to eat, watch the pre-game festivities, and walk around the stadium, checking out big Coke bottles and Powder Puff Girls walking by.

(On the topic of synergy and the Time Warner/Turner empire…Last year when we were in Atlanta, it was hard to miss the HUGE ENORMOUS billboard for Fox News right across the street from CNN. Well, this year, the space has been reclaimed, and now advertises CNN, of course. It was more amusing the other way.)

So we finished our stadium walk, emerged on the way upper deck to claim our $5 seats, only to see….The Tarp. It wasn’t raining yet, but apparently they knew something the rest of us didn’t, so they prepared.

For three and a half hours they prepared. It rained hard, then slowed down. Ground crew came out to sweep water off the tarp. Rain recommenced. Cameras scanned the diminishing crowd for embarrassing moments to put on the Jumbotron. A clearing – we could see the skyline. Darkening. More rain.

We were basically under cover up there the whole time, although we had to keep moving up as the wind blew the rain our way. Joseph did fairly well, and I amused myself by amusing him and by people watching. The group that fascinated me most was an Orthodox Jewish father and his three children – two boys and a girl – sitting in front of us (for a while, before the rain got harder and everyone shifted around). He was reading a book in Hebrew the whole time, the daughter was dressed in a long skirt and long-sleeved shirt, and the boys and their father all had yarmulkes on under their Braves caps.

Also nearby were an Indian couple with their son, two young Japanese women, several African-American families, a big group of white teens line dancing to pass the time, and us. It all led to much contemplation of the New South (which is not so new anymore) and how things have changed in the city of Leo Frank.

So anyway, by 9:30 or so, we had all had enough. We left. You’d think they would just call the game, but no. They ended up starting play at 10:55 – much fodder for talk radio and sports columnists the next day.

And the Marlins lost.