I stopped just inside the front gate of the ball park and quickly checked all of my pockets to make sure everything’s in place and accounted for that I would need during the game:
1) Small mirror:
To blind opposing players when they are trying to pitch, field or catch a pop-fly deep to any part of the infield/outfield.
2) Laser pointer:
I use this primarily for the pitcher and the corner of the catcher’s eye that is closest to my side of the field. I only utilize this tool for a 0 and 3 count or during a 3 strikes 2 balls scenario, or an emergency.
3) Air horn:
Just to piss the people off that don’t agree with the play calling I make from my seat.
5) Stolen credit cards:
Beer, hot dogs, souvenirs, beer, giant pretzels, foam finger, beer and beer…..
6) Cell phone:
Documentation of boobs….
7) Deer Urine in tiny glass vials:
I don’t think I have to explain this technique….
The seat that I have gotten with my scalped ticket is 237C on the 3rd base line, 3 rows up right behind the visitor’s dugout.
There was a little puddle of water on the seat that I could see myself in.
I looked so guilty…..
This location is perfect for my mirror and laser pointers lines of sight to the pitcher’s mound and when there is a leftie batter from the opposing team at the plate.
You have to be careful and not overdue it.
Once when I was out of town, I had to beat the shit out of about 500 hostile fans during a Toledo Mud-Hens game.
They took offense to the retinal abuse I was inflicting on their pitcher for some reason.
“PLAY BALL!!” shouts the umpire, resplendent in his honest looking blue uniform and big honest chest pad.
The Ump is obviously a dedicated official that is trusted and respected by all as a truly intelligent and fair man.
“Strike him out!!” shouts a jumping little boy a few seats away.
“Don’t yell at the pitcher son…” says Dad “He’s waiting for the sign from the catcher”
Dad stands, cupping his hands around his mouth “Hey batter batter! I hope you CHOKE!”
“Can’t the pitcher hear that dad?” asks the smart-ass little boy.
“No” says dad as he pulls the boys cap down over his eyes “I was yelling at the other team silly.”
“Ohhhh….” says the little boy, ‘edumacated’ now in the intricacies of heckling and fan duty.
“You blind son of a bitch!” a woman screams from my left.
I couldn’t agree more, the treacherous cheating bastard…..
I look over at her, the little girl that the vocal mama is bouncing up and down on her knee is staring up at her mother with wide eyes and an ‘O’ shaped, cotton candy stained mouth.
The mother looks at her daughter, puts her hands over her loyal fan mouth and giggles…
The little girl looks at her mom, then out onto the field…
“Summabitch!” she screams.
For the rest of the game I have to listen to a 4 year old cuss like a sailor….
Crack goes the bat!
The crowd stands in unison…”No No No!!” “Oh shit!” “Catch it!!!” “Foul ball! Foul ball!!” they roar!
All eyes are following the ball as it flies into deep left center field.
No one is looking at me…
The center fielder has stopped; He is in position, glove up, one hand shielding his eyes…
Damn! I can’t use the mirror!
I quickly snatch the laser from my pocket, dragging out onto the surrounding seats and fans; deer piss vials, change and stolen credit cards.
….can’t worry about that now!
It’s GO TIME!!!!
I arm the laser, then trying to camouflage my intentions, I hide it in one clinched fist, raising my arms in the air as if pleading to God for the CF to drop the ball or die from a sudden cerebral hemorrhage……
Then, I point and shoot the bastard in the eyeball with my little fielder’s helper.
OH NO! I can’t believe this guy!
The cheating bitch turns his head slightly, brushes away my laser beam as if it is a bothersome fly and makes the catch.
Crap! This guy is a professional….
No wonder he makes millions of dollars.
“Summabitch!!” the little girl sailor and mama scream!
“You suck!!” screams Dad at the pitcher.
The little boy sits there in his big ball cap, munching on a pretzel that is stuck on the big finger of his foam hand.
The crowd is boisterous and hostile for the remainder of the game.
We yell ourselves hoarse….
Have you ever noticed how the ball park smells?
Leather, hot dogs, stale beer, fresh cut grass, fresh raked dirt, Ben-Gay, mosquito spray, pine tar…?
Yeah….You can smell it too, can’t you?
The visiting team beat us like a drunk pimp.
I see the dad take his little boy to the visitor’s dugout.
The dad and little boy kneel down on top of the dugout and a few players come over and sign the boy’s baseball and plastic bat.
They talk to the dad while the boy gets his head mashed and cap twirled by the opposing players as some of the home team come over and join in signing the ball and handshakes with their opponents.
The boys grin is splitting his face…
The players are Gods in his eyes…..
Mythical beast that run, jump and spit….
A new fan has been born that loves baseball because his dad does.
It’s because his dad took him to a game where he got to see his dad’s hero swat the bean into outer space and wave his cap at the crowd.
The hero shook his dad’s hand…
“Did you see that?!” asks his dad.
“Yeah” whispers the boy with big shining eyes in utter reverence and pride.
The dad hopes his hero needs a new kidney someday…..
”Yeeaahh…” thinks the dad from somewhere in dream land.
That’s why I’ll spend $10 on a cup of beer and $7 on a hot dog with everything and not give a damn!
That’s why I love America.
That’s why I stand when a ball is hit deep.
That’s why I love to scream and die with every pitch when the Ump is a blind summabitch!
The anticipation…….As the batter decides yay or nay….Strike, a ball a little outside or Adios!
The beauty of it all….
The traditions….Grass stains on uniforms, dirt stains on knees, wet butt from a 3rd row seat that holds water….
God bless America.
God bless baseball.
God bless us all and know that if we can make it thru a 15 inning game and leave the ball-field, survive the traffic without shedding enemy blood or taking the Lords name in vain…..
We can work anything out and there might be hope for us yet.