Take Me Out

Last night, I took my kids to the baseball game here in town. It was a good time. My daughter has wanted to go to a game all season, but the schedules just never worked out, be it their school/vacation schedule, my being sick schedule or what have you.

As the season ends next weekend, I pretty much had to take them out now or they'd not get to go to a game this season. We got tickets for down the first base line, right by the bullpen. We ate hot dogs and pretzels and sno-cones. We had a good time, except that in the middle of the first inning, a very obnoxious prick came and sat five seats in front of us. He would not shut the fuck up. Amazingly--and I know this might be a shock to some--he wore full UNC regalia: hat, shirt, and pants with the UNC logo stitched into the pockets of the jeans.

I shouldn't make fun, but he had what can only be described as a "messed-up grill", one where his teeth stick out from his mouth at strange, obscene angles. I only make fun because he was, without a doubt, the most obnoxious fan I've ever been around at a game--and I've sat with myself. He kept yelling at the players--the home team Bulls players--all night, and complained about every call the first-base ump made, even though every last one of them was correct. It was made even worse because his words were nearly indecipherable. The first baseman for the Bulls wears number 26, but for a good fifteen minutes I thought sure he was yelling "Hey, Toothpicks!" instead of "Hey, Two Six". In short, he was a douche nozzle, which is understandable given the outfit he was wearing.

Regardless, we had a good time. We left before the end of the game because it was 9:00, which is an hour after bedtime for the kids. Part of the negotiations for "we're leaving now" was that I would turn the game on the radio in the car. We listened to the game on the way home, but since it's baseball, the game wasn't finished by the time we got home, got teeth brushed and faces washed and got dressed in pajamas. So, my son decided he wanted to listen to the game on the radio in his room. I wasn't going to turn it over, but then my daughter found the sports radio station on the FM dial, so I fixed it so that he could listen to the rest of the game on his radio. I tucked him in and went to fix my daughter up for the night. I found her trying to find the game on her radio. So, I fixed her radio up, too. I tucked her in, and returned to my room. A few minutes later, I hear her crying, so I go to find out what's wrong, and I come to find out that she tried to turn the volume up, but messed up the radio settings instead. I fixed them, tucked her back in, and went back to my room. Everyone was happy.

We didn't get any of the extra souvenirs, although a foul ball came our way. Unfortunately, it sailed over our heads into the section behind us. A couple of others fell closer to the field of play, but not really in my reach.

This is not the first time I've almost caught a ball at the ballpark.

Last year, my wife and I took the kids to see a game and to stay for the fireworks afterward. We got bleacher seats. Having never sat in the bleachers before, I thought it was kind of fun. Crowded, but fun.

No home runs were hit that night, but when the right-fielder finished warming up one inning, he tossed the ball into the crowd for a souvenir. The ball just happened to be headed right for my daughter...or my daughter's forehead, to be precise.

Like a dutiful father, I raised my hands up to catch the ball and to spare her. Since it was coming for her face, I was going to give it to my sweet, innocent, happy little girl.

Instead, the ball hit my palm with a meaty smack--I'm not gonna lie, that shit hurt--and then popped up into the air. Before I could grab it, the ball landed in the lap of the crotchety old bitch old woman sitting in front of us. She held the ball up like she had just caught it, gesturing to the crowd and showing it off to her henhouse girlfriends. Finally, the queen of the bluehair brigade turned around and looked at me and said "Thanks". Then she took the ball and held it up in my face--as if I didn't know what she was talking about--and waved it back and forth.

I wanted to kick her in the hip, but I figured I'd just injure my toe--those artificial joints are tough and made of steel. I just turned to my daughter and said, "Sorry, Cookie, but I guess you won't get that ball back."

I don't think she was upset, but she was probably a little disappointed. I bought her a bag of peanuts instead. Everything was made better.

And then I kicked peanut shells into Granny's purse.