c is for...
christian cosas. campy. cantakerous. cash-starved. catholic. cerebral. chaos theorist. choir director. cinematic snob. classroom warrior. cleanliness-impaired. commie pinko. con artist. conductor. contrapuntal improviser. crackhead.
September 7, 2008
Thursday night, Joan revealed her early birthday present for me—a secret she’d been keeping for over half a year: swanky seats to a Cardinals-Marlins game on Friday.
Earlier in the year, her boss generously sent out an open invitation to his employees. He’d gotten season tickets in the Redbird Club, almost right behind home plate, and any employee interested in a specific date could pay him for the individual game tickets.
What made the gift extra special, besides the excellent seats, was that it would be my first game in the new Busch Stadium, as well as Joan’s very first Cards game.
After she told me, she asked: “Do you want to pick up a glove, just in case a foul ball flies back?”
I thought, and said, “I don’t think it’ll happen. It just doesn’t seem likely that a foul ball would fly that high behind home plate.”
Friday night came, and I was squealing with excitement the entire time. At the bottom of the second inning, right-fielder Ryan Ludwick was up to bat, and was fouling in every direction possible. Sure enough, one foul ball flew backwards.
I shot up, leaned over Joan, knocked over her Diet Coke, wedged my shin into the seat directly in front of us (ow), and stuck my hand out.
The ball bounced off my left thumb (OW) and behind us a couple rows, into the glove of some ten-year-old.
I sat back down, rubbed my throbbing shin, and held my thumb, numb from the impact. I looked sheepishly at the destruction I left in my path, and then at my wife.
“You were right.”
Game went into extra innings, but we eventually lost 4-1. Still a great experience.