It’s been so long, I almost forgot who pitched, let alone who drove in any of the twelve total runs. All I remember about the game is that we won and, thanks to an overzealous kid in the left field stands, one of our beach balls landed on the playing field. Before the game, I had told my step-dad that I was brining some beach balls because security was actually gutting them with hunting knives and, as a result, I caused this conversation to happen in St. Louis:
Mom: Uh oh. Someone threw a beach ball on the field.
Step-dad: I think your son might have had something to do with that.
Isn’t it awesome to be able to say hello to your parents from over a thousand miles away with nothing more than a phone call and a beach ball?
Don’t answer that.
Anyway, the beach balls didn’t stand a chance. Every ball we launched got gutted by some security guard. Next time, I’m bringing twenty. We will overcome this fascist, beach-ball hating regime (how can you hate a beach ball? I mean, what a symbol of innocence and good clean fun. Nazis). If we all bring ten apiece, they’ll still have the guns (er, knives) but we’ll have the numbers.
Another weird thing that happened at the game: they wouldn’t let Peek and I bring a broom into the stadium, so we found a janitor’s broom outside one of the ladies' bathrooms. So there I was, swinging this disgusting, very-used, bacteria-ridden broom in the box seats. And no one stopped me. Apparently, a disease-ridden broom is a lot safer than a beach ball. Stupid Nazis.
As I mentioned before, after the game I busted my hand. I wanna clear this up: I did not get in a fight; I did not pull a stunt; I did not break a law. I was helping a friend move and things got ugly. I can’t give the details because he wants to recoup his financial losses and he warned me against discussing this event before he talks with his lawyer. Just believe me when I say that this was not at all some kind of crazy, Nate-being-an-idiot thing. It was a legitimate accident complete with blood, health insurance, ten stitches, doctors, and this really cute nurse who said she liked my smile and took one of my business cards.
So, in honor of the Cardinals sweeping the D-Rays, let me just say, “Wooooooooooo!” And, in honor of my cut hand, let me offer the obligatory, “Awwwww.” And in honor of the Beach Balls, let me just say, “You served valiantly and died for a noble cause. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, mainly because, I will never again set foot in that awful field until the Cardinals come back to town.”
I’ll leave you with this snippet:
Peek: I don’t know if I can go back to Tropicana Field.
Me: Come on, man. This time, we’ll sit on the other side?
Peek: Okay, I’m in.