The end of the 2007 baseball season will go down in infamy. The rockies has started a winning streak against the beaten up LA Tapouts, the Arizona Douche Bags, and then kept the magic alive to get a shot at the wild card against the San Diego Dude-Bros. Naturally we had to attend this once in a lifetime event. Immediately following the Arizona beat down I raced to the ticket office in a drunken stooper along with Meat. I get us 4 tickets in the club box seats behind home plate somehow, no problem. The rest of the metro area hasn’t seen the team worthy enough to drive down and buy up all of the tickets yet. Worked great for me.
Game starts like any other monday afternoon, beer, lippers, and proud girlfriends. We settle into our seats to find out that we really do have good ones. Tons of marrieds and stiff old people sitting around us. Oh well, didn’t fuck my night up. It turned out that you could really get a lot more beers sitting in the club seats than downstairs. I was double fisting that shit all night sending the women out to get more about every half inning. I don’t remember this at all but I had even wandered down to the good ol Sandlot to meet the boulder crew for some good ol shots of Jamo.
Well, after literally losing track of all awareness I start going in on Mr. Barrett.
“Hey Michael! Carlos is going to come kick your ass again.”
“Barrett, get off your knees, your blowing the game!”
And various other standard chirps…turns out I was being pretty obnoxious for the married crowd. Lots of dirty go kill your self looks. A few of the old men even told me to shut up. Apparently they didn’t find me reminding everyone about Zambrano punching Barrett in the face as amusing as I did. Some geriatric even got another usher to come yell at me.
Turned out, my friends, DSC15 and Ethan were sitting right below me cheering me on. Up to DSC form I’m sure they were as canned as I was. I of coarse continue to keep yelling at Peavy, Barret, fuck, anyone I could. I get a phone call from DSC15 telling me to get outta there quickly. Apparently they were going to remove the drunken guy with the cubs hat on(Thats never happened before, really narrows it out). Well I immediately take off my blue shirt and cubs hat and give it to the woman. I grab my beers, very important, and start running down the hall. I literally run straight past the team of security guards that was coming to boot my ass outta there. Good thing I have experience in these sort of situations. I get away completley free. The rest of the night is pretty blurry. I faintly remember walking around by myself on the main concourse for a while “hiding out”.
They stop serving beer in the 7th. Lame, but what can I say, we apparently don’t run the joint. I had ran short and needed some more. This is when I make the brave move of returning back to my seats. Thankfully the woman hadn’t guzzeled the 5 or 6 beers we had stock piled and I was still on my way. I keep yelling but by this time the game had gone into extra innings and the lead had changed a few times. You can read about it in sports illustrated or something, as my recollection is vague. I do however, remember Holliday’s famous play at the plate where Barrett fucked up the tag. Boy I felt so much better about my rants earlier on.
Finished the night up with a DSC standard bottle of DD champaigne. Except I made the woman sneak it out in her purse. Still have the bottle.
Denver 1, Dude-Bros 0
