The end of the 2007 baseball season will go down in infamy. The rockies has started a winning streak against some beaten up LA trash, Arizona, 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. Somehow, I manage to get us 4 tickets in the club box seats behind home plate??? The rest of the metro area hasn’t deemed the team worthy enough to drive down and buy up all of the tickets yet. I’m not complaining.
Game starts like any other monday afternoon, beer, lippers, and proud girlfriends. We settle into our seats to find out that they really are fucking awesome, except for the tons of marrieds and stiff old people. Oh well, didn’t fuck my night up. Turns out you can really get a lot more beers sitting in the club seats than downstairs. I was double fisting that shit all night. Having the women go out to get more about every half inning. I don’t remember this at all but I had even wandered down to the 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.”
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 eventually got an usher to come try and settle me down.
Turned out, my friends, DSC15 and Ethan were sitting right below me cheering me on. Up to DSC form they were as canned as I was. I, however, 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 hat and give it to the woman. I grab my beers, very important, and start running down the hall. I literally go 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, gotta make sure the wife and kids get back to Thorton safely . 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. Made me feel so much better about my rants earlier on…..
Best sporting event ever!
