Remember those skits from Chappelle's Show, When Keepin It Real Goes Wrong? Well until now I though that was just a myth for comedic purposes.
Tonight, I learned a harsh lesson.
We were sitting in section 320 in the 8th inning when White Sox second baseman Tadahito Iguchi was at the plate. The Sox were trailing 7-2, and as a result the people in front of us had left. I moved up a row, and was sitting directly in front of my parents.
The view from Section 320
Well Iguchi fouled a pitch off right towards our seats. It caromed off the facade above us and right at my chest.
"Bingo!" I thought to myself. I've never caught a foul ball in my life while at a baseball game. I remember one time when I was about 6 at the old Comiskey Park my dad took me and my cousin Anthony to a game.
There was a foul ball hit into an empty section of seats one section over from us. I sprinted over there to get the ball, and reached it. Once I got it though Anthony, who was 10 at the time, knocked me over and took it from me.
I still bring that up from time to time when I see Anthony. I don't care if he's 29 now with a wife and a son. I'm still bitter.
Now was my chance at redemption.
Still, I made a costly mistake. I never put down my beer.
No, I had to be Johnny Bad Ass, and one hand the foul ball while never spilling a drop of my precious Miller Genuine Draft. So as the ball came for me my dad reached out for it. It deflected off his arm and veered left, towards my beer arm. The ball hit me in the left shoulder and hit the ground between my feet. It started to roll away when I kicked at it to get it back in my direction.
As I kicked it though, 4 people reached between my legs to grab the ball. (That sounds dirty.) I got one hand on it, but never had possession of it. In the end, some dude in front of me got the ball and gave it to his young son.
My mom sensed my bitterness.
"Well wouldn't you have given it to the little kid anyway?"
I then patted the little kid on the head,
"No offense little man."
Then I sat back down and stared into my beer with the evil eyes.
She had cost me my baseball. Of course no less than two seconds later I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear a familiar voice.
"You shoulda brought your glove."
It was Anthony Girardi from work. He had been in the same section as me the entire time but never noticed me until he saw me struggle for the foul ball.
"I called in. Don't tell anybody."
Oh, I won't Anthony....I won't.
All I was trying to do though, was Keep It Real. In the end I learned that maybe, just maybe, it's not always the right move to keep it real. It's a lesson Dave Chappelle tried to teach me a long time ago, but I was too young and cocky to listen.
But now I know.
Now I know.
Also while at the game, sure this is the bastard who hit a 3 run homer against us, but he still has the prettiest swing I have ever seen.
And I mean that in the manliest way possible.
That's Minnesota Twin catcher Joe Mauer. They call him The Natural. He's just kinda fucking awesome. He only went 1-4 with 2 strikeouts in the game, but that one hit just happened to be a three run homer to put the game out of reach in the 7th inning.
The worst part is, going into the 6th inning with the White Sox ahead 2-0, I told my dad.
"See, now Vazquez (The White Sox pitcher) has thrown 5 terrific innings. That means in the next inning he's gonna give up at least 3 runs."*
*You'll notice in my White Sox Drinking Game rules, everytime Vazquez give up 3 or more runs in an inning, you gotta take a shot. It happens every game.
Then with a runner on, Michael Cuddyer hit a home run to right field. The next batter, Justin Morneau, hit a solo shot to right after him.
I turned to my dad,
"I hate being right."
He just laughed.
Keepin It Real Since 1980,