My Greatest Day
There are some things that stay with you all your life, a first kiss, your wedding day, the first time you see your child, but none of these can compare with my fondest memory, the greatest day of my life. The day my baseball team, the Toronto Americans won the world championship. My team had already beaten our arch rivals, the New York Performance Enhancers in the preliminary round and now we were up against the toughest team of all, The Los Angeles Bloated Millionaires. The first six games had been an even affair, with each team winning three games, so whoever won the next game would be world champion. And as luck would have it, my friend Chuck and I had tickets.
The game began much the same way all baseball games begin, after sitting through two unbearable versions of the national anthems, everyone got up and went for a beer. By the time Chuck and I returned to our seats, our team was down one to nothing. I looked around the stadium and noticed that most of the seats were empty.
“This is one helluva baseball town!” I yelled.
“What do ya mean? There’s no one here.” the guy sitting next to me said.
I felt sorry for him so I decided to explain the finer points of the game to him.
” These empty seats indicate true baseball fans. Real baseball fans don’t watch the early innings, they either are out getting a beer or they haven’t arrived yet. You see, baseball’s not a game you watch, baseball is a game you ignore until it’s almost over. To do this, you arrive either late or you can do what we do; get here on time but remain oblivious to it by drinking copious amounts of alcohol.” And with that Chuck and I got up and headed to the beer stall.
We couldn’t believe that guy. He didn’t have a clue about baseball. You want to watch baseball, you stay at home. You turn on the TV. You want to experience baseball, you come to the stadium and stand in the beer line. After we got a few more beer, we headed over to the souvenir stand, bought some plastic mementos to supplement our shaky memories, went back to the beer stall, stood in line for the washroom and then we went back for a couple more beers.
By the time we got back to our seats, it was the ninth inning. Looking at the scoreboard, we could see that our team had tied the game. It came down to this, if Toronto scored in this at bat, they would win the World Series. By now the remaining seats were filled. An air of anticipation filled the stadium as everyone waited for Toronto to bat. The first to hit for Toronto was the lead-off man, Tom ‘Lone Ball’ Bailey. Tom was a big favourite amongst the Toronto fans and had acquired his nick-name ‘Lone-ball’ not on account of his hitting prowess but rather in honour of his recent victory over testicular cancer. As Lone Ball reached the batter’s box, everyone in the stadium looked to the Jumbo Tron for instructions.
‘MAKE NOISE’ it read. So we all start to scream. I screamed “I am your father Luke” and other lines from the George Lucas franchise ‘Star Wars’. Soon the stadium was filled with a deafening roar.
The first pitch was high and outside, ball one. Lone Ball dug in and waited. Then ball two. Then ball three and finally ball four. He had earned a walk. Chuck and I and everyone else in the stadium looked to the Jumbo Tron for further instructions. ‘CHEER!,’ it read and everyone did. And really, how could you not with such excitement. The opposing pitcher threw the ball outside of the strike zone four times in a row and Lone Ball didn’t swing. That kind of inaction always brings people to their feet.
The pitcher caught the ball and set himself to pitch to the next batter. He looked over at Lone Ball who in baseball terminology was dancing off first which merely meant that Lone Ball had taken a lead and was now leaning in the general direction of second base. This act of leaning drove the crowd wild.
I remember being totally out of control.” He’s leaning.” I screamed. “He’s leaning. Maybe he’ll do something! Something might happen! Something might happen!” But of course this was baseball, so nothing did.
The next hitter grounded out to the first baseman, so Lone Ball moved up to second base. Now we had a man on second base with one out. The crowd looked to the Jumbo Tron. ‘THIS IS GOOD!’, it read and again the stadium erupted in noise.
After a few seconds of screaming, the pitcher was ready to pitch again. He looked back to second base to check the runner and then peered in to the new batter, Carter Robinson. As soon as the TV camera zeroed in on Carter as he began his normal baseball warm-up. He rubbed his crotch, spit, adjusted the gold chains around his neck and then rubbed his crotch one last time. After a few minutes of rubbing, a smile appeared on his face and we knew that his warm-up was over and with that, he stepped up to the plate and cocked his bat to the ready. The pitcher checked the runner one last time and then delivered the ball to home plate. Carter, being a first ball, fast ball hitter pulled the trigger and with one mighty swing lifted the ball to right field, where it was caught just shy of the warning track. Lone Ball realizing that the ball wasn’t going to be a hit, tagged up and easily made it to third without a throw. There were now two out but Lone Ball was on third base, ninety feet away from a victory. So we consulted the Jumbo Tron for more guidance. ‘BUY AN OVERPRICED HOT DOG!’ it said. So everyone did.
After shoving large amounts of sodium nitrate into our already bloated bodies, we tuned our attention back to the game. The pitcher looked in at the new hitter, Willy Williams, then he looked over to third where Lone Ball was and then back to the hitter. With the runner on third, the pitcher decided to use his full wind-up. Just as he entered his wind-up, Lone Ball sneezed and his body jerked. The pitcher, not expecting any movement (after all this is baseball) hesitated before delivering the ball and immediately the umpire stepped out from behind home plate and yelled “Balk!”. The ball hit the catcher’s mitt with a dull thud. Williams looked around in confusion. Lone Ball was frozen not exactly knowing
what all this meant. The umpire also stood in silence, for he too was confused. So united by ignorance, we turned as one and consulted the jumbo tron for advice.
‘BALK!’ it read, ‘WE WIN!’
“We win! We win!” I yelled.
Really?” Chuck asked.
Yes” I replied, “the pitcher balked in the winning run. His sudden movement was illegal, so that lets the runner score from third without anybody doing anything.” Tears started to stream down our faces. I looked to the Jumbo Tron for advice. ‘CELEBRATE!’ it said. So everyone in the stands did just that.
I looked back at the Jumbo Tron for more advice. ‘SAY NO TO DRUGS!’ it said. So we started to chant “SAY NO TO DRUGS, SAY NO TO DRUGS, SAY NO TO DRUGS”. Even the ball players were chanting although their chants were half-hearted and heavily laced with irony.
I turned to Chuck who threw his arms around me and we hugged. All of a sudden we felt shame but the guy next to us said it was okay. “Men can hug whenever sports is involved” he said. So we hugged some more.
After about an hour of hugging, we noticed that everyone had stopped chanting. We looked to the Jumbo Tron for more advice. ‘GAME OVER. GO HOME. RESUME YOUR SAD LIVES’ it flashed. So we picked up our plastic memories and headed toward the exit.
As the two of us walked out into the street, we were both happy and sad. Sad because the game was over but happy because for just one instant, for just one precious moment in our lives, we grabbed the bull by the horns, we screamed ‘carpe deum’ and then sat on our asses and cheered as over paid foreigners won a championship. And to this day, it’s those memories of other people exerting themselves that make up the greatest day of my life. The day my team won the World Series.