Sports, and it’s passionate fans, are normally a beautiful thing. They offer camaraderie, entertainment, something to look forward to as we run around this globe like starving rats, ensuring our next meal/premium cable subscription. But from time to time, sports can rear its ugly head, causing an otherwise innocent fan to commit the most heinous and devastating of sins.
And I am guilty as charged.
Here’s the background. Currently, I pick up some supplementary hours working a few nights a week at a pharmacy in the city. This unfortunate predicament causes me to miss the broadcast of several Phillies games, often leaving me with the shakes on the corner after work, begging bewildered strangers for some loose “Phillies.”
I am a tortured soul.
However, I have found one way to, at least partially, resolve this situation. The radio. Doesn’t hurt that Scott Franzke and Larry Anderson are now the best Phillies announcers going. Good interplay, they get out of the way, and they seem to really care about this team and city.
But I digress.
Anyhow, last night I managed to convince my coworkers to let me put the game on, and kept one ear listening while I went about my pharmaceutical duties. And all was peachy keen until the top of the third inning, when disaster struck.
Bases loaded. Myers pressing. Adam Dunn walking to the plate. Two outs, and though its early in the game, tension is nonetheless high. Meanwhile, a young African-American woman, maybe 19, approached the counter. I noticed her, and walked over to offer my assistance, still keeping my ears on the game.
“Hi, how may I help you?”
“This one is pretty well-struck…”
“Do you guys have Plan B?”
“Ibanez is heading toward the wall…”
“Yeah, we keep it behind the counter.”
“…Ibanez goes back to the warning track…”
“Okay, I’ll buy one, please.”
“…And he makes the catch at the wall, and the Phillies survive without any damage done.”
“Well thank God for that.” Continue reading