The Best Night Ever
By Karlsie
It's not often that I get an opportunity to take my son to Fenway - the tickets are hard to get and, often, out of my price range. But when a pair of first row bleacher seats came my way, who was I to say no? So I packed up Mr. Pi, my 13 year old son, and off we went to the game.
My son and I had a great time. All night long he kept repeating over and over again, "This is the best night ever." He could see the bull pen; it was the best night ever. Carlton Fisk was honored with a foul pole named after him and he was here to see it; it was the best night ever. These were the best seats he's ever had at a ball game; it was the best night ever. He got to try on the World Series ring at the booth; it was the best night ever. He got to eat a hot dog and cracker jacks; it was the best night ever. The Sox went through the order and he saw it while I scored it; it was the best night ever. You name it and it was just something else piled on to make it the best night ever.
At one point, he spied John Halama in the bull pen and decided he wanted to thank him for signing his hat a couple of weeks ago when I went to the game on my own. We headed over a section to get up next to the bull pen. At the change of innings, I called in asking if Halama could come out so my son could thank him.
A moment later, a very confused looking Halama came around the side and looked up at us. My son yelled, "Thanks."
"Thanks for what?"
"Thanks for signing my hat."
At this point, Halama was trying to hide a smile. "No problem," he called back.
Then came the best part: "I think you're the best pitcher in the bull pen," my son yelled out.
Barely stifling a laugh, Halama said, "Well, I don't know about that, but thanks."
I ushered my son back to our seats the next section over knowing that they had just made each other's night. I wasn't surprised when he, yet again, declared this to be - you guessed it - the best night ever.
In the sixth inning, my brother called to say that the people in front of him just left - did we want to come on over? Of course we did - putting us about a half dozen rows from the Reds on-deck circle making this, once again, the best night ever. In case it wasn't quite good enough, we were in his kind of crowd - the fans that like to talk a little trash to the players.
Here's my 13 year old Mr. Pi having the best night of his life and he joins in with the crowd when Willie Mo Pena steps up to the plate in the top of the ninth. He begins talking trash the way little league kids tend to by yelling, "Swing" just as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand. And Willie Mo did just that - swing just as Mr. Pi yelled. After two strikes, he then yelled, "Just go take a seat in the dugout and say hello to Junior."
Then it happened. Felipe Lopez turned around and flipped off my 13 year old son.
I couldn't believe it. A grown man flipped off a 13 year old kid for kid trash talk. Neither could the guys around us - which then started a round of real trash talk at Lopez from our neighbors - speculating about where Lopez's real insecurities may lay. My son, not wanting to be left out, he then stood up, cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, "Hey Lopez, it takes a big man to flip off a 13 year old you jerk."
Well Cincinnati, all I can say is that your players are a real class act. Between Willie Mo, Ryan Freel and Adam Dunn refusing to throw balls into the stands to waiting kids and Felipe "the birdman" Lopez, no wonder you're in last place. But at 13, being flipped off by Lopez got turned around because it was just one more thing that made this "the best night ever" - a major league ball player acknowledged his existence.
As his mother, I would have rather Lopez had flipped him a ball.
