During Opening Day 2006, when I disappeared from our group in the terrace level for several innings, I accompanied a photographer friend to a press pen in right field, which is now the Mercedes-Benz Field Haus.
Between shooting the Brewers at bat through the chain-link fence, she would implore me to pleaseshutthefuckup.
“OMG, LOOK!!! Plastic batting helmets! They just give them to you guys?!?! I’m going to go steal some…”
“Shhh! Listen, you’re not supposed to be down here,” she said. “You’re wasted and you don’t have a press pass. I don’t want you to get me kicked out.”
“What are you kidding me? These are my people. They know me!”
“No, they don’t!”
At this point a photographer setup next to us looked over: “Oh, hey John.”
“Hey Steve! How have you been, man?” I said. Then to her: “What? They know me. What’s going on with the game?”
The Brewers had taken a tenuous 3-2 lead thanks to Jeff Cirillo’s single. Then, in the 8th Inning, a Pirates defender couldn’t handle a Geoff Jenkins grounder. With Jenks on base, Carlos Lee, El Caballo, who has since revealed himself to be El Burro, came to bat.
We all watched through the links in the fence, as Lee worked the count to full. With each pitch, which he fouled off, the photographers’ shutters would all click briefly, like a hundred grasshoppers fucking.
“He’s waiting for his pitch,” I said. Another foul. “OK, this one. Get ready, because this is the pitch.”
The wind-up… the delivery… BAM — 2-run homerun, FTW.