Miami, FL
I decided to go to a Marlins baseball game the other night since my team, The Phillies, was in town. I invited a few baseball friends but none could go so I drove over and parked in a local driveway from a nice Cuban couple for $10 and strolled into the stadium. I’m feeling pretty good. No tennis class. No thoughts. Enjoying the a walk in the moment and the forward lurking enthusiasm for some entertainment.
As I ascend up the elevator and it opens up into right field I feel free. The grass is manicured and magnificent an indoor field of dreams. The stadium is empty and check out my seat int right field. I grab a gluten free hotdog and pass on the soda. As I notice the stadium is starkly empty I go for a walk looking for ice cream and get distracted by the pork bbq sandwich stand.
I grab a bunch of napkins and I’m determined to enjoy this sandwich without the benefit of a table or plastic ware and want to eat this sandwich without getting any BBQ sauce on me. I discover after I discard my napkins into the top of the 3rd inning that I have drip of BBQ sauce on my right pant leg. Damn. I rub it into the fabric.
Shortly there after, as I do some people watching and consider why baseball may be boring to watch and more fun to play, I notice three large breasted Latin women near the front row down the left field line. They are flirting with the Marlins left fielder for a baseball. Naturally, he gets a lot of requests. These ladies have D cups were making their case. I must investigate this further after all I wouldn’t mind a baseball myself so I take the long walk down the stairs to the expensive seats.
As I approach there not as hot as their cleavage suggested from 100 yards away but it doesn’t make the story any less interesting. The a/c is cold in the stadium and these gals were wearing white. Lets just say they were bring their A game in a D cup kinda way.
I position myself strategically not to see cleavage but to get into optimal position for a foul ball. As the 3rd base sideline up the outfield is a prime area for baseballs hit foul. Screaming shots that come sizzling off the bat so you have to be ready. This isn’t a soft yellow fuzzy tennis ball that I play with during tennis class. It’s a major league hard ball.
I found an aisle seat and decided if any small children were near I would concede the ball to them. If any elderly or women with our without cleavage were near I would protect them. If any man, came into my zone. Screw them! It’s dog eat dog. I want the baseball.
A few innings later sure enough here comes a screamer. It’s a line drive and its bending right into my area. Literally, I have about 1.98 to 2.03 seconds to react. I quickly stand to my feet. I brace myself and have my phone in my pocket already. I have a wide stance to account of pushing and shoving. But it’s a Marlins game. No one is here. As I gaze at the UFO as it nears I notice its going to miss me by about 20 feet to the left of me. I know its a mistake to over pursue and run to the area it strikes, because well, its a hard ball and its moving about 90 miles an hour.
I savvily hold my position and the ball explodes into the teal and empty row of seats. I’m ready to pounce as the ball may ricochet in any direction. Surprisingly, like someone rolling a small ball towards a baby this ball trickles right in between my feet into my waiting hands. I grab it and pick it up and take a bow.
Congratulations come from wide and far. People wanna know how did I do it. How lucky am I. One kid comes up and shows me his glove like “throw it to me” I’m a kid. Nice try. This ball is mine and I didn’t really have to do any work for it. I just followed some cleavage.
I left during the 7th inning stretch. Passed on the ice cream and contemplated the significance of my good fortune. The baseball felt so good in my hand. It was brand new barely a scratch on it except from the scuff from the bat. I bounced it. I wanted to throw it. I wanted to play catch but alas it wasn’t to be.
On my way to my car I passed a young female police officer who asked me how my night was. I showed her the ball. We laughed. I felt oddly content for the first time in a long time. It was an amazing feeling. Finally, I experienced something that went my way and I didn’t have to work for it. It felt amazing. It felt good to be a human being and not a human doing. Does that make sense?
I got to my car and the opened the door. The nice Cuban woman who helped me park peaked out her blinds to say hi and let me know she was watching my blue gem with the new tires and to come back for the next game. All in a smile on the other side of the window.
Maybe baseball isn’t so boring after all. Tennis is where my self discovery originated but Baseball has it’s merits too.
Brian Lutz
Brian@Backhand-City.com
Miami Tennis Lessons
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