Welcome to my summer
But what a summer it was! I had nearly forgotten how much I enjoyed ticketing. All summer long, it was like one big game of Tetris. And I was awesome at Tetris in the 80's. Every day, I was lucky enough to go to work at a genuine baseball stadium. It was glorious.
The season is winding down now--our regular season is actually over--and we've made it to the Championship Series, beginning on Saturday. So all you fuckers that swore you'd come to a ballgame this summer now officially have 2-3* games (*if necessary) to come out and see the Boomers play for free. I've actually given up on getting people to the stadium. I'll never understand what people have against a free afternoon or evening at the ballpark. It's like I was asking people to attend a timeshare weekend in Des Moines with Orville Redenbacher and his really cool grandson.
Neeeeeeeeeeeeerds!
Naw, it was a helluva season. Some highlights:
1) Our first ever sell-out! June 19th, we sold the stadium out. Mostly to school groups as it was an 11am game but still...it was an impressive crowd.
2) The World's Largest Marshmallow Fight!
Ignore my gut. I'm workin' on it!
This one was a RIOT. About 200 fans ambled down to the field, were handed baseball-sized marshmallows and unleashed hell. It was AWESOME. So much fun. Kids were pelting adults. Adults were pelting kids. Our staff was pelting fans. This was the only event I've ever attended where I saw A) a group of kids ganging up on a kid in a wheelchair and wheels loved every minute of it and B) the guy dressed up in the Stay-Puft Marshmallow suit was forced to run off the field because kids were pelting him in the nuts.
Did I say kids? I meant Colt.
It was chaos. Glorious, glorious chaos.
The kid in the blue shirt was crying because he just got hit in the face with a marshmallow. It may or may not have been me that did it.
3) The Diamond Dig. Ever wonder what it looks like when several hundred women are crawling around the infield dirt, digging with plastic spoons to find a free, $3,000 diamond ring? Wonder no more:
I'm sure that woman in the foreground will be happy to know her ass has been captured forever on my blog.
This one was a little unfair. To make sure no one could see the ring being buried--and therefore make a run to that spot when the dig commenced--we had to bury the damn thing before the game. Which meant we had to bury it deep so that a player wouldn't trip on it as he attempted to field a ground ball. But to prevent serious damage to our field, we couldn't exactly give the women shovels either. For the dig, all we gave them were plastic spoons. Totally breakable, plastic coffee spoons.
Not going to lie...it took a while. First the women weren't digging in the right spot. Then they weren't digging deep enough. Then the spoons started to break. We had to keep shortening the area in which they could dig until we were basically saying "Dig right here". But eventually an esctatic lady found the ring.
I must say I was hoping for more tackles and hair pulling but that is 15 years of watching porn for you.
4) All-Star Week. One magical day at the end of June, our GM sent us an email that asked if we wanted to go on the All-Star trip in Washington, PA. He said it was all-expenses paid and suggested it would be a fun team-building trip. I asked him one question: "If I don't go on the trip, will I have to come in to work?" "Of course," was his reply. "Then, yes, I will be joining you on the all-star trip."
Holy hannah was this fun. And when he said it was all-expenses paid, it was seriously all-expenses paid. I think the only money I actually spent out of my own pocket was for McDonalds and gambling. And since I'm not really a gambler, this was a super-cheap trip.
And we won everything. Steve McQuail's gigantic biceps won the home run derby. Sean Mahley won the MVP of the All-Star game. The Schaumburg Boomers--myself included--dominated the pre-game bowling festivities. Our front office staff decimated two other staffs at speed quarters.
Yes, it's exactly like it sounds. We're grown-ups.
All that and our front office golf foursome won the coveted "Most times screaming profanity in one 18 hole round of golf" while technically finishing dead last if we're to, you know, look at the score and stuff.
5) Squirt Gun Day. You have to understand that most of the crazy stuff that we do at stadium, I actually miss. I have to be down in the box office running things from two hours before game time to at least an hour into the game. And even then, I only get to roam around the ballpark for a few minutes before having to return to my hole to run reports and scan ticket stubs.
Squirt Gun Day was a bit different. We were encouraged by our GM to--ahem--"participate" in the festivities. That's why I handed out loaded squirt guns to my box office staff to pelt people from the relative safety of our respective windows. This is how I totally confused a family of 6 as I subtly shot squirt after squirt of water as the continually turned around trying to find the culprit. This is how I picked the fattest guys to drill as they walked by, totally unaware that anyone was shooting at them. And this is how I made a kid in a Green Bay Packers shirt cry.
See, his Dad walked up to buy tickets maybe 45 minutes before game-time. As such, they were the only ones at the window which allowed me ample time to slowly aim my gun out the window and shoot a tiny half-squirt at the kid while he was watching my every move. I hit him in his chest and he just sort of looked down at the water--as if trying to understand what was happening--and then looked back up at me. He didn't move at all and just sort of innocently stared me down.
So I shot him again. From maybe 3 feet away, just another little half-pull of my trigger. Again I sprayed him in the chest and again he looked down, then up and back at me. He wasn't smiling nor did he look annoyed.
So I shot him again.
This time it was a full pull of the trigger.
This time an enormous stream of water came out and hit him square in the eye.
I have seen this moment play out dozens of times before. I have 9 neices and nephews and you think you're having a lot of fun and all of a sudden the horse play gets a little too hard and bam! The kid starts crying his eyes out. Oh dear god! What have I done! His Dad is going to sue us and I will have to justify it by saying "Well, why did you put him in a Packer jersey in the first place?"
He was clearly asking for it.
To be fair, I didn't intentionally hit him in the eye. I just sort of meant to spray his face. It was a hot day in the middle of July and I figured it was all in good fun. I hadn't anticipated what full shot from a distance of 3 feet would do to the child's eyeball. "What's the problem? He can still see, can't he? He has two eyes."
I immediately and profusely apologized, scrambled and got him a $5 Boomer Buck chip and said "Dippin' Dots are on me!" To the Father's credit, he just laughed, picked up the kid, graciously took the $5 and walked into the ballpark. I felt terrible but I was confident the ordeal was over for the kid.
I eventually made my way up to the press box where I told my tale of woe over a dinner of cold hot dogs and Diet Pepsi. As I was telling my story, Colt stopped me and said, "You're kidding, right?"
Apparently, as Colt was walking the concourse pre-game, he spotted a kid in a Packer jersey and drenched him with his own squirt gun. And again the kid burst into tears and the Father laughed it off and comforted the child.
All I know is that kid ain't never coming back to a Boomer game. He's probably scarred for life. More scarred, of course, since he's already a Packer fan.
I have seen his future and it is cholesterol.
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