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Champzilla Sportsman Diaries: DOUBLE HEADER- Trenton Thunder @ New Hampshire Fishercats, Merchantauto.com Stadium, Manchester NH//Scranton WB Yankees @Pawtucket Red Sox, McCoy Stadium, Pawtucket RI 5/24/09
By Dan | June 14, 2009
On Friday April 24th, 2009, I suffered a severe concussion. While training new lifeguards I was administering the skills test while acting as their victim. During a routine back-boarding scenario, two of the trainees dropped me on my head. I don’t remember much else after that, but I somehow got myself dressed and walked around work for two hours before someone noticed I wasn’t making any sense when I talked. An ambulance was called, the rest of the day was spent in the emergency room, and the long recovery began.
Apparently recovering from a concussion takes a long time, especially when it comes to regaining memory and handling mood swings, but it did leave me with a newfound respect for athletes recovering from brain injuries. Who am I kidding? It left me with a newfound respect for Teddy Bruschi, Brian Scalabrine, and any MMA fighter who’s fought Fedor Emelianenko.
The entire week that I wasn’t able to drive, work, or hangout I’d think about what I would want to do when I got better. It took my friend’s GENIUS masterwork of screwing with the New Hampshire Fishercats’ Wikipedia Page that I realized I wanted my first post-concussion beers at a Fishercats game. What was supposed to be a quiet afternoon ballgame quickly became one of the best sports memories of my life.
My buddy and I drive to Mercantauto.com Stadium (great name, by the way) in beautiful ‘Manch-Vegas’ New Hampshire and buy the finest 6 dollar seats in the stadium- the aluminum bleacher seats. The beer line was relatively small since it was an afternoon game after all, so I was able to grab my tall cool Budweisers and grab some aluminum bench before the first pitch. My first ‘beer-covery’ sips had just hit my lips when a young woman in a Fishercats shirt holding a microphone asks me and my buddy (also double-fisting Buds) if we would want seat upgrades.
I looked at my buddy, shrugged, made a ‘what-the-hell/why-not’ expression, looked back at the girl, shrugged again and said “Ok. Sure.” Now that was me calmly accepting the invitation, because I felt that if I had overreacted she would rescind her offer. We got plopped right in front of home plate, got FREE T-SHIRTS, and were put on jumbo-tron. We were told beforehand that we would not be allowed to speak when put on the jumbo-tron, but I managed to yell out a quick “fishacaaaat” before they cut back to the game.
Unfortunately, what was shaping up to be the greatest day ever suffered from a sudden spring shower. Even though it was very minute, and the game was not stopping, people started rushing to the concourse area so they wouldn’t get slightly damp. I made a make-shift tent out of my FREE T-SHIRT and began feeling very proud of myself for toughing it out.
Yes Dan. This is it. You’re proving you’re the number one Fishercats fan, and people are going to notice it. There’s a reason you got seat upgrades and a FREE T-SHIRT: Because you’re a Champ. And God knows you’re a Champ. Yeah…God knows you’re a champ and the greatest Fishercats fan ever and He gave you a seat upgrade with a FREE T-SHIRT because you’re the Champ and a Champ deserves a FREE seat upgrade and a FREE T-SHI-
“I don’t want to sit in the rain.” My friend says totally disrupting my inner monologue that easily could have gone on for several more minutes.
“Awww, jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez. You don’t understand. God wants us to be here. It’s a no-hitter going into the second inning. We’re probably going to see a no-hitter if we stay.” I argued.
“Yeah, but if God wanted us here, he wouldn’t have let it rain.”
Damn. His reasoning was sound.
“Let’s just go get more beers and watch the rest of the inning in the concourse. I’m sure it will stop raining soon. Then we’ll go back.”
Even sounder reasoning. I was out of beers, might as well grab some and enjoy them without getting rain in them, thus turning them into Michelob Ultras.
So as soon as I turned my back and began ascending the stairs to the concourse level, a ball was hit down the first base line, effectively ending the no-hitter. I was crushed. My friend, feeling it was his fault that he jinxed it (it was), offered to buy me a beer. For those of you who may end up being in this situation one day, a beer is an acceptable form of apology for jinxing a would-be-no-hitter, as are Arby’s coupons, but there is no beer with an APV% high enough that can make you forget the hurt your friend has caused. My white whale has escaped me again…
Anyways, after that tragedy ended my favorite part of the game began. Making drunken purchases at the team gift shop. What minor league apparel/novelties did I walk away with this game? The new official Fishercats hat, the new “It’s a Fishercats thang.” T-shirt, and a plush doll of the NEW tertiary Fishercats mascot ‘The Rah-lee Llama’. All the purchases seemed like wise choices at the time, but I remember thinking it made sense to buy a new t-shirt since I already received a FREE one, because I was technically “up a t-shirt”, or whatever the hell that meant at the time. Did I mention I was drunk?
As I got back to my seat and explained the whole “up a t-shirt” logic to my friend, we noticed that everyone surrounding us had radar guns and notepads. We were either in the ‘scout section’ or the ‘minor-league-pitching-enthusiast section’. My gut told me they were scouts. That and the guy with the Astros note pad said “Yes, I’m a scout.” when we asked him if he was a scout. Apparently even though a Blue Jays affiliate was playing a Yankees affiliate, scouts from rival organizations attend minor league baseball games around the country to see what prospects are worth trading for. I found this fascinating. (I checked, I did mention I was drunk.)
As the seventh inning approached and beers were about to be cut off, I began trying to make plans for the rest of the Sunday night. Memorial Day was the next day, and my buddy and I did have the day off. In the spirit of the holiday I felt like I wanted to see another good old fashioned American baseball game, and not something commercial like a movie or chain restaurant. I immediately asked my friend to Google Search ‘ballgames’ on his iPhone so we could take my Toyota Matrix for a drive to another stadium before filling up at Exxon and Burger King.
“Hey, are you guys going to another ballgame?” asked a scout.
“Trying to, I just broke even on t-shirts, so might as well try my luck elsewhere.” I said (still drunk).
“Well, the PawSox are playing 2 hours south of here. Playing another Yankee affiliate too. Should be a good game.”
It was settled. After sobering up with a free box of Ritz 100 calorie packs handed to us upon exiting, we made our way to Pawtucket, Rhode Island (Side note: joking aside, we actually did stop at BK and Exxon. I wanted a Star Trek glass and we needed gas and chicken fries for the drive).
We got to McCoy Stadium and again bought 6 dollar aluminum bleacher seats. Sadly, there was no seat upgrade this time. We tried to make our own, sitting in two seats right behind home plate. It was a happy coincidence having one of the scouts from the previous game recognize us at this game (he made the same trip too), but it was a very unhappy turn of events when the usher asked us for tickets to seats we did not have. After a few beers and becoming ‘down a t-shirt’ because of a trip to the gift shop, we sat at our crummy bleacher seats until it began to downpour in the fourth inning. We took for cover in the tented snack area behind the Yankee affiliate bullpen.
A bunch of pre-teens led by a tall kid with braces began asking the pitchers for gum. When their requests were ignored, they began throwing rocks at their cleats and duffle bags. The boys apparent ‘leader’ didn’t let his braces get in the way of letting his expletives fly. After several minutes of unbridled taunting directed towards the bullpens mothers (who I’m sure are lovely and not ‘fat asses’ as the boys suggested) the future Yankees offered their persecutors some Dubble Bubble if they would put a halt to the taunting. A truce was made by Minor League Red Sox fans and Minor League Yankees, which would normally bring a tear to ones eye over the overwhelming showing of sportsmanship, but alas, the aforementioned truce was short lived. The Dubble Bubble wrapping was quickly removed only to reveal the rocks the kids had been throwing at them, and not delicious Dubble Bubble bubble gum. I have to admit, I laughed pretty hard, even if it was a laugh shared with men who would become Yankees.
My buddy and I didn’t stay for the rest of the game, and instead watched the end in a KFC from a food court at a Rhode Island casino. I can’t for the life of me remember who won either of the two games I watched, but it turned out to be the first ever Pre-Memorial-Day-Make-Your-Own-Double-Header (to my knowledge), and I’ll always remember it when I’m looking through my ticket stub album and see the two stubs for the same day.
Yes, I do save my ticket stubs in an album.
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