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Baseball offers crazy memories
By Regina Eckes
Published:
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Regina Eckes -- Staff Essay
Unlike most students, I do not want the month of September to end. I loathe Oct. 1 because it signifies the temporary death of baseball's regular season. Lying dormant and quiet through the winter months without the national past-time is most uncomfortable for me.
Obviously, I am dedicated to the game of baseball and to certain teams in particular. My favorite, of course, being the Twins, followed by the A's and Sox (red, certainly not white). The Dome itself may be hideous, but it is the home of a glorious team and has provided me with a colorful backdrop to many memories. I do not know if it is the turf in which you can see the endzone or the disgusting, soiled sheet overhead, but something there seems to attract the craziness of life and spontaneity of the sport.
In 1999, while walking through the concourse before a Yankees/Twins matchup (back in the day when we could actually beat the Yanks), a friend of mine and I were chosen to go onto the field and participate in a game made up of catching three pop ups. If one of us managed to haul in all three balls, we would win a Ron Coomer autographed baseball. Ron who? Well, before Doug Mientkiewicz was sent by God to save the Twins' soul, Coomer was the most exciting guy on the team.
Needless to say, standing out in center field in front of 35,000 fans and the respective teams in their dugouts, I missed all three pop ups. However, my friend caught them easily and ended up giving me the autographed ball.
And, from the same series, who could forget the antics of the left field fans that caused Chuck Knoblach to scamper back into the dugout like a sissy when he was the target of a few hot dogs.
If one is truly a crazy fan, tracking down players for autographs is commonplace. I have never introduced myself personally, but I think from signing my memorabilia many times, Mientkiewicz must recognize me by now.
Two weeks ago I sat freezing in a rickety lawn chair outside of Gate G for A.J. Pierzynski's bobblehead day. I noticed someone walking through the crowd of thousands of people who did not look like someone who belonged at a baseball stadium. It was a man wearing non-bobblehead attire such as pajamas or sweatshirts. He was clad in khakis, a checkered oxford shirt and the dead give-away: loafers with tassels on them.
After catching a glimpse of the person's profile, I immediately knew I had seen that face on Sports Center, Sports Illustrated and ESPN before.
Could Alex Rodriguez really be walking outside the Dome in front of thousands of drowsy fans? Mr. I-Lead-the-League-in-Home-Runs-and-Slugging-Percentage? Mr. $250,000,000 himself? It made sense, considering the Rangers were in town. One of my friends asked why I was not running after him if I was so sure. Well, I called her bluff and without another word I sped off through the lines of people and eventually caught sight of him again.
I had no time to think of what to say or how to address the future Hall of Famer, so when I finally fell into stride with him I stuck out my hand where he could not ignore it and gave and exasperated and excited "Hi." He quickly shook my hand while simultaneously bringing his finger to his lips, giving me a grinning, "Shhh." Alex Rodriguez trying to be incognito? He would have more luck getting the Rangers to end up anywhere but last place in the West.
Regardless, whether it's A-Rod, Doug Mientkiewicz or Ron Coomer, baseball has provided me with the most unlikely circumstances, causing my passion for the game to grow as big as the milk jug in right field. I can only wish that September would last through the winter, continuing into April so I can experience the most outrageous of moments all year long.
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