|
Kind of digressing from the topic, but since we're on s#@%houses...
1997 Memorial Day tourney, 13-yo. Rain during the weekend has forced me to work 7 games that Monday. Championship game, I've got 3B in a 3-man crew. Bottom of 7th, 1 out, home team down by 1. R3, batter flies out to right center. Because the PU has screwed up so many calls earlier, I swing around and watch the tag-up on R3, just in case he wasn't watching. R3 takes off, to me, slightly before the catch is made. No throw at the plate. Tie game home team is going wild. Visitors call time, manager talks to the pitcher. Seems like it's forever, but I know they're going to appeal. I know what my call is going to be, so I move into the "C" spot so that I've got a clearer shot for a quick exit. (In retrospect, had it not been my 7th game of the day, I might have been a little more forgiving.) Ball is put back in play, pitcher steps off and throws to third. I pause for that dramatic second and call "Runner's OUT!" All hell breaks loose -- visiting team is celebrating, home team is trying to kill me. I become disoriented and forget which side to exit. Home coaches are starting to surround me, so I bolt for the nearest exit, which happens to be the home dugout. I'm lost, so I look for the rest of my crew and they've already left through the visiting dugout, leaving me for dead. I finally make a mad dash for the gate, hop into the back of a cart and wheeled away to safety. Even a year later the team recognizes me and says, "Aren't you the guy who blew that call for us?"
|