Wouldn’t it be something if that did happen?

One of my plans in the coming weeks is to attend the game between the Tigers and Middle Tennessee at the FedEx Forum and write about my observations from the game in this blog.

Okay, a game between the Tigers and the Blue Raiders is not something that you would want to drop everything and go see, but if you were me, you would probably understand.

I brought up the recent sightings of the Mr. Goodbar candy wrappers in the neighborhood that I live in to a lady at my job a few weeks ago and wondered why would I continue to make note of the numerous Mr. Goodbar candy wrapper sightings every time I see one.

As I think about it, the lady I told this to was the same one who I told the story of the chocolate cutie coming up into the broadcast booth on July 4th, one of the cutest moments in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

“Did you ever get her number?” she asked me.

“No,” I replied, “The last time I talked to her, she was talking to somebody else.”

That was in August, a week before I found out that she did at some point had a crush on me, which was told to me on the final “Two Girls and a Doc Show” on August 27th.

And the same day in which Michelle said to me, “You two will probably be the hottest couple of 2007.”

Back to the story, the lady at my job told me that I should go to a Tigers basketball game and try to find her

Wait a minute, go to a game because of some girl?

I mean, how ludicrous is that?

During the summer, it was fine when it was 12,000 fans or so in a ballpark and all of us in the Ballpark Gang was sweating our asses off.

But four months later, trying again to get a girl that I supposedly liked a whole lot’s number, possibly two days before Christmas, in a building that will have more blue-clad Tiger fans other than me watching the Tigers notch another victory over some poor and wretched team from the backroads of Middle Tennessee, would be something that would defeat my purpose of writing about a basketball game.

The last time I tried something like that, it ended up being one of the reasons why I can’t stand some of the people in the church that I attend now, though I won’t go into detail of what happened.

But given what has happened so much during the course of the this year, maybe the entire readership of this column want to see one more rendezvous between a writer and a chocolate cutie before the year is out.

Just maybe.

I don’t know.

The origin of the “Holy War”

In looking back at 2006, this afternoon’s post will look back the whole rivalry between the Memphis Church and Da Crew, number 67 on the year-end countdown.

I had began attending church out in Cordova at the beginning part of the year, this coming after leaving a church but not attending services the year before.

Little did I know that the group of people that I associated with at the church would turn into a holy-roller version of Da Crew.

To some in Da Crew, they view the Bible Thumpers (that was the nickname that we gave to them) as emigrated snobs who would only last a hot second in South Memphis.

And the Bible Thumpers viewed us as a bunch of cocky and arrogant people who couldn’t keep their mouths closed.

Which was usually reserved for me, because I went into their church and dissed everyone from the janitor who cleans up to the church leader when I first got there.

When we tried to play them in basketball, I figured that there was going to be some excuse that they would chicken out if we moved forward with the game that we brokered with them.

So to solve that, I ended up writing up a contract in order to guarantee the game and making sure that all parties would understand the legal implications of the game.

Which was done at a press conference that was caught on tape with the help of my video camera in the campus cafeteria.

The contract for the most part was signed by both myself and Dr. Chris on January 24th, the same day that we were supposed to have a Bible study out in Hickory Hill.

Later that day, one of the people that we were going to face in the “Holy War” saw the contract that was done earlier in the day and signed by both myself and Dr. Chris at school.

Much to the chagrin of the people at the church, they saw this contract and started the seeds of the rivalry that started between Da Crew and the Bible Thumpers.

On Feb. 10th, the “Holy War” got intense when one of them decided to use my phone as a way to diss everyone and everything in Da Crew, this during one of the worst snowstorms in the history of the city.

Five days later, on Feb. 15th, there was going to be a Meeting of the Minds (read:the introduction of the two factions on campus).

That’s when one of them decided to hide in the Office Depot parking lot, which angered the members of Da Crew.

Especially when one of them said that they didn’t have time to play with little children, which was heard by some in Da Crew.

Well, who’s the little one now?

Blogs were very interesting at times this year

In looking back at 2006, this afternoon’s post will look back at number 74 on the countdown of the 100 things that made this year a year to remember.

I began to keep a blog of everything that I did during the tail end of last summer when I felt that I had way too many stories to tell in my own words.

The blog that I once owned on Blogger, was a minor hit with people at Southwest, where I was a student for the beginning part of the year, mainly because I kept the students abreast on things that were happening around the campus at the corner of Manassas and Union.

Which was mainly drama from within the confines of Da Crew.

At the beginning of June, I began a new blog that I only updated in the afternoon on WordPress.com, which is why the URL is theafternoonsnooze.wordpress.con, a URL that sadly, I can’t change.

Aside from my blog, a few of my friends began to keep blogs as well, though they were not as widely read as my blog.

For a time, a couple of my friends, Robert and Joye, who were dating during the first part of March, wrote about their feelings in their respective blogs, which was pretty much a way to keep their thoughts on their courtship and share it with the world.

Not only that, Joye kept one on Myspace, which is linked from the blog you are read, and is very interesting if I might add.

My friend Tracy, given the fact that she read the morning blog religiously (as well as her cousin), began to keep one on Myspace about how she felt each day, which I don’t too much read because I’ve only been on her page a few times.

In the Galloway Gang, Jason wrote about one of the guys that used to help out on Saturdays who was in Palestine and kept us updated on his condition (keep him in your prayers) and discussed George Orwell’s 1984 as well as shows that he was attending around Memphis.

Meredith’s blog covered things about her soccer team’s season over at Houston High, dumb ideas, and just some random thoughts to her own life.

As for Jeff, he shared with us on how to get kicked out of Kroger at 2:00 a.m., emo music (which I’m a fan of), and things that will make you wonder why I named him one of my “pastors” at the former Myspace church that I owned.

Of course, the blog that you are reading now went from 200 hits in August, which was the total for the month, to over 4,000 hits going into December.

And it’s because of the columns that I have written, that the blog has been a success.

But more importantly, it’s the readers that make this blog a success.

The first beef of 2006

In looking back at 2006, this morning’s post will look back at number 75 on the countdown of the 100 events, things, sayings, trends, and people who made 2006 a year to remember.

For those that don’t know, I work as a volunteer on the weekends through the Mid-South Peace and Justice Center and the local chapter of Food Not Bombs, which is something that I have done for the last two years.

And on Saturday afternoons, we all head down to Court Square (before that it was Confederate Park) to serve the hundreds of homeless people in the Downtown area.

But at the beginning of the year, there was one disgruntled Downtown resident who went by the name of Paul that lived in one of the buildings that overlooked Court Square and criticized our group through a formal complaint by the Shelby County Department.

In so many words, it seemed as though as he didn’t want a bunch of twentysomethings to serve food in order to give the homeless people something in their stomach in his Downtown.

Which sounded to me as a large pile of hogwash and baloney because if the city could focus more on helping cure the city’s ills (especially when it comes to the homeless) instead of beautifying the Downtown area and bringing tourists to the city, then there would be no room for anybody to criticize the way that our group helped the homeless.

For the first three weeks of the year, there were numerous hearings, inspections by the Health Department, and angry emails from everyone in the FNB Memphis group on Yahoo.

As the year went on, not much was heard from that guy who made the complaint, who I believe went on to bigger and better things and into the night.

Hope sprang courtship madness

In looking back at 2006, this evening’s post will look back at number 76 on the countdown at the events, things, people, places, and sayings that made 2006 a year to remember.

When the 2006 NCAA Tournament tipped off, it began the madness that we call March Madness.

And in Memphis, the only madness that surronded my friends was the madness that surronded their various courtships.

With me, it was still that cute girl from the campus bookstore that I met when the fall semester began two days after Hurricane Katrina and the winding down of what was supposed to be one of the biggest stories of the year as far as I was concerned.

Further south in Whitehaven, my friends Dr. Joye and Robert began talking to each other and dating, something that Robert waxed poetically about in his blog throughout the middle part of March, which seemed to be going well.

One of my friends in the church that I attend was also talking to someone that he met in Indianapolis during the New Year’s and unlike the two courtships, he managed to do something that neither myself or Robert could do.

Sustain a healthy courtship.

As the Tigers were making a run for the Final Four, my friend ended up going to Cleveland for his very first date with his friend and to be honest, it was a huge success.

He mentioned to me during some of the conversations the details and how his lady friend treated him almost like a king (well, almost) and the trips to the Cavaliers game, the museum in downtown Cleveland, and her son.

Of course, I like most of the people in the singles minstry was happy that he finally went through with the date.

It’s just a matter of whether the girl is the one for him.

Which is all put in God’s hands.

The day when sparks began to fly

In looking back at 2006, this afternoon’s post will look back at number 77 on the countdown of the 100 things, people, sayings, trends, and events that shaped this year.

 In one of the first emails that my big sister sent me four days after the start of one of the cutest summer stories in the history of Memphis professional baseball, she explained to me that the type of love that somewhat began to blossom on May 21st when the Redbirds faced Portland was the type of love that was only seen in movies.

Couldn’t agree more, if you ask me.

The day that began one of the cutest backstories in the history of Memphis professional baseball, was only a day removed from when I called my first walk-off home run when Timo Perez hit a smash into the rightfield bleachers to beat the Portland Beavers.

And only two days removed from when the Redbirds got their tails kicked six ways to Sunday.

Everything that I did prior to crossing paths with Michelle, Sharika, and the chocolate cutie seemed to be missing from my rapid-sharp memory.

The only exception was that I had bought a huge tub of popcorn to snack on before I went to the broadcast booth.

Knowing that before I did a broadcast, I always made it a point to stop by and talk to Sharika and Michelle for a brief spell before I went upstairs.

Little did I know that one of those times would change my entire summer and maybe my entire life.

After I bought the tub of popcorn, I walked over to a girl that was around the three and introduced myself as the guy that did Fan Radio.

A few minutes passed and I walked up to Michelle and given the fact that I can be very nervous at times around girls that I considered to be out my league, I did the next best thing.

Introduce myself.

And the same as last year when I did the game against Nashville, she said to me, “We know who you are.”

Same answer that Sharika gave me when I did the whole introducing thing.

Realizing that I saw the chocolate cutie who was looking out at the action on the field, I had to think fast of something to say.

“Y’all wanna take a picture together?” I asked the four as I wiped my forehead, which they obliged.

I walked over to the guy who was over the entertainment at the ballpark and showed him how to work the camera and what to do in order to view the subject that he is capturing.

When I showed him that, I heard the chocolae cutie say, “We’re waiting on him to get in the picture.”

And given the fact that I was on my way to the broadcast booth, I felt that I was not really trying to focus on getting in a picture.

But I went on and did anyway.

For some reason, prior to the picture being taken, the chocolate cutie looked at me with this weird look and a huge smile on her face.

As soon as the picture was snapped, I made a dash to the booth, but then something else came up.

In the back pocket of my jeans, I had a bunch of St. Louis Cardinals beads that were supposed to be for some other girl, but the girl was nowhere to be found.

Realizing that I wanted to get rid of them, I felt the next best thing was to give them to somebody.

So I went back and said in a very smooth yet shy tone, “Well, I have a bunch of Cardinals beads and I wanted to give the beads to a very pretty girl,” showing the red-and-white beads to the four of them.

Of course to this very day, I’m not sure if the chocolate cutie ever got those beads because everything seemed to be a blur right after I got in the picture with them.

When I got in the broadcast booth, I said over the air during a point in the sixth inning, that I was going to change my home run call, which was up to that point, “Open the door, Miss Angie!!!!” to a home run call in honor of the chocolate cutie.

For some reason, the wind blew everything that I had in front of me when I came to a pause and caught myself saying that I was going to change my home run call, feeling as though it would be a very dumb idea to do that.

Of course, as the summer progressed, I didn’t regret that decision of doing that.

The Myspace domino effect

In looking back at 2006, this morning’s post will look back at number 79 on the countdown of the 100 things, people, places, and events that made 2006 a year to remember for me.

When I was growing up, I remembered there was this game called Dominio Rally that I would play when I would spend time at my cousin’s house.

I don’t remember the objective of the game because it has been thirteen years since I played it, but the way that the number of friends that I have on Myspace, the domino effect of adding friends became the main reason why as of this writing, I’m closing in on 500 friends.

And pretty much everyone on my friends list is connected to each other as if it was a social domino effect in the city of Memphis.

For example, I added Robert (sax-playing sidekick from my Whitehaven days), who added Dr. Joye (had a theory of sprungess), who in turn added Darius (the third Musketeer), who in turn added his sister (who confuses me with my cousin whenever I talk to her), which would be the friend tree of Dr. Robert Phillips.

Notice the picture, folks?

I added Dr. Jason Smith, who in turn added Dr. Jeff Smith, who in turn added Rev. Rainey, who added Dr. Adam Hite, who in turn added Nathalie, who in turn added Annie, who would add Lydia, who then later added Elizabeth, who then added Meredith, who added Kelsey, who in turn added the new member of the Galloway Gang, Christy to her friend list.

The friend tree of Dr. Jason Smith.

I added Michelle to my friend list, who in turn added Sharika (the witness to Memphis professional baseball history), who added Jamiliah to her friends list, who added her cousin (who keeps calling me ‘Pumpkin’), who added Adrice (who worked at the community center up north).

Which would be considered the friend tree of Michelle.

The same thing could be said when I added Tammy to my friend list, who added Kim (won’t go into detail) who in turned added people out of the friend trees of both Robert and Michelle to form one large Myspace domino effect in Whitehaven.

You’d think the domino effect wouldn’t reach the corner of South Third and Union, but that’s where you’re wrong.

I added Lauretta, who in turn added Singing Phillip, who in turn added Abbey (my other “big sis”), who in turn added Michelle, who added Kelly, who then added me,who then added Sabrina, who added Katie, who added Chris Naverson.

And created yet another domino effect on Myspace from the corner of South Third and Union and interlock with the dominoes that are falling into place thanks in part to the connections made through the three friend trees I mentioned before.

The thing is, what other person will be part of that ever-so increasing domino that we call Myspace?

Could be you, the reader.

A yummy wrinkle in time

In looking back at 2006, today’s post will look back at number 82, about my favorite place to eat during lunch.

Remember those small-town cafes had friendly waitresses who remembered what you would always order, burgers that left you full until dinner, and you could buy candy and cigars whenever you finished your meal?

That’s what the Bon-Ton Cafe on Monroe and South Second, a block west of Autozone Park is.

A slice of 1950’s America stuck in the super-techno world of 2006.

I had discovered the Bon-Ton Cafe, which is in the shadow of Autozone Park, when I was in the area near Autozone Park during the summer of 2005, when I was wrapping up my first season with Fan Radio down at the ballpark.

Back then, my thinking was that I was just going to eat a cheeseburger and some fries and try a different restuarant.

And the other reason was that the cheeseburger and fries only costed me $6, which was pretty great for a guy who only had $10 dollars on him that day.

Fast-forward to this summer, when the area bounded by Autozone Park and South Third on the east, Union Avenue to the south, South Second to the west, and Madison Avenue to the north became my own little Mayberry where I could eat lunch and go down to the Backstop Emporium to talk to Amber and Steve the Fantasy Baseball Guru for a minute before heading back to my job.

I began to regularly eat at the Bon-Ton during the first part of May, ordering the usual special that was always posted on the sidewalk in front of the Bon-Ton in big white letters screaming with all power about the $6 cheeseburger special with the fiery of a country preacher in rural Mississippi.

I would always go in the Bon-Ton and sit on the red swivel stools that looked as though they were ripped from the 1950’s (basically, the entire resturant was taken from the 1950’s) and transported into the 21st century.

My favorite waiter, Miss Mary, would always greet me with the same phrase whenever I came into the Bon-Ton.

“Open-faced cheeseburger with a glass of sweet tea?”

“Yes ma’am,” I would reply as I scrounged through the newspapers that were scattered all over a non-working jukebox with classic rock hits like “Baby Hold On To Me” by Eddie Money and others.

Of course, whenever I didn’t see Miss Mary when I first walked into the Bon-Ton, I would see my second favorite waitress, Amber (not the one from the Backstop Emporium) who also remembered my usual meal.

One of my trips to the Bon-Ton resulted in something that made me a mini-legend.

I had a dental appointment during the first part of August to fill in a cavity at my dentist’s office (see my column on November 9th) and got ten shots of Novacain to numb my mouth, so to avoid embarassment, I took the entire day off from my job and went Downtown to try to eat lunch.

Conventional wisdom would tell you that 45 minutes after getting some dental work done, the idea of going to a diner to eat two cheeseburgers would not be an idea approved the American Dental Association with a still-sore mouth.

Well, that is what happened when I went down to the Bon-Ton after leaving my dentist in East Memphis.

Amber came to the stand where I normally sit and asked me what did I want, which was difficult to say because the left side of my mouth was still sore from the trip to the dentist.

“I’d like two cheeseburgers and a double order of fries,” I said with a muffled voice, “and a glass of sweet tea.”

“What wrong with your mouth?” she asked.

I pointed to the still-sore left jaw and said with a muffled voice, “I just came from the dentist and my left jaw is filled with ten shots of Novacain.”

“And you’re going to eat two cheeseburgers?”

“Of course,” I replied, “I’m going to eat them because I’ve done it before.”

When I got the two cheeseburgers, I took a sip from my sweet tea and then began to eat the first burger, only chewing the cheeseburger on the right side of my mouth to avoid adding pain to the left jaw, which was still puffy when I began to eat.

Amber came by again and refilled my cup with more tea as I began to eat the second one, this time defying all odds and forgetting the pain that was in my mouth.

As I finished eating the second cheeseburger, both Amber and Miss Mary were in complete shock that a guy who was 45 minutes removed from the dentist’s chair would eat two cheeseburgers with a very sore mouth.

Last month, when I was down at the Bon-Ton, I brought up that story to Miss Mary when I came in for lunch and mentioned to her the story and said that probably no one in the history of the Bon-Ton had ever done what I did on August 2nd and more than likely, no one would ever try to do that again.

At the beginning of the month, I made a phone call down to the Bon-Ton and asked Amber did they deliver to the corner of North Manassas and Chelsea, because I was trying to get the hell out of the office for lunch without any problems.

“We only deliver within walking distance,” she said to me on the phone, unknown to the fact who was on the other end of the phone.

“Wait a minute,” she said, “is this the guy that always comes in and orders two cheeseburgers?”

“Yes,” I replied in a deep voice.

Of course, that is another story.

Cold water got poured, but there was no one to drink it

In counting down the top 100 events of 2006, this morning’s post will look back at number 83, about how my strained relationship with my mother almost poured cold water on one of the greatest moments in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

Let me tell you about my background for a minute, readers.

I grew up in the Orange Mound section of Memphis, not too far from the University of Memphis, where my mother worked (and still works at to this day).

I was raised by my grandparents, Camilla and Fred Grant, both of whom are deceased, and from what it seemed to everyone around me, I had a great family life.

Or so they thought.

In 1998, my grandmother died of cancer seventeen days before my 14th birthday, which was probably one of the most devasting blows of my life, losing someone that I was extremely close to and had a major part in raising me.

With her death, it left only myself and my mother, who I believe after almost a decade after losing my grandmother to cancer, was not prepared to deal with a soon-to-be 14 year-old young man or dealing with the only family member that hadn’t turned their back on them.

In the years since, I’ve had to deal with my mother’s heavy drinking, which started I believe after my grandmother died and my mother’s volatile temper, which I was a victim of many times through her fits of rage.

Normally in my family, it always has to be a go-between to mediate the communication between my mother and I.

Which was the case this year, when I tried to invite my mother to a Redbirds game on the Fourth of July.

I had lucked on buying tickets for a very low price from the ticket office on July 1st and again on July 3rd and knowing that my mother had never seen the inside of Autozone Park (the last time that my mother went to a baseball game, was the very last game in Tim McCarver Stadium in 1999 when the Nashville Sounds faced the Memphis Redbirds), I figured that I could get some tickets so that she could go the game.

And knowing that once again I had to get someone to relay the message of my plan (a longtime family friend that I have known for almost twenty years) the week before the game, I knew for a fact that the rare occasion of when my mother and I do anything on the Fourth together (which hasn’t happened since 1998) was going to be doomed.

When I got the response from the family friend the day before I did the game against the Isotopes on June 25th, the family friend told me that my mother didn’t want to go to the game.

“She told me she didn’t want to be in the hot sun,” the family friend told me when I asked him about it.

So knowing that, I ended up calling people that wanted tickets for the Fourth of July and leaving the bitter taste of what my mother told our friend.

On the Fourth of July, I had thought that the stars were aligned for everything to go according to plan, until I found out that I would definitely be doing two innings in the Fan Radio booth earlier in the day and possibly be a part of the most romantic moment in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

Two hours before I was supposed to leave, the friend that I called on to get the tickets for the Redbirds game cancelled on me, leaving me with possible unused tickets and a long drawn-out Fourth at home.

And on a hunch, I explained to my mother that I had tickets for the game that evening, which only happened because my friend’s grandmother was admitted to the hospital earlier in the day.

Little did I know how angry my mother was going to be at me during the ten-minute ride to the ballpark.

And some of the stuff she said, which was a load of profanties that I don’t want to repeat in this column, was pretty much attacking me and the way that I got her the tickets, which I can admit, was not right.

But when your mother is constantly building up a neverending wall of excuses to block spending some time with you, which strains the communication that most parents have with their children, what other choice do you have?

While I was at the ballpark, I spent most of the time talking to people around the ballpark and soaking in the atomsphere of the Fourth while my mother just stayed her distance away.

Before I left for the booth, I got into a minor arguement with my mother about where to meet her after the game was over and in a respectful way, told her I was headed up to the broadcast booth and I would see her right after I finished up in the broadcast booth and meet her in the Entry Plaza afterwards.

Which was when the sour note of the evening got even more sourer as my mother complained about everything from the rudeness of the people that she was sitting around to the way that I handled the situation, which now I greatly admit was a complete mistake to do as I look at it.

I was too tense and panicky to say anything about what happened, mainly because of my mother’s fits of rage, especially when I bore the a large share of the anger that she had balled up in her to come out at times.

When I look back on that night, I felt as though the mistake of what I did to my family overshadowed what happened in the broadcast booth.

But more importantly, it showed me the fact that my mother, deep down, is a miserable person that hasn’t fully come to terms with my grandmother’s death.

And it’s sad to say it like that, but it’s the truth.

The cold hard truth.

“The Homer”

In continuing with the countdown of the 100 greatest events of 2006, this evening’s post will look back at number 84, when a scene that was appeared to be taken from “The Natural” made its way to the corner of Union and South Third.

As ironic as it sounds, I was born the year that the Robert Redford movie, The Natural, came out.

And if you’ve seen the movie like I have, you already know the story of Roy Hobbs, a washed-up ballplayer who helps a downtrodden team by hitting mammoth homers and leading the fictious New York Knights into contention.

You also know that Hobbs’ childhood sweetheart ends up returning to his life and suddenly rekindles the prowess that he had during his younger days.

Fast forward twenty-two years later when an aspiring sportswriter and broadcaster and a very chocolate and cute girl ends up sharing a summer full of memories, which is arguably one of the cutest stories in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

One of them which ended up being the backpage to a warm and muggy Wednesday afternoon at the corner of South Third and Union Avenue.

I was called in to do the game between the Oklahoma Redhawks and the Redbirds, the last Wednesday afternoon game of the season on June 14th.

Little did I know that on the same day, the now quasi-famous home run call would be used for the first time.

I had invited a guy who was from a sister church in Cleveland as my guest, who was celebrating his birthday that week, and I made sure that he was introduced to everybody in the Ballpark Gang before the game started.

When I got to the Entry Plaza, I noticed the chocolate cutie at the main gate and tried to avoid her because I knew she was busy.

At the same time, Michael Jackson’s “Butterflies” comes on over the speakers in the concourse as I looked out at the crowd of people in the Plaza.

I took my guest over to the main entrance and lo and behold, the chocolate cutie gives me a hug and we exchanged greetings.

I motioned my guest to come over to where I was standing with the chocolate cutie and introduced him to her.

After that was done, I kept trying to think of something to say this time around, instead of another autograph, which was my icebreaker from June 4th when I did the game between the Redbirds and New Orleans.

Finally, after a long pause, I decided to open up about my feelings, which I felt uncomfortable about because there’s absolutely no way she’s going to think a guy that she sees every once in a while is that head over heels for her.

“Who am I kidding?” I said to her as I looked at her, “I have a crush on you. I think you’re very cute.”

Another long pause.

Expecting what I always expected from these types of things when it comes to girls, I was trying to think of something to say when she started to smile at me.

“Well, I think you’re sweet,” she said to me as I kept trying to think of something to say in the sweltering Memphis summer.

Realizing that I wanted to get the story of how I ended up getting the teams on the air confused last summer when I met her for the first time off my chest, I took a deep breath and plunged forward with the detail of what happened when I went to the broadcast booth for the first time in 2005.

Which is when she started to smile and do this little nudge on my shoulder and smile again, which of course didn’t mean anything to me.

She’s just being nice.

After I finished saying what I had to say and going about my way, I went into the Ballpark Emporium and got a hold of Amber and told her what happened with me and the chocolate cutie.

“I did it,” I said to Amber, “I told her I liked her.”

“What did she say?” she asked me.

“Well, she thinks that I’m sweet,” replying in the monotone voice that I had always used when I knew something was going to go wrong.

Of course, I was not even thinking about using the home run call during the game, which was another loss for the Redbirds and even worse a shutout as the game progressed into the bottom of the ninth inning.

My other “big sis” Abbey was sitting up in the engineer’s chair when Mike Rose came up to the plate with the score being 5-0 in favor of the Redhawks.

As both my guest and I said during the game about the Redbirds working the count, Rose is working the count the way the Redbirds to that point in the season, wasn’t doing.

Rose fouls the 3-2 pitch into the first row of seats down the third base side, which is caught by a little kid.

Then it happened.

On the same day that I admitted my feelings for the chocolate cutie, the baseball gods and probably the course of my journalism career changed.

“3-2 to Rose…………Swing and a pop fly, back and you can goodnight, Miss Candy, it’s a homer!!!!!!!”

After that was said, my guest said in a gravel voice, “And the Redbirds are on the board!!!”

Realizing what had just happened, I said again, “Goodnight, Miss Candy, it’s………a……..Goner!!!”

And began to cackle and give high-fives to my guest and Abbey.

Of course, the bad thing about it was that they didn’t win the game.

But the home run laid the groundwork for some magic around the corner.