Bittersweet way of things, but still happy otherwise

In looking back at the year that it was, today’s midday post will look back at number 66 on the year-end countdown.

Ever remember what it was like when you made your first basket in a basketball game or hit your first home run in a baseball game?

You look around among a sea of people that are cheering for you as you run around the bases or after a game in a small gym, celebrating your performance.

Then you look up and try to see one person, one person that had a hand in helping you reach your peak in a certain area.

And they’re not there.

That was the case when on three different occasions, I tried to invite my big sister Krystal to come to a game and meet the chocolate cutie down at the corner of South Third and Union Avenue.

For much of the summer, she gave me a lot of advice on dealing with what is now known as the greatest summer love story in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

The first time that I tried to invite my big sister to the ballpark was  the night of the most romantic radio moment in the history of Memphis professional baseball when the chocolate cutie and I shared the microphone for a half-inning on July 4th.

Two hours prior to that, there was some miscommunication problems that led me to celebrate the Fourth with the chocolate cutie without the one person that actually helped a great deal as far as my summer fling with the chocolate cutie was concerned.

The next time that there would be a chance to introduce the chocolate cutie to my big sister was when the Redbirds would face the Round Rock Express on July 20th, sixteen days after the “Doc and Miss Candy Show”, the same night of “The Spook”.

And much like the Fourth, another miscommunication problem came up, this time being my fault.

Two days later, I received an email from her which had the line, “You’re a joy to my heart.”

The third and final time that I tried to do it was when the Redbirds faced the Iowa Cubs on August 11th, when it seemed like my big sister would finally meet the chocolate cutie and the rest of the characters that you read in this column.

Then it happened.

Her friend’s boyfriend straight-up punched her friend in the eye and adding another chapter to the bittersweetness of the summer.

The next day, I wrote a letter to her explaining my feelings about the barriers that kept her from meeting the chocolate cutie and everything else about the summer that it was.

I said, “If you hadn’t gave me the advice on the chocolate cutie, I don’t think this whole thing would have happened.”

And it would have never happened.

The dawn of the age of Aquarius at Autozone Park

This post is in a series of flashbacks of the year that it was in 2006. The posts will run until Dec. 28th in this blog.

During the first day of the Kids’ Camp at Autozone Park, I was eating lunch with Steve the Fantasy Baseball Guru, Kelly, Michelle (not the one I went to school with), the “legendary prankster” Brian Esposito, and “Principal Tankersly” when the conversation turned into a discussion on Zodiac signs.

Given the fact that sometime during the broadcasts that I did on Fan Radio, I always managed to bring up the Zodiac signs of certain players because on the rosters that they give us in the broadcast booth, they have the players’ birthdays.

So knowing people’s Zodiac signs was just something that was ingrained in me from the time when my mother explained to me Zodiac signs when I was in sixth grade.

Back to the story, Dennis Tankersly said to us that he was a Pisces, which happens to be the same Zodiac sign of John Nelson and the legendary prankster Brian Esposito, who actually shared a birthday with him.

When it was my turn to share my Zodiac sign, I said that I was a Scorpio and shared m birthday with Pedro Martinez and the guy who hit that home run in 1951, Bobby Thomson.

It was also the same Zodiac sign of Kelly, whose birthday was a week after mine.

By the time it was Michelle’s turn, it was two Scorpians and two Pisceseans (not sure if I spelled that right or now) sitting at the table.

“I’m a Libra,” she said as we all chewed on our respective hamburgers.

The last person to share their Zodiac sign was the wise Fantasy Baseball Guru himself.

Now remember, this was a guy that would always say he was just smart whenever one of us would ask him a question on certain things.

This time, his response to the Zodiac conversation shook the world.

“I don’t even know my Zodiac sign,” he said.

After savoring the last few bites of my cheeseburger, I asked him his birthday.

“Feb. 16th,” he said.

“You’re an Aquarius,” I said to him, “You’re three days shy of being a Pisces, which begins on Feb. 19th.”

A month later, I asked the chocolate cutie what was her Zodiac sign, which was something that was egged on by my big sister.

From my own actions around her, it seemed to me that she shared the same Zodiac sign as the city’s fine version of Marcie, who was a Pisces.

My theory was that many Pisces girls that I talk to, I end up losing lots and lots of concentration.

When I guessed her Zodiac sign during one of the first conversation that I had with my big sister, she had this to say to me.

“LeToya Luckett is a Pisces.”

So is Will Clark and Harry Caray.

Not to mention Juan Encarncion and former Detroit Tigers outfielder Skeeter Barnes.

When I brought up the Zodiac thing to her after we got in a picture together, I asked her what was her Zodiac sign.

“Aquarius,” she replied, “My birthday’s Feb. 9th.”

When I found out, I had to think about my ex, who was also an Aquarius and I couldn’t see eye to eye with.

Mainly because she rushed into what she thought was going to be a long-standing relationship.

Without getting to know me.

I went into the store and told the wise Fantasy Baseball Guru about what had happened when I asked the chocolate cutie about the Zodiac sign.

“She’s an Aquarius,” I told him, “Just like you.”

And probably for the first time in the history of mankind, the wise Fantasy Baseball Guru actually admitted to not being smart about Zodiac signs.

In a circular way.

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 Omen”

In looking back at 2006, today’s flashback will look at number 78 on the countdown of the things, people and moments that made this a year to remember.

About three weeks before the most romantic moment in the history of Memphis professional baseball, I received an email from my big sister Krystal about the column that I wrote on June 19th about how in the world did I end up going from a journeyman writer who was known for his volatile temper and problems with almost anybody or anything that he came into contact to a guy that is now known for the most romantic moment in the history of Memphis professional baseball.

When I scrolled down to the end of her response to my column, one of the lines, went along the lines of saying,”Miss Candy’s gonna make you famous faster than you thought.”

Of course at the time, I was only known for one thing, that I went to school with a few of the Redhots.

So the idea of doing something for a friend or in this case, a girl that I liked, wasn’t really something that would gravitate any attention towards me as I did the Fan Radio broadcasts.

My own objective of doing the games was to try my hand at baseball broadcasting and see if it would work out as a career as well as my other ambition, being a sportswriter.

The belief of the “Doc and Miss Candy Show” actually happening didn’t strike me until I did the “Two Girls and a Doc Show” on June 25th when the Redbirds faced the Isotopes at Autozone Park with Michelle and Sharika.

As I mentioned before in one of my flashback entries, I asked Michelle did the chocolate cutie ever get the secret admirer note that I gave her to give to the chocolate cutie on May 24th when the Redbirds faced Tacoma.

“She’s normally the first one that gets here, so I left it where she could get it,” she replied.

For some reason, I asked Abbey when I caught up with her after I finished up the “Two Girls and a Doc Show” did anyone in the Redbirds organization find out about my plan to bring the chocolate cutie in the broadcast booth.

“Top secret,” she replied as I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my Cardinals hat.

“So no one knows?” I asked.

“No one.”

As the game progressed into the eighth inning, I ran into Michelle and Sharika again prior to heading up into the broadcast booth to do the final two innings of the Isotopes-Redbirds game and explained to them that this, like most of the pursuits or things that I have tried to do by impressing a girl in the past, was going to backfire.

“She was telling us about coming up in the booth,” Michelle said to me as I looked at the action.

Knowing that Michelle and I were on the yearbook staff together at Whitehaven High School, which was the same staff that the girl I had a crush on during my senior year was on, I quickly explained to her that there’s no way that I can pull this off.

Absolutely no way.

Before I left for the booth, Michelle said this to me.

“How can you let what happened to you in high school dictate what happens now?”

As I moved through the sea of people to find Abbey, I ran into the chocolate cutie who waved to me and we exchanged hugs.

Out of the blue, I asked her about the thing of coming up in the broadcast booth on the Fourth of July.

“I haven’t even got my work schedule,” she replied.

And much like the day that I admitted to liking her, she gave me a little nudge on my shoulder as I made my way to the booth.

No big deal.

In the eighth inning, I noticed that some of the cheerleaders were down on the second level tending to the guests from where I was in the broadcast booth.

Over the air, I said about my next broadcast from the confines of Autozone Park which went along the lines of saying, “We might have a very special guest on the Doc Hancock Show when the Redbirds face the Nashville Sounds on July 4th from beautiful Autozone Park.”

I also made a mention that there was also going to be a big fireworks extravangza after the game and some fireworks in the broadcast booth because of the special guest.

The kiss of death, if you ask me.

When I signed off the air after the game was over, I made my way down the hall and to my surprise, the chocolate cutie was hiding out in the press row area.

“What the-”, I said as I looked at her, stammering my words like a stutter.

Apparently she didn’t say anything, but she got out of the corner she was hiding in and the two of us walked together down the hall and for the life of me, I couldn’t find any words to say.

Then for some reason, she ends up running down the stairs that lead to the main foyer to head back to the field.

The day before the Fourth, I talked to a co-worker about the chocolate cutie coming up in the press row area after the game on June 25th.

“Have you ever seen her up there before?” my co-worker asked me.

“Once, when I did the broadcast between New Orleans and the Redbirds on June 4th,” I replied, “and she was busy with some people that came in from Collierville while I was headed to the booth.”

“Who was she with on the day that you saw her up there?”

“No one,” I said,”She was by herself.”

“She has her eye on you,” my co-worker said to me.

Put your stunna glasses on and melt away

This afternoon’s post will look back at number 80 on the countdown of the 100 events, people, and things that made 2006 a year to remember.

One of the biggest songs of the year was the anthem to the “stunna frames” by rapper Nakia Shine, a proud native of Frayser, who had everyone wearing stunna frames around the city.

Even babies and elderly people were wearing the shades.

Of course, I don’t think a song about wearing eyeglasses in order to correct squinting in my right eye would cause a blip on the national rap radar.

I had figured that I needed glasses to correct the squinting that I had in my right eye that bugged me for about a week or so in the middle of June, when the Redbirds were in the middle of the longest homestand of the year.

So on a warm Friday afternoon, I went down to Fisher Optical in the Medical Center to buy some glasses to correct the squinting and made a mental note to wear the glasses when I did the broadcast on Father’s Day so I could be able to read the out-of-town scores.

And try to avoid being seen by the chocolate cutie, whom four days prior to that, I admitted my feelings to when I did the game between Oklahoma and the Redbirds and used the home run call for the first time

I was called to do the game on Father’s Day when the Redbirds faced the Omaha Royals, which would be the first game that I did since I admitted to the chocolate cutie that I liked her four days earlier.

And used that quasi-famous home run call for the first time.

When I entered the ballpark among thousands of people that were there to enjoy the day with their families, I figured that there’s no way that somebody is going to spot you out of 10,000 or so people in a ballpark.

I had turned the other way towards the Entry Plaza and tried to focus on getting prepared for the game and meeting up with Abbey to see what innings would I do that day.

And knowing how a couple of days earlier, my big sister mentioned to me that I was going to melt if I saw the chocolate cutie again, mainly because well, my big sister is normally right on these type of things.

So once I got near the middle of the Entry Plaza, to my right I heard a voice near the main entrance.

“Hey, honey,” I heard. It was the chocolate cutie.

Logic told me that no one spots you out of 10,000 people just out of the blue, especially a girl.

And definitely not a girl that you see every once in a while when you do the Fan Radio broadcasts.

When the chocolate cutie said that, I paid no attention to it, figuring it was because she was just trying to be nice and stuff.

Four days earlier, I was standing in the concourse area and was listening to Michael Jackson’s “Butterflies” play over the loudspeakers prior to me admitting to the chocolate cutie that I liked her.

Replacing Michael on the loudspeakers was his brother Jermaine’s song, “Do What You Do” as I went to get the scorecards and write the lineup.

As I was doing that, I figured that I should go back over to where the chocolate cutie was and say hi.

And make some little talk and be on my way.

I went back over to the Entry Plaza and said hi to the chocolate cutie, who by my surprise was wanting to know where I was for the last four days.

“Well, I work as a consuelor for parents at Porter-Leath,” I answered, “I missed you too.”

I brought up the home run call that I did when Mike Rose hit the homer in the bottom of the ninth inning of the game that I did between Oklahoma and the Redbirds four days earlier.

“Well, I wish I could have heard it,” she said.

And much like what happened on June 4th, the two of us looked into each other eyes for maybe 20 or so seconds as gray clouds formed over the ballpark.

I attempted though, to get to know her, but apparently not thinking, I figured it was the wrong time to do it as people kept pouring into the gates.

I talked to my big sister about what happened at the corner of South Third and Union Avenue later on that day and asked her why would the chocolate cutie be so concerned about where I had been for the last four days.

My sister’s response?

“Bro, she sounds like she’s interested in you the same way that you’re interested in her. Her questioning of your whereabouts is a sign that she’s into you.”

Enough said then.

Dr. Phil, meet Dr. Schumacher

Counting down the top 100 moments of 2006, this evening’s post will look back at number 81, when a guy who spent a month or two with the God Hitter and the O.G. Centerfielder in the capital of Cardinal Nation gave some much needed advice to a lovesick writer.

Seven days after being spooked by the chocolate cutie and Sharika before I headed up to the booth and running down to the Peabody Place garage to grab a Coke, I was back in the friendly confines of Autozone Park as a volunteer hitting instructor for the annual Kids’ Camp.

The instructor I would be helping out would be none other than centerfielder Skip Schumacher, who expounded on wisdom he learned from Albert Pujols and Jim Edmonds and passing it to the kids that we were instructing.

For some reason, seven days after the infamous spook happened, I was pretty worried about what to do if I saw the chocolate cutie again and how she would react to what I did on July 20th.

During the break we had between rotating the groups that came to our station, on a whim I told Skip about what happened when I went to tell Michelle and Jamiliah about what happened when the chocolate cutie came in the broadcast booth on the Fourth and how I got spooked to the point where I had to leave the ballpark and smuggle in a Coke from the outside as well as face the entire Ballpark Gang.

“You got spooked by a girl?” he asked me as I took sips from my water bottle.

“Yes,” I said, “Her name’s Candy and she’s one of the cheerleaders and I kinda have my eye on her.”

And in a moment remiscent of what you see on Dr. Phil, Skip said, “What are you waiting for? Talk to her.”

Knowing that it had been the same thing that every doggoned person that I’ve talked to about the incident, I quickly said, “I know.”

“Women like confidence,” he said in the same way that a therapist would tell a patient.

“I’m sure that’s how you met your wife,” I said as I took another swig from my water bottle again and picked up the bats that were strewn all over the floor.

“Exactly,” he said, “The season’s almost over.”

In the back of my mind, I knew it was something that I wanted to do, but given the fact of what always happen when these type of opportunites happen for me, ending in disaster, I figured that I would rather leave things unsaid because I didn’t want to let my feelings for the chocolate cutie overshadow what I wanted to do, become a baseball announcer or a sportswriter.

In other words, let my priorities be messed up, which had always been the case.

When I left the ballpark that afternoon, Skip gave me one more nugget of advice about the chocolate cutie.

“You have one more month to go or else she might slip away from you.”

A wise centerfielder has spoken.

And it almost happened a month later.

But that is something I will expound on later on in my column.

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.

“The Icebreaker”

In continuing with the top 100 events of 2006, this afternoon’s post will look back at number 86, when a Cardinals hat became an icebreaker.

For a guy that is normally shy around girls that he likes, the idea of trying to talk to a girl down at the corner of South Third and Union that I would see every once in a while was pretty much as laughable as George Bush and Kanye West collaborating on a track.

I had bought a Cardinals hat about a week before I did my next broadcast for Fan Radio, which was going to be during the second series with the Zephrys at the beginning of June.

As I did with a hat back in May, I figured that I would get the hat signed, this time for myself because the one I got signed in May was for my then-boss, who would be the guest in the booth on June 4th, when I did the game between the Zephrys and Redbirds.

Before the game, I went up to Kevin Estrada, Shaun Boyd, and Brian Esposito (the “legendary prankster”) and got them to sign my hat as well as a few of the Redhots prior to the game, which would make for a nice group of signature to wear on my head.

As I walked around looking for my then-boss, who caught up with me as I walked on the Boardwalk along the third-base side of the ballpark, I tried to see who was the girl out in the Entry Plaza.

Figuring that it might be the chocolate cutie and fearing that she might know about the secret admirer note that I wrote in a car two weeks before, I walked over to the other girl who was standing at the gate and asked if she would sign my hat, which she obliged.

After she signed the hat, I could feel my heart racing as I looked at the chocolate cutie and given the fact that I have an uneasy time talking to girls that I like, I figured the only thing I could say at the time was could I have her autograph.

When that happened, she knew about another hat that I got signed, which I explained to her, was a hat for my then-boss at my job that I got signed when the Redbirds faced the Zephrys on May 3rd.

And thinking that she didn’t know who I was, I said to her, “I’m Michelle and Sharika’s friend, Ryne.”

To my surprise, she remembered who I was and told me, “They said that you went to school with them.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I did.”

I don’t remember much of what was said afterwards by me, but I started to think of something to say, maybe some things about her, but for a minute I stood there and said nothing but look at her face.

When I finally thought of something to say after about 15 seconds, I said to her, “Well I do Fan Radio and I was wondering if I could use your name in my home run call, because I think you’re very cute.”

And then she was like, “What’s my name?”

If it was a Hilderbeast-looking girl, I probably would have forgotten.

But a girl as cute as that, not in a million years.

“The Spit”

Continuing with the countdown of the 100 greatest events of 2006, this afternoon’s post looks back at number 88, when I thought it was wise to wolf down a bottle of Coke real fast.

When I decided to write a book about my experiences down at the corner of South Third and Union Avenue, the emotional core of the book was going to be my reunion with Michelle and Sharika, who were in high school with me at Whitehaven High School and the funny moments that we had down at the ballpark.

And on this countdown, many of the misadventures I went through with the two, will be part of the book as well.

The first misadventure that will be mentioned on the countdown with the two was when I did the Round Rock-Redbirds game for Fan Radio on August 19th.

I had bought a bag of peanuts and a bottle of Coke to munch on while I was keeping tabs on the action on the field.

Midway through Mike Rose’s at-bat, I heard a couple of voices behind me in the area where the cheerleaders and ushers sit during the game or before they head out on the field.

As I opened another bunch of peanuts and took a swig of my bottle of Coke and watched Mike Rose take his turn at the plate, I turned back and saw Michelle and Sharika and asked them, “What are you two doing?”

Remembering that I had snuck in a bag of chocolates with a Notre Dame Fighting Irish hat that I bought earlier in the day, the two of them asked me did I have any more chocolates with me, which I didn’t because my hat reeked of the sweet smell of chocolates.

After Rose struck out, Junior Spivey comes up to the plate and as I marked down Rose’s strikeout on my scorecard, Michelle brings up something about Junior Spivey to Sharika.

And as soon I caught wind of this, I decided to test the capacity of Coke that my mouth could hold by wolfing down the Coke real fast.

Once I reached my breaking point, I found myself spitting up Coke and onto the scorecard I had in my left hand as well as the pants that I wore.

Realizing that the two were still there, I turned back to them again and said to them while I was holding the stained scorecard up for everybody to see, “Look at my scorecard.”

And the two in unision said, “It’s not our fault.”

I brought this up again during the final episode of the “Two Girls and a Doc Show” when I told their friend about what happened that muggy night on August 19th.

And still to this day, they both claim it was not their fault that both Mike Rose and Junior Spivey struck out when they went to the platform.