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5:29 a.m. - 2005-08-24


We went to a baseball game last night since Susie's workplace is one of the major sponsors of the team and she gets free tickets.

We had excellent seats which was nice. First row between third base and home plate.

Every time a guy came up to bat and the videocamera focused on him, you could see us on the huge LCD screen in the outfield, waving like idiots which was fun for the first five innings.

But then I realized that people watching the game on the big screens were probably getting sick of us hogging the camera with our shenanigans so we stopped.

And since we don't attend the baseball games on a regular basis ... while they seemed like good seats when we sat down it soon became apparent that we were in the danger zone.

Y'see, when a batter hits a ball the slightest bit funny, that ball makes a beeline for our skulls.

Twice ... FREAKIN' TWICE ... a ball came within three feet of taking out my son's eye sockets.

Several dozen balls flew over our heads and were knocking people senseless left and right.

BASEBALL GAME TIP #1: If you're going to sit where your feet can rest on the roof of the dugout, you pretty much have to pay attention to the game or you're going to get a concussion.

At one point between innings, they had these guys come out with these big cannons that shot t-shirts out of them and into the crowd.

Getting beaned by a t-shirt is good.

Getting beaned by a baseball traveling 89 mph? Bad.

So the t-shirt cannon made me leap to my feet and yell things like "Over here!" and "Your mama blows stray dogs for spare change!" at the guy in order for him to shoot me with a shirt.

So I'm waving my arms and even though I'm on the first row and these guys like to shoot them far up into the crowd, I fought for my chance to be accepted as an equal to the poor saps who had worse seats than me.

T-shirt Boy saw Andrew sitting next to me and ... I dunno. Maybe he was a father himself. Maybe he understood the importance of "winning" a souvenir for your young son at his first baseball game. Regardless of the compassion factor, the guy shot me a shirt.

I felt like such a good Daddy because I had caught my little boy a t-shirt that had been shot out of a cannon.


This was a TINY t-shirt.

It was wrapped up in a maze of plastic wrap and rubber bands.

I handed it to Susie to unwrap while Andrew beamed and kept repeating "I got a t-shirt! I got a t-shirt!"

I sat down, all smug with the knowledge that I was the best Daddy in the world.

After removing all the rubber bands, Susie made the announcement "Uhhhh ... this isn't a t-shirt."

After another five minutes of unraveling, we found out what we had won. What I had jumped to my feet, waved my arms and yelled at the top of my lungs for.

...A freakin' biscuit.

Just a cold, crumbling biscuit.

Andrew, God bless 'im, he looked at the biscuit and made a brilliant deduction.

"That's NOT a t-shirt," he said, gathering the courage to touch the thing.

Me, showing signs of running for political office someday, put a "Daddy Spin" on it.

"Why no it's not!" I said, all cheerful. "It's a biscuit! Biscuits are better than t-shirts because you can eat them! You can't eat a t-shirt!"

Ummmmm yeah.

Andrew didn't see the bright side of the situation either.

I'll give the kid credit though. While he holds the title of "World's Pickiest Eater" he did break off a small piece of the biscuit and licked it before throwing it to the ground in disgust.

Maybe it was the whole "Biscuits shot out of a cannon always taste better than those fresh out of the oven" theory that kids subscribe to that got him to try it.

Regardless, we hit a milestone last night with Andrew tasting his first biscuit.

Maybe if we shot more food out of a cannon around the house, he'd try more things.

Anybody know where I can get a pork chop cannon?

Saw one thing at the game last night that just made me and Susie ill.

And I know this is going to stir up a little controversy, but screw ya ... this is my diary and my feelings and if you don't like it, don't read it.

We saw a pregnant woman ... probably about 7-8 months pregnant ... smoking her lungs out.

Ladies ... if you haven't heard by now ... smoking while pregnant isn't really going to garner you any "Mother of the Year" awards.

In fact, recent studies show that mothers who smoke during pregnancy run a greater risk of having total strangers think they're scummy white trash than pregnant women who don't smoke.

Susie is VERY adamant about women who smoke during pregnancy because she considers herself very lucky to be a mother after years of trying to get pregnant. When she was pregnant, she stopped doing anything that could risk endangering Andrew's health.

No caffeine. No alcohol. No sex.

(C'mon now ... I'm swinging a larger-than-average love hammer down here ... she didn't want the kid to come out with empty eye sockets because Daddy wanted a little sumpin' sumpin' during the eighth month)

So Susie was stewing and couldn't concentrate on the game.

"I should go give her a piece of my mind," she sneered.

"Honey, no," I said. "She's a total stranger who we'll never see again."

"She's putting that child at risk!" she protested.

"I'm sure she knows that," I said. "I'm sure there's been at least one doctor who's given her crap about it already."

"How can she care for her child when she doesn't even care about her own health?" she said, glaring at the woman with the hopes that her glares would hypnotize and force the woman to give up smoking forever.

"It's not our concern" I said.

"Yeah well, I'm just going to stare at her some," she said.

Which she did.

...Until a baseball missed her head by about two feet.

Then it was back to concentrating on the game.

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