Forgive me readers for I have sinned. It's been one month since my last post. There's no question that I've been crazy busy, but the blog thing hasn't been far from the forefront of my mind. I honestly believe I've been suffering from a slight case of writer's block. This isn't to imply that I think I'm a writer, but I have been struggling to put something together. Over the next few days, I'll try to get caught up on a few of the recent adventures in an average guy's life.
About a month ago I had the opportunity to see the Sox play. Now I don't usually need a reason to hit Friendly Fenway other than to pay the $7.25 for a watered down and warm Miller Lite but this trip actually did have a purpose. My buddy Geoff's grandfather passed and their close relationship inspired Geoff to distribute his ashes at some of his favorite landmarks including the House that Ruth rented. Now I envisioned Geoff casually and quietly releasing the ashes as we walked around the park, or maybe even by his grandfather's favorite seats in the boxes or bleachers. Geoff had another idea in mind. The ashes had to go on the field and no other place would do. There were a few problems with this idea: First, our seats were in the roof boxes. Any attempt from this spot would result in the people below and their Fenway Franks being covered with a fine coating of grandpa. The second and probably more important thing is that unbeknown to either of us, spreading ashes in a privately owned property is a big no no and is actually a crime in some states. Geoff and I plotted like Ralph Malph and Potsie and came up with a plan. He would sneak down and distract whoever he had to and lean right over the field, and I would remain above and document the event with my camera for the court case or to show the doctors how Geoff got all of his injuries. I'm sorry to report that I have nothing to report. The whole thing went without a hitch. He snuck down and was only held up by one usher. He went to a different section and told he usher that there was a friend that he wanted to say hello to. He went down, sat next to a total stranger and told him what he was about to do. He made his move and in front of 33,000 plus, leaned out over the small wall and shook the little baggie onto the field. There was no fuss and no muss.
So the next time you're watching Pedroia, Big Papi, or Veritek up at the plate and they're tapping the bat against their cleats, that little dust that comes off may just be someone somebody loved. And for the record, when I die, I'd like to be cremated and I'd like my ashes to be spread all around my house so Debbie can clean up after me one more time.
About a month ago I had the opportunity to see the Sox play. Now I don't usually need a reason to hit Friendly Fenway other than to pay the $7.25 for a watered down and warm Miller Lite but this trip actually did have a purpose. My buddy Geoff's grandfather passed and their close relationship inspired Geoff to distribute his ashes at some of his favorite landmarks including the House that Ruth rented. Now I envisioned Geoff casually and quietly releasing the ashes as we walked around the park, or maybe even by his grandfather's favorite seats in the boxes or bleachers. Geoff had another idea in mind. The ashes had to go on the field and no other place would do. There were a few problems with this idea: First, our seats were in the roof boxes. Any attempt from this spot would result in the people below and their Fenway Franks being covered with a fine coating of grandpa. The second and probably more important thing is that unbeknown to either of us, spreading ashes in a privately owned property is a big no no and is actually a crime in some states. Geoff and I plotted like Ralph Malph and Potsie and came up with a plan. He would sneak down and distract whoever he had to and lean right over the field, and I would remain above and document the event with my camera for the court case or to show the doctors how Geoff got all of his injuries. I'm sorry to report that I have nothing to report. The whole thing went without a hitch. He snuck down and was only held up by one usher. He went to a different section and told he usher that there was a friend that he wanted to say hello to. He went down, sat next to a total stranger and told him what he was about to do. He made his move and in front of 33,000 plus, leaned out over the small wall and shook the little baggie onto the field. There was no fuss and no muss.
So the next time you're watching Pedroia, Big Papi, or Veritek up at the plate and they're tapping the bat against their cleats, that little dust that comes off may just be someone somebody loved. And for the record, when I die, I'd like to be cremated and I'd like my ashes to be spread all around my house so Debbie can clean up after me one more time.
5 comments:
Why anyone would have a problem with a swarthy gentleman dumping a mysterious powder in a crowded public venue?
I think the comment made in the box seats were, "look at Osama over there. He's either dumping Anthrax or Heroin. Let's get the hell out of here!"
"... it's a slow grounder down the middle and Jeter scoops it up and... holy cow he overthrew the second baseman by nine feet and screwed up an easy double play... looks like some dust blew in his eye or something... you don't see that everyday..."
Deb would probably sweep your ashes under the rug. That way she can continue to walk all over you whenever she wanted.
Deb would probably sweep your ashes under the rug. That way she can continue to walk all over you whenever she wanted.
Post a Comment