Playing Hooky

Wednesday marks the end of baseball’s regular season.

And the end of the worst fantasy baseball season I’ve ever had.

Considering I’ve been playing that make believe sport since 1987, that’s saying something.

But as much as I love the fantasy game, there’s nothing like going to a real one.

Our local team wrapped up its home schedule last week with one of those mid-week afternoon delights.

So I did what any good father would do.

I took my son out of school at 11 in the morning.

And we headed to the stadium.

When my son saw me waiting at the front desk, he thought for sure he’d been busted.

For what, he didn’t know.

But the last thing he expected to hear out of my mouth was...

“Do you want to go to the game today?”

You should’ve seen the smile on his face.

It was like I had asked him if he wanted to leave school early to go to a baseball game.

I knew he had a science test in the morning, so before we left I asked how he did.

“104%”, he said.

What?

Does he think I was born yesterday?

Percents only goes up to 100.

Before I could complain to the principal.

My son informed me he got the extra 4% for a bonus question.

Must be the new math.

So off to the game we went.

To say my son was excited about the day’s developments would be an understatement.

104% on his science test.

And now this.

On the way to the game I shared a story with my son that my dad had shared with me when I was around 12.

It went a little something like this.

My dad was raised in Jersey City, New Jersey.

A stone’s throw from New York City.

One beautiful spring day.

“The first beautiful day of the year.”

My dad and his buddies were walking to school.

As they got closer, one of the boys had a brilliant idea.

“Today is way too beautiful to go to school.  How ‘bout we play hooky and go to the Yankees game?”

What boy could say no to that?

So they zigged instead of zagging.

And headed towards the train station.

As the story goes, on their way there they ran into their teacher.

It was pretty obvious these boys were not headed to school.

But away from it.

So when the teacher said, “where are you going?”

The answer “school” wasn’t really an option.

So they took the leap of faith.

And told him the truth.

The teacher took a long pause.

Then said, “would you mind if I went with you?”

SAY HEY WHAT?

And off they went.

My dad said he treated them like kings.

Bought them peanuts.

AND cracker jacks.

Of course, everyone was sworn to secrecy.

Which my dad honored.

Until the time was right to share it with me.

I think my son loved that story as much as I did.

For our day of hooky, we got to the stadium more than an hour before the first pitch.

Unheard of for me.

But a perfect time to get him some autographs.

We worked our way down to the first base area where the home team comes out to the field.

And we waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

There must’ve been 372 people just like us.

Waiting for autographs.

Finally 31 minutes before the game, a handful of players came out to do their stretching.

May not have been all starting nine.

But there were at least seven.

Including the hot shot center-fielder who was greeted by a rousing cheer.

A cheer he didn’t even acknowledge.

Maybe he had his iPod in.

The multi-gazillionaire infielder followed him.

Now I realize that every second is precious.

But this was “fan appreciation day”.

I’m sure you could find a few seconds to make the day of a 12-year-old.

Even if it wasn’t my 12-year-old.

After all, you make 17 cents every second.

$10.46 a minute.

$627 an hour.

$15,068 a day.

$105,769 a week.

All guaranteed, whether he gives 104% or not.

He got on the field at 12:39.

Left at 12:57.

Never said a word.

Never looked our way.

“Did he sign an autograph?”, you say.

HA!

And neither did any of his teammates.


Not a one.


Sure my son was disappointed.

But nothing a footlong hot dog couldn’t cure.

I said “when you make the major leagues I hope you don’t forget how you feel right now.”

“I hope so too,” he said.

For the next three hours we sat in a baseball stadium.

And enjoyed every pitch.

And every hit.

It was a perfect day.

And a perfect game.

Maybe someday he will share this story with his son.