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09-02-2003, 09:53 AM
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#1 (permalink) |
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Remember that time?
It was a fine autumn day in Toronto. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and my friend Dave and I had somehow scored free baseball tickets. Neither one of us cared a whit about professional sports, so we took our sweet time getting down to the game. We boarded the subway and sped away from our suburban homes, venturing into the big city. Little did we know, that this would be THE most important day that either of us would ever see.
Before we got anywhere near the stadium, we decided to do a little shopping, hang out in a few places downtown and grab some lunch. I bought a few shirts, and we scored some subs so we wouldn't have to buy food in a ludicrously overpriced sporting venue. Eventually, we made our way down to the Skydome and showed up an hour late for the game. To our great surprise, our tickets were perfect, we were in the skydeck, one level up, just to the right of home plate. Now, these are some snazzy seats, we're not talking regulation ballpark seating here, the seats were heavily padded, there were cupholders, and hot babes were selling hotdogs and peanuts and pretzels rather than dorky teenage guys. All of these factors contributed to the fact that we didn't leave immediately upon taking our seats when we noticed the Jays were losing to Oakland, about 30 billion to one in the third inning. Against our nature, Dave and I decided to stick around for a while. I was enjoying the sun shining through the open skydome roof, the smell and sounds of the ballpark, and admiring the delicious young lady offering me watered down beer at ridiculous prices. Sadly, my attention could only be held away from the debacle on the field for so long, eventually it became apparent that someone had abducted the Blue Jays and replaced them with my eight year old cousin and his t-ball team. Soon we lost all hope and decided to go drop pennies off the top of the CN tower. Just as we were preparing to leave, something on the Jumbotron caught my eye. So astounded was I by the shock of what I saw, that it did not immediately register. I poked Dave and pointed at the screen making incoherent jabber noises. Dave concurred. The image plastered across the giant television was none other than our childhood hero and rolemodel, Mr.T! This changed everything, instantaneously our outlook towards baseball games in general radically changed. If Mr.T could enjoy this game, then Dammit, so would we. After careful searching, and much squinting, we finally located where the man himself was sitting. He was in the deck below us, sitting in the seat of honour right next to the Jays dugout. Between innings, it became apparent that other people had noticed Mr.T as well, and were basking in his glory while we merely watched from afar. Kids were getting autographs, men were shaking his hand, women were getting hugs, cancer was getting the beating of its life. Alas, we were trapped several hundred feet away, barred from the spectacle by steel, concrete, and a fifty foot drop straight down. I swore then and there, that if I had to jump off that balcony, crawl up to Mr.T with two shattered legs and breathe my last words as "I love you Mr.T!" then so be it. I was getting down there and that was final. Dave was quick to point out the flaws in my plan, and suggested that we try the stairs instead. I saw the wisdom of Dave's idea, and we left our seats with the idea that we would obtain easy access to the first level. But it was not to be. The skydome security team was far too adept with their Walkie Talkie skills and their loud shouting. No sooner had we set foot on the ramp down to the first level, when we were set upon by many guards with little or no patience for our desire to meet Mr.T. Our next attempt was foiled equally easily when we reached the bottom of the disabled access elevator. The swift security team immediately ascertained that we were not in fact disabled, and we were forced to return to our seats, dejected and defeated. By this time, it was the ninth inning. The Jays had let someone's little brother pitch just for kicks, since there was no way they could make up the huge deficit of runs in any case. After this fool walked three batters in a row, things began to get ridiculous. I decided to voice my opinion and shouted at the top of my lungs "HEY, LET MR. T PITCH!" At first, the people in my section acted shocked and looked at me with confusion in their eyes, but soon, they saw the wisdom of my comment and there were a few cheers and some sporadic applause from my immediate neighbours. To my great surprise, this small disturbance of positive energy soon became a great wave of jubilance that rushed around the entire stadium. In short moments, people were cheering on all sides and whoever the plug was on the mound, he finally struck someone out to end the inning. Mere minutes later, Dave and I found ourselves being swept out of the stadium having not accomplished our sworn objective of meeting Mr.T. We were walking dejectedly around the stadium, back to the subway station, when we saw a group of old ladies making their way out of the first level gates. Reacting quickly, I held the door for them, and in this way, after they were gone we had free access to the inside of the stadium. We had done it, we were in on the first level and were within sight of the crowd around our hero. Apparently, all the excitement had overcome Dave, and he took a seat out of exhaustion as I bravely forged my way through the throng of fans. It was at this point that I became intensely nervous for I had nothing to get autographed but some hawaiian shirts that I had bought at the Eaton's Centre earlier, and my own flesh. As I finally broke through the crowd around my hero, I was struck immobile in awe and unable to produce anything for him to sign. All around me, hands were reaching forward to pass Mr. T programs, books and other items to sign. My time was growing short, I thrust out the first thing that I found in my pocket and like so many others there, got my ticket autographed by the greatest man who ever lived. I was in ecstasy, rapture, I could die now, it was time to retire and protect my cherished ticket. Strangely enough, fate conspired to keep me there at the front of the crowd that day, I was unable to move back towards the exit at all. I was pinned up against a waist high wall, on the other side of which Mr. T was standing directly opposite me. This was my moment, I had the chance to talk to my hero. In my excitement and haste, I blurted out the first words to come into my head "hey, Mr.T They should have let you pitch in the ninth inning." That was when it happened, when he spoke the immortal words to me, for my ears and the ears of all the people around me. Those words that shall live on forever in my head. "I PITY THE FOOL WHO GOES TO BAT AGAINST T!" I nearly collapsed then and there. It was then that he made his exit, and I saw the last of Mr.T He said a few curt words to the crowd, "T GOTS TO GO! T GOTS TO GO!" and slowly backed away from us towards the relative safety of the dugout. We all just stared in awe at his retreating form and silence fell over the crowd for a moment. That was when I spoke to the crowd loudly, and with feeling, "Hey guys, remember when we met Mr.T?" The people around me just turned and stared for a moment, then we all started cheering as loud as we could and someone started a chant. MR T! MR T! MR T! we said over and over until finally a few stragglers and Dave were all that remained in the stands with me. It was then that I knew, that my life was complete. On the subway going back to our homes, I was showing everyone my autograph and telling them about how I had met my childhood hero. Strangely enough some elderly people, who were also ignoring the rules of subway ettiquette, actually acknowleged that I was talking and replied. The too had met Mr.T and had taken several pictures of him that day. In utter disregard for my own personal safety, I gave them my address and name in a crowded subway car, and asked them to send me a copy of the photos. I thought nothing of it for at least six months, until the day that I got a christmas card in the mail postmarked from remote northern town. Amazingly enough, the package contained half a dozen photos of Mr.T and a note saying that I was the only person to ever talk to them on the subway. Sometimes, on warm autumn evenings when the wind is blowing just right, I can still hear his words echoing across the yard. And I know in my heart, that somewhere out there, there is a fool that Mr.T pities more than me. |
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