On Tuesday evening, September 9th (Side note; coincedentally, I was at County Stadium exactly 16 years earlier watching Robin Yount get his 3000th hit), I took (Sponsor's Name Here)'s Official Son, Mitten to the Brewers game. It was a cool but comfortable evening, but with the Miller Park dome closed, it was a great night for baseball. And except for Jeff Suppan and some guy that I've never heard of going to a 3-1 count on every batter before every batter started fouling off pitches, we had a great time. (Side note; on Saturday, September 6th, My-Sugar-Na and I watched the Brewers beat the Padres in 2 hours and 7 minutes. By comparison, at 9:14 PM on Tuesday, we were in the top of the 6th inning.)
As the game meandered on way past Mitten's bedtime, Ray Durham (who clearly doesn't respect a child's need for sleep) hit a game-tying 3-run home run in the 7th inning, and the hapless Reds and ice cold Brewers played on into the night.
In the top of the 11th, the crowd (well, at least Section 215) was awakened by a foul ball by one Mr. Edwin Encarnacion of the Reds. The ball hit off of the facade between the 2nd and 3rd decks (it actually hit the ribbon scoreboard, but facade is a much cooler word). The rebound of the ball hit the armrest of a seat in our row, and ricocheted off my cheek (the one on my face, guys...) and harmlessly onto the concrete steps. Enter Mitten, who was sitting in the aisle seat.
As the ball rolled down a couple of steps, there was this young boy, we'll call him Poor Timmy. Poor Timmy was struggling to stand up, what with his leg braces and crutches and all. Poor Timmy had just about managed to scoop up the errant ball when Mitten - using a shoulder block learned by watching years of soccer and football - flung Poor Timmy about four seats into the row. As Mitten was holding the ball over his head in triumphant glory, Poor Timmy was battling for his life because his crutch acted like a lever and had flung Poor Timmy perilously towards the railing in front of the first row. Luckily another ballpark patron, we'll call her 92-Year Old Gladys, broke his fall with the back of her neck. The force of the Poor Timmy vs. 92-Year Old Gladys collision resulted in 92-Year Old Gladys hitting the railing square in the mush. There was a real casualty in all of this, however, as 92-Year Old Gladys' husband, we'll call him 89-Year Old Aloys, lost his bratwurst over the railing in the excitement. Rumor was that he lost something else, too, except somebody admitted to spilling a beer under 89-Year Old Aloys' seat.
All this so Mitten could get an $8 baseball.