Hello everyone! First of all I would like to just say that I appreciate all the people that have written such nice comments below my entries. I would also like to give a special hey to Margaret and Granddaddy. I hope that you are well and I can’t wait to see you when I return to Atlanta. I want you to know that I love you and think about ya’ll everyday.
Today I would like to point out two different occurrences that happened in the last week. The first happened while I was sitting on the bench for a game earlier this week. I was in the zone so to speak. I thought that I was “on fire”, telling joke after joke and getting incredible outbursts of laughter every time I spoke. A run scored and I went to congratulate my White Sox teammate Cole Armstrong. Cole had just masterfully trucked around the bases at a record pace to put the Saguaros ahead. I made the comment that we needed to get Cole an oxygen tank. While hitting is an impressive skill of Cole’s, running is not his forte. But be that as it may, I thought a little fresh oxygen would not hurt. After saying this I was met with another roar of laughter. Once again I was “on fire”, walking tall back to my spot on the bench, really feeling good about myself. It was at this point that I realized something was wrong. I thought to myself; I’m never this funny, and as cunning as I may think I am there is no way this is actually happening. I looked forward, pondering what the heck was going on, and then like brick wall it hit me. I slowly reached for my hat, took it off my head, and stared childishly at a bubble on the top of my hat. (It’s the oldest trick in the book people. Blow a bubble and place it on the hat of an unknowing victim.) Then, as calmly as I had taken off my hat, I put it back on, bubble intact. I sat there for a second and then burst out laughing along with my thirty or so teammates. My hot streak was over and I was once again the rookie on the bottom of the totem pole. This situation was only reinforced the next day when someone asked for an autograph. I walked over as I usually do and I was met with a picture, a picture of me with a bubble on top of my head.
The second situation was removed totally from the game of baseball. Daniel Murphy and Chad Huffman have put it on themselves to take me under their wings and help me through the tough time of being a rookie (yea right). They, upon inspection of my barren wardrobe, decided it was time for me to start dressing like a big leaguer. I of course thought they were nuts and let them know I thought my clothes were just fine. But temptation got the best of me and I decided to take a sabbatical from the game of baseball to go shop with them one afternoon. We headed to none other than Fashion Square Mall in Scottsdale. I wont lie, I felt a little weird shopping for well…anything. But we headed to Nordstrom’s where I followed them like a fawn follows her mama. Confused is probably the best word to describe it. I went from rack to rack, watching Murph pull out expensive button downs. Finally we headed to the jeans section where I was promptly met by the assistant. Her first words after looking at my attire were, “You need some new jeans.” Apparently my comfortable Old Navy jeans did not blow her out of the water, so I tried on some jeans. I put on a pair of Seven jeans and they fit well. I recieved immediate feedback from my two buddies and the assistant saying that they looked good. I liked them so I decided to buy them. I walked over to the register as she totaled the damage. My heart almost popped out of my chest when she said “Two-Hundred and fifteen dollars.” It was at this moment where I felt like I needed a doggy bag or a cold glass of water dumped on my head. I reached for my wallet slowly, shakily, and nervously. I asked myself, ‘Do I really need these jeans? Am I crazy for buying these jeans? Will my friends back home disown me?’ But, like two devils on my shoulder, Chad and Murph were right there to push me through the torture of giving my credit card up for a pair of jeans. I could not speak the whole ride home. But that night, when I put on my new pair of jeans for a night on the town, I felt good and I looked good. You want to know how I knew this? I knew because if those jeans didn’t look good, Chad and Murph would be going bye bye.
P.S. If either Chad of Murph read this, I’m kidding about the bye bye. Don’t hurt me.
I look forward to writing next week.