Two men step into a crowded elevator.
Man #1: You should just give up and get contacts. They really are better than glasses.
Man #2: No way. I’d have to start washing my hands.
Man #1: …You mean more, right? You’d have to wash your hands … more?
Man #2: No.
Everyone in the elevator steps to the side opposite Man #2.
I stood next to the elevator, holding my hat in one hand; my cell phone in the other. A lady approaches, pushes the button. She sees my hat and her eyes go wide.
Lady: We’re not supposed to wear hats
Me: It’s okay. I’m not wearing it.
Lady: We’re not supposed to wear hats!
Me: It’s okay … I’m not wearing it.
Lady: I’m telling someone.
Me: But….I’m not …
Lady (angrily): We’re not supposed to wear hats.
She storms off, just as the elevator arrives.
Me: I don’t even work here, Lady….
Two men standing in an elevator. One has a large bruise on his forehead.
Man #1: Dude. What happened to your face?
Man #2: Oh nothing. I just fell asleep in the shower and knocked my head against the faucet.
Man #1: Wow. I bet that woke you up.pretty quick, huh?
Man #2: No. I slept there for a good thirty minutes before my wife came in to see what was going on.
Man #1: Heh
Man #2: She said the tile amplified my snoring and it sounded like a wild animal being drowned in our bathroom.
Man #1: Why’d it take her thirty minutes?
Man #2: This wasn’t the first time this has happened.
Person #1: I feel hungry.
Person #2: Hunger’s not an emotion.
Person #3: It is today.
I have a lot of good Reds memories. Most of us do, I guess.
I remember sitting on the floor in my living room, watching Eric Show give up THE HIT to Pete Rose. The REAL hit came a few days earlier in Chicago, but nobody knew it then and we celebrated like we’d won the lottery. I screamed so loud, our pet beagle, Murphy, had to leave his customary spot in the sun next to the door to get away from all the noise.
I was in attendance on Johnny Bench day in the early ‘80s when Bench hung up his spikes. The game was humdrum, but they gave a Johnny Bench handout at the gates to the first X-thousand guests. I still remember how it looked, sitting in the corner of my room next to the door. No amount of music posters, Chicago Bulls memorabilia from the ‘90s MJ teams, or hastily built bookshelves could supplant it from that place of honor. I kept that handout stapled to my wall until I graduated high school and THEN I kept it with my baseball cards. I lost both it and the baseball cards when my parent’s basement flooded in 1998. So it goes. Bench was always my favorite player. I wore my baseball cap backwards from birth in deference to him. I still do, even though I’m nearly 40 and I look weird when I do it. It just feels wrong to wear it right.
Read the rest at Redleg Nation.
Person #1: Did you hear what Beyoncé said about Donald Trump?
Person #2: Celebrity gossip is like Sports. Or the weather. Cheap Elmer’s Glue for people who can’t figure out another way to bond.
Person #1: Alright. Fine. Damn.
Ever since we started this most recent rebuild, the Reds have told us to BE CALM and DON’T WORRY, because (and repeat this with me now) “There is a plan.” This plan allegedly includes graphs and charts and other implements of destruction printed up on glossy paper in an official binder somewhere in Great American Ballpark.
Billy Hatcher and Jose Rijo stand guard over the plan when the Reds are out of town. They drink espresso and reminisce about the 1990 team. Or so I hear.
Read the rest at Redleg Nation.
Kids: Daddy, what’s “Middle Aged?”
Me: The point in life where regret overtakes hope.
I’m standing in the elevator. Some guy walks in, presses a button, and the doors close.
The elevator does not move.
Him: (to the tune of a Dora Explorer song) Come on, Vomanos. Everybody let’s go!.
I look at him as if to say, “Really, dude?” He looks sheepish until the elevator starts moving.
He smiles the rest of the way.
Standing in an elevator with my eldest son.
Me: Hey, buddy. Your shoes are on backwards.