So I was at Zach’s baseball game. The poor kid is grossly oversported. I dunno why I cram so much sports down the child’s throat, but I do. Karate, soccer, baseball, basketball, hockey…everything except for the only sport that matters around here – football. I hate hype, and football is 99% hype. Besides, he’s skinny. Anyways, as I was sayin…I was at Zach’s game. Being the final game of the “regular” season, several mom’s felt the need to celebrate via a giant vat of Margaritas. Having been a stay-at-home dad not long ago, I can easily slip into girl-talk mode, blabbing it up with the other moms. I was on my second beverage (Lordy those drinks were strong!), talking a load of jibber-jabber, not paying ANY attention to the game, when I heard a bunch of shouting: HEADS UP, LOOK OUT, ITS A FOUL BALL! Those atomic Margaritas must have jacked my reaction time, because by the time I processed the information, the incoming missile had blasted me in the leg. Oh the laughs we had.
*Paul Harvey voice* And now, the rrrrest of the story:
Several innings later I learned that the towering foul ball had been hit by my own son. Nice.