5 a.m., in haste, in a courtyard by marriott lobby:
i am in memphis; the memphis redbirds are in round rock, where anthony reyes -- the cardinal organization's newly anointed pitcher of the month for may -- got his ass kicked, 9-0. reyes' line: 1 ip, 5 h, 5 r/er, 2bb, 1k.
on the heels of his first blown save of the year, isringhausen did not get the call in the bottom of the 9th last night --- a prescribed night off, according to the p-d. fungoes looks for the silver lining in izzy's less-than-promising outing; but dan at get up baby looks at izzy's peripherals and . . . . well if there's a silver lining, it's kinda tarnished.
neither of them knows what i know, which is that the blown save was my fault. i scrambled all afternoon thursday to get hatches battened down at office and domicile so i could catch a midnight flight down here; wrapped my last task about 5:10 and found the game rain-delayed game still viable and myself mere steps from coors field. so i walked in --- or tried to, except the m-fers watching the gate wouldn't let me in without a ticket. i explained that insofar as i wouldn't have paid to watch the full 9 innings, i certainly wasn't going to pay to watch an inning and a half; surprisingly that didn't persaude the guard to wave me through. so i left, and the route back to my car led me past the ticket windows; sure enough all agents remained on duty, ready to serve the rush of late-arriving ticket buyers. i'd have spat at their feet but for a heartening sight: a familiar face inside one of those windows. woman named (let's call her) sally, boston native and red sox fan, whom i met last year as the sox were falling behind 0-3 to the yankees in the alcs. i bucked her up when the boxos' cause looked dark, shared her excitement when the idiots rallied, offered my sincere congrats when boston threw off the cards and the curse . . . . looking back, seems like a pretty one-sided relationship. but i got my payback thursday, when sally (who i hadn't seen since november) sold me a $1 ticket so i could catch the end of the game.
nice, i thought, a freebie from the universe; my reward for kindness to a suffering fan of a cursed team . . . shoulda known better. just like jake giddes can't shake his history w chinatown, i couldn't shake my history w sally. whenever she and i intersect, the cardinals suffer; i get that now. don't blame isringhausen. after helton singled to tie the game, i ran back out to the box office to sell sally her $1 ticket back --- only to find some other woman occupying the seat. where's sally? i demanded, but the woman looked at me like i was speaking cantonese; i walked the full row of windows and found no sign of her. about that time the ballgame ended, and i expected to spot rod serling standing nearby speaking into a camera . . . . .
back to reg'lar posting tomorrow