Memoir - Final Draft

It was another Saturday afternoon in Dunedin, the sun was shining and the sky was clear, a perfect day for baseball. The stage was set for Americas greatest pastime to start and my grandma and I were attending.

The high pitched squeak of her light blue Oldsmobile echoed through the air as we pulled into a parking spot at Jack Russell Stadium. My grandmother and I both got out of the car all decked out in our Clearwater Phillie's gear. We both wore a red Phillie's shirt, but I liked to wear a hat too unlike my grandma who enjoyed having her dark brown perm uncovered. Once we had everything out of the car that we needed, we began our long journey across the parking lot. We trudged through ditches and across gravel roads until we arrived at the other side. When we reached the front gates at least three of the employees working the ticket both greeted her by her name. "Hello Jean", said one of the ladies working behind the counter. "Two Please", responded my grandma. As the woman handed us our tickets she let out a small smirk in my direction, probably just because she had seen me there with my grandma so many times before. We were what you would have liked to call the "usual's", since we were there at least once a week. After we got our tickets we made our way into the stadium. The smell of fresh hot dogs and popcorn filled the air as soon as we walked in. The players were beginning to take the field, so it was time for us to pick out our seats. We decided to sit right down the first base line, which happened to be our favorite spot. Not long after we had just been given the chance to sit down, we had to stand and remove our caps (or at least I did) for the National Anthem. Then the ceremonial first pitch was thrown by some local celebrity. Finally it was time for my favorite part. The umpire stood up from behind home plate and shouted "Play Ball!" The game was finally underway.

The away team was always up first, so the occasional “boo’s” were always shouted. But not by us of course, we both liked to show good sportsmanship. We never said anything bad towards the other team when they were at the plate. Don’t get me wrong though, once the Phillie’s came up to bat lets just say we were not the quietest fans in the crowd. We cheered for every player that would come up to bat, calling them by there full name. I guess it was kind of a way for us to connect with the team that we followed so meticulously. My grandma used to tell me that they could hear me out there, that all of my chants inspired each player. I know that was just her way of making me feel important to the team, but hey, she is my grandma that is her job.

So the game went by as usual, three up three down for both teams. The score was still zero to zero, a rather uneventful game so far. It was now the middle of the seventh inning, which meant the 7th inning stretch. Take me out to the ball game take me out to the…you know how it goes. This is also the time we usually went to go get some snacks. Hot dogs, cotton candy, and peanuts were foods that “normal” people got during the 7th inning stretch, but my grandma and I always wanted something different. I can’t recall why but something about going to these games always made us crave personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut. There just happened to be one Pizza Hut vendor at the entire stadium, so we were always in luck. Seeing as this game was about midway through the season and we got two pizzas every game, the man behind the counter knew us pretty well by now. As soon as we walked over to the concession stand, the man turned his back and walked right over towards the food before we could even order. He grabbed two pizzas out from under the bright red heating lamps, both with the sticker labeled “fresh” on them. “A pepperoni for you Jean, and a cheese for the little guy.” said the older gentleman. “What do you say..?” whispered my grandma to me. “Thank you”, I replied. That’s just how my grandma was though, always making sure I was polite to everyone, even if it was to the pizza man at a ball game.

So back to our seats we went, pizza in one hand, empty baseball glove in the other. We found our seats just in time for the bottom of the seventh inning to start. The game seemed to pick up right where it left off before the break. No one was getting any hits for either team until it reached the ninth inning. The inning started off with the away team getting a home run, putting them in the lead one to zero. After the opposing team got three outs without scoring again, the Phillie’s came back up. Most people left the game before the bottom half of the inning even started, figuring that the game was pretty much over anyways. But true fans like my grandma and I stuck it out until the end every game. The first two batters struck out swinging, and we were left with one out. One of the Phillie‘s players actually got a single and kept the game alive. Then the last person anyone wished for to come up to bat with the game on the line came up to the plate. He was a skinny guy, about 5’7’’, relatively the size of my grandma. So lets just say he was the least likely candidate to pull a late inning heroic. To both of our surprise, with two outs and two strikes the little guy crushed the ball into left field. Gone! It was a walk-off home run! My grandma and I jumped up out of our seats and began cheering frantically for the little man who was now rounding first in his victory lap towards home.

After catching our breath and gathering our belongings, we decided it was time to head home. We left the game that day with a great feeling of accomplishment, like our cheers actually helped the team win their game. All we could think about for the entire trip home was the great game we had just witnessed. The car ride consisted of us reminiscing about the game and talking about how much fun we had together that whole day. Once we arrived back at my house I turned to my grandma before leaving and asked politely, “Can we do it again next week?” “Ill have your hat and glove ready for you.” she replied softly.

My once a week visit to the ballpark with my grandma gave me a great love for the game of baseball and all sports by teaching me the rules of the game, telling me past stories about the game, and showing me how to demonstrate good sportsmanship. We enjoyed many more Phillies games throughout the years, but none came close to having the excitement level that this one provided us with.