OK, guys, you've seen on the Treasure Every Moment thread that I have a bit of history with Reggie Jackson. Here's the story ...
I don't remember the exact year, but it was during the early 80s when Reggie was with the Angels. My brother and a friend of his had gone in together to purchase four season tickets three rows above the visitor dugout at Arlington Stadium, and they took turns using the seats. One night when the Angels were in town, my brother and sister-in-law asked me if I wanted to go to the game with them. Naturally, I was all over that.
Now, a year or so prior, I had started sitting with the Wild Bunch at Disch-Falk, so I was really getting into the ragging thing. I know there are some people that think it's unseemly for a woman to rag, but I am not one of those people! And Reggie made it easy that night.
There was plenty of beer-drinking going on in the section that night, and when Reggie struck out his first trip to the plate, we started in on him. A couple of innings later, one of the Rangers (I'm sorry, but I can't remember who it was) lofted a deep fly ball toward Reggie in right. He managed to misjudge the ball and thought it had gone over the fence for a home run, and he just stood there with his glove on his hip.
However, the ball was playable -- catchable, even -- but Reggie realized this only when his first baseman and centerfielder came running at him, pointing to the ball. He recovered his aplomb and managed to get the ball back into the infield, but only after the hitter coasted into third. Reggie had misjudged an out into a triple!
The right field bleacher crowd was unmerciful through the rest of the inning, and Reggie returned to the dugout to a cacophony of ragging from our section. And I was the ringleader.
He came to at again, and again he K'd. And again I and my section-mates let him have it. I was proud of my newfound skill -- ragging baseball players -- and I had pulled out all the stops. Every situation-appropriate rag I'd ever heard from the Wild Bunch was unleashed on Reggie, and I had quite the time. I was a hero (shero?) in my section. People kept buying me beer!
Finally, during Reggie's last at-bat, he swung so hard at a pitch that he screwed himself into the ground. He literally ended up sitting next to the plate, bat in hand, with his legs stretched out in front of him. Much like a cat does, he adopted an attitude of, "I meant to do that," and he did a couple of hamstring stretches that involve pushing the bat, held horizontally, toward the feet.
He then stood, and of course managed to finish the K in a swinging fashion. And again he was greeted with a chorus of "cheers".
As he approached the dugout, he looked me squarely in the eye, spit toward me, and said, "That's for you, curly!"
I got a reaction. I had won!
I don't remember the exact year, but it was during the early 80s when Reggie was with the Angels. My brother and a friend of his had gone in together to purchase four season tickets three rows above the visitor dugout at Arlington Stadium, and they took turns using the seats. One night when the Angels were in town, my brother and sister-in-law asked me if I wanted to go to the game with them. Naturally, I was all over that.
Now, a year or so prior, I had started sitting with the Wild Bunch at Disch-Falk, so I was really getting into the ragging thing. I know there are some people that think it's unseemly for a woman to rag, but I am not one of those people! And Reggie made it easy that night.
There was plenty of beer-drinking going on in the section that night, and when Reggie struck out his first trip to the plate, we started in on him. A couple of innings later, one of the Rangers (I'm sorry, but I can't remember who it was) lofted a deep fly ball toward Reggie in right. He managed to misjudge the ball and thought it had gone over the fence for a home run, and he just stood there with his glove on his hip.
However, the ball was playable -- catchable, even -- but Reggie realized this only when his first baseman and centerfielder came running at him, pointing to the ball. He recovered his aplomb and managed to get the ball back into the infield, but only after the hitter coasted into third. Reggie had misjudged an out into a triple!
The right field bleacher crowd was unmerciful through the rest of the inning, and Reggie returned to the dugout to a cacophony of ragging from our section. And I was the ringleader.
He came to at again, and again he K'd. And again I and my section-mates let him have it. I was proud of my newfound skill -- ragging baseball players -- and I had pulled out all the stops. Every situation-appropriate rag I'd ever heard from the Wild Bunch was unleashed on Reggie, and I had quite the time. I was a hero (shero?) in my section. People kept buying me beer!
Finally, during Reggie's last at-bat, he swung so hard at a pitch that he screwed himself into the ground. He literally ended up sitting next to the plate, bat in hand, with his legs stretched out in front of him. Much like a cat does, he adopted an attitude of, "I meant to do that," and he did a couple of hamstring stretches that involve pushing the bat, held horizontally, toward the feet.
He then stood, and of course managed to finish the K in a swinging fashion. And again he was greeted with a chorus of "cheers".
As he approached the dugout, he looked me squarely in the eye, spit toward me, and said, "That's for you, curly!"
I got a reaction. I had won!
