A Real Ball Buster
One of the great joys I have in my life is watching my fourteen years-old son play sports. He plays both travel hockey and baseball and I’ve been enjoying since he’s five. Of course it’s May and baseball is in full swing. It’s rained a hell of a lot since April and the rainouts are a total drag. But a nice warm day, blue sky, and watching the kid and his buddies is my own private Master Card moment.
At our home field we have a little hill on the first base side that the parents perch themselves on. It’s a great vantage point to see all aspects of play. And as you might expect, there is nothing I love more than sparking up a good cigar during a game. No one seems to mind as they all know that I’m a complete ash-hole and many will even compliment how good it smells – uh, I’m talking about my cigar.
Saturday was a little cool, but a fine day for a game. I decided to change my ritual a bit and go over to the third base side, which has small metal stands and is level with the playing field. I am accompanied by a chicken salad with bacon and tomato on rye with a large cup of java. That is one hell of a delicious sandwich, btw. After I partook in lunch, it’s the second inning and I pull out a Romeo Y Julieta Real Reserva robusto. It’s a great early day cigar with an Ecuadorian Connecticut wrapper and Nicaraguan filler – a nice toasty smoke. So I fire up and thoroughly enjoy the gift that Abner Doubleday gave us over a century ago. I also enjoyed the gift that our Island and Central American friends have bestowed upon us.
A good hour and a half has passed, it’s a good game, tied 4 – 4 in the fifth (they played seven innings in Babe Ruth ball) and it’s time for me to choose another bat. A friend of mine made a coffee run and I have a JR Ultimate Maduro that is begging to be clipped and lit. Well, I can’t let the poor thing beg too long.
It’s the sixth inning and my son is about to get his final at bat. He’s been dropping his hands a little in his swing and has hit the ball hard, but has hit all hard fly outs in his last five plate appearances. So as I’m talking to him. The umpire, who is about half way up the first base line starts yelling out loud, “Hey you with the cigar, get the hell away from those kids with that goddamned thing, NOW!”
The guy is making a spectacle and suddenly every eye is on me. My first thought is to put it out in this moron’s eye, but I think better and walk back to my spot all alone in the third base bleachers. This belligerent ball buster follows me and yells out “HEY! I told you to put that piece of garbage out!”
This prick is all attitude and now he’s ruining my god damned Mastercard moment. I answered back, “Listen… you did NOT tell me to put it out, you told me to get away from the kids, which I did. Secondly, I’ve been enjoying a cigar the entire game from this spot and all of a sudden you want to play health cop. And third, you’ve offended me most by referring to this incredible cigar as a PIECE OF GARBAGE?! This beautiful specimen is hand rolled in Honduras by craftsman. Have you ever been to Honduras? I have, it’s a beautiful place and the food is incredible.”
Mr Ump dick continues, “I’m not going to listen to your wiseass remarks.”
And I return with, “And I’m not going to waste good smoke on a Nazi prick like you.”
Like a complete jackass, this blow hard yells, “Yer outta here!” as he waves his arms like he’s throwing Earl Weaver out of the game. I laughed in the jerk’s face and told him, “I’m going to sit up on that hill with my cigar and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“Oh yeah, I’m calling the cops!”
“For what?” I asked. “For sitting on a hill with a cigar – about 50 yards away, NOT in the field area, whatsoever. Go ahead and call the cops you old crack head, you’re making a monster ass of yourself and the kids are all laughing at you.” And yes, everyone was laughing at him. In fact, the coaches from both teams start yelling at him as well as the parents.
So, I went up to my usual spot on the hill and enjoyed the rest of my delicious maduro in peace… even though my kid popped out deep to left.
Do do everything you can to piss off your local smoke Nazi, today,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars, Blog with the Zman
