Mookie4ever wrote:Another time a buddy and I had seats right behind home plate at Skydome for a game against the Mariners. It was a close game and Billy Koch came out to close it. My friend started talking smack to Mark McLemore in the ondeck circle asking him if an old man like him could hit a 100mph fastball. Mark got pissed and turned around and said that he could hit it over the fence. Well he got up and hit a hundred mph fastball and cleared the bases with a triple or a double. He later came in to score and pointed to my friend and said "that was for you". My friend yelled back "You didn't hit a homer. You said that you were going to hit a homer. " The Jays lost.
Ha, brilliant story. I wish I had a like-for-like story, but about 10+ years ago, my friends and I were sitting in the first row of the LF bleachers at Dodger Stadium, directly behind Cliff Floyd. For 6 innings or so, my friends kept heckling Floyd until he looked back and gave us the finger. About 10 minutes later, everyone of my crew but myself were booted from the game. I wasn't completely innocent either as I threw in a couple of insults myself, but I wasn't raining down the kind of insults the other guys were. Luckily I was the one driving and they couldn't leave without me.
A couple of months before that, I was taking driving lessons in preparation for my driver's license. I drove to Manhattan Beach to pick up the next student, as my lesson was ending. The instructor and I stopped in front of a swanky Spanish villa-designed house and some guy at the house told the instructor something to the effect of, "Michael's running a little late, he'll be here in a couple of minutes." A few minutes later, a Lincoln Navigator turns in the driveway and out comes a 7 footer with a track suit on, approaching the instructor with a handshake. I thought to myself, "this guy has to play basketball". Instead of driving the student driver car (a Saturn), Michael opted to have his driving lesson in the Navigator. So, I hitched a ride, needing to get back home and me being my introspective self, I was pretty much silent throughout.
A few minutes on the road and through some little chit-chat between Michael and the instructor, Michael was asked by the instructor as to what he does (not knowing who Michael was). Michael said, "I play basketball." Awkward silent pause. "I play pro basketball with the L.A. Clippers". Then, it dawned on me that the guy was Michael Olowokandi, center for the Clippers (and at the time, a rookie). So, then awestruck, I said, "You're the Candy Man!" and from the rear view mirror, he smiled, nodded, and said yes. The expression on his face was priceless, as if to say "Finally, you know who I am". Believe it or not, 'Kandi didn't have a driver's license prior to this (duh) and he was about 23-24 at the time, but figured that he needed to get one now, seeing how a car is basically the best way to get around SoCal. He was a cool guy and during the 20-30 minute ride home (side streets, no freeway), we talked all about basketball. Things like commenting on the Clippers' 30+ point rout of Utah a few nights before and how it's like to guard Shaq one-on-one. My father had/has the lousy habit of wrongly labeling me as a Clipper fan in jest, and when I told him Olowokandi drove me home, I didn't hear the end of it (of course, the Lakers are the team I only support).