@ZackTeibloom I’m still trying to wrap my head around how I failed so hard on what should have been such an easy Stubbs crash. Apparently Stubbs flew Roy Halladay in to man security after his no hitter Wednesday night. I scoped out the night’s pitcher from the on-deck box (Watched which wristband they were using tonight – pink- and was happy to say I had it in my Stubbs wristband collection.) Fastball. Right down the plate. That’s always been one I can take deep. I dug my batting gloves (wristband) out of my pocket and fastened it fastidiously like Nomar Garciaparra and headed back to the dugout (Jackalope) to meet the Lighthouse crew for buy-one-get-one-free burger night and waited for my at-bat.
I strolled up to the plate with my batting gloves on, wondering if I should just combine crash #37 and #38 into one story, since I’d never bothered to write up my easy Ween Stubbs crash and this one would be just as easy. You need to be confident for a crash, but that level of cockiness is a recipe for disaster. It’s like I was calling my shot and only Babe Ruth can pull that move off.
By the ever-growing cheering from the crowd, I could tell The Strokes were about to start as I walked up to the front entrance. I held out my pink wrist-banded wrist and flashed my ID, expecting to walk right by. The exact process has worked easily a dozen times before. This time they asked me for my ticket. I didn’t expect the curve ball. I probably should have. They throw that one a lot, but I froze and got caught with my bat on my shoulder. Two guards in front of me seemed to know what I was doing before I even tried. They could tell I’d re-applied the wristband and escorted me out. OK. Strike one.
Not a big deal. Adjust the batting gloves and choke up a little. I’ve often had to take a few hacks to score. I headed to the restaurant entrance and was waved right in through a couple checkpoints. I got downstairs and could see the rest of the crowd just from under the stairs. I was being allowed in. I took a big cut on a low heater and pulled it deep. I moved swiftly towards first, watching it go back, back, back. Just as I started to walk that last 20 fee one guard said to hold on until they could finish clearing some tables and chairs out of the way. Cool. Should just be another minute…”Oh, we’re not letting anyone in this way tonight” one guard said. The ball was hooking foul. “OK- can you let me in that side entrance then?” “Nope. You’ll have to go around to the front.” Foul ball. Strike two.
With an 0-2 count, I knew I was in a deep hole. I had I could get another look at a fastball (guard who wouldn’t ask for a ticket.) I waited for the guard who denied me to get distracted and just tried to make contact. Another request for a ticket and I came up empty on a pitch in the dirt. Not only did they deny me, it was the most humiliating strike out imaginable. The swinging third strike where the ball gets away from the catcher and you don’t bother to run to first, you just let the overeager catcher tag you out as you slink away back to the dugout, defeated. They grabbed my wrist and turned it over and saw the white of the wristband that shouldn’t show unless it’s been taken off and re-taped. They stripped me of the wristband, threw it in the trash and the original guard said “Oh yeah, we already got him.” Strike three.
I can chalk up the strike-out to a few things:
- Overconfidence- It prevented me from noticing that I’d need a ticket. I could have probably used any piece of paper. That was just lazy.
- A lack of dedication- I wasn’t dying to see the band. I was alone on the crash and saw The Strokes last month. Crashing requires a “I’m not quitting until I get in” attitude and I just didn’t have it in me.
- A lack of shiftiness- I didn’t wait for the right guard. I didn’t try to slide by anyone. I was obvious and under-prepared and acted like I’d never crashed before.
I could look at this as a bad sign as I have no real plan to crash ACL this weekend, but maybe it’s a good thing. I need to get sharper if I want to crash this bad boy. A wake-up call if you will. Batter up.