Stealing Snoopy

 

 

 

 

 

 

   Boy, it sure sucked to be Matt Clement last night.

   We were at the 99, having some dinner. I was happy, because I had the seat facing the TV and the Red Sox game. I got there just in time to see a wild pitch run scorer, but then the bloomin' onion arrived and I needed to concentrate there for awhile.

   I swear that the next time I looked up, I saw a guy line a shot directly off Matt Clement's head. The ball ricocheted into the outfield. MC went down like a bad stock, and he didn't move for quite some time. He was eventually taken off the field in one of those halo neck braces.

   I felt badly for the kid who hit the ball. He was standing on first base, with a look that was somewhere between grief and guilt. Baseball isn't supposed to bust people up like that, and the fact that he had singled off(quite literally) one of the AL's better pitchers really didn't matter to him that much. His face was the 100% opposite of smiling. Had he begun to cry, I would have not been shocked at all.

   Everything in the bar stopped. Even the waitresses stopped working. This was some genuine televised ugliness,  or at least a blow to our pennant hopes to the more callous fans. "What happened? Who's hurt?" asked the less observant, but the keener eyes were tuned in to the mob at the mound, looking for any sign of movement, or, God forbid, CPR. Even baby Melissa, who doesn't speak, sensed the apprehension in the room and was somehow more alert.

   I really thought I saw my first live televised death, and I was so upset that I couldn't eat my turkey club sandwich. My husband, who was in Desert Storm, never stopped eating. It was something to see. Had I put my hand near his plate, I may have gotten a fork in it. I even caught him stealing my fries when they were putting poor Matt onto the stretcher for the Gurney Journey. 

   I was about to get really angry with him- NEVER touch someone else's fries, kids- but I admired the sheer cold-heartedness he displayed. While a man- a man we had cheered for- was straddling the line between life and death, he was calculating when I'd be the most engrossed, so that he could steal my fries and blame 3 year old Gabrielle.

   I love to eat- I try to do it every day. I can take a block of cheese and a bottle of wine and sit on the porch all damn day. I have hoarded chocolate. I know how to make ice cream with Southern Comfort in it. I have nineteen cookbooks, and all of them were deemed "necessary" when we last moved.

   Still, this was a true display of force. I fully plan on out-living him, and will kill him if need be to ensure my doing so. If there's a great beyond somewhere, I don't want to be looking down from it on my funeral and see him eating a steak and cheese sub as he sits 5 feet from my coffin.

   There are some things a woman shouldn't be asked to bear.

 

Bonus: I don't know if Matt is married, but he should pretend to forget stuff he's done recently that has upset Mrs. Clement.

"I can't recall doing that, dear."