My parents are redoing their basement. That meant getting rid of the stuff I stored down there. I threw most of it away, all but kept a few keepsakes. One of which was a ticket stub to an old Baltimore Oriole game.
When I stashed it with the rest of my keeper goods I didn't pay much attention to it. I just knew it was a ticket stub and, being a pack rat, I like to keep my stubs.
So I took a couple of boxes of newly found old treasures home with me. That is when I ran across the ticket again and gave it closer inspection.
There was one extremely noteworthy fact about the ticket. It was dated June 21st, 1996, and I knew exactly with whom I had attended that game.
For the sake of this story, we will call her Laura, because that is the name her parents gave their baby girl, and I do not feel it would be proper of me to go against their wishes.
Laura was a sports fan, but not the kind of fan who would sit and watch a game with you just because it was on TV, and she had favorite teams. She would jump up and down when they did well and dreaded their defeats.
She knew stats and players. She hated Brady Anderson because she once saw him being a jerk in a bar. Other than Brady, she was an all-American O's fan. Like myself, baseball was her favorite sport.
Laura liked others as well mainly hoops and horse racing. How many girls do you know that dig horse racing? She was amazing.
There was a track nearby. Although it would be a cold day in hades before I would admit this to her, but she was more a master of the race program than myself. She didn't gamble.
I liked to play the ponies, and would casually agree that her choices were pretty solid. Then I would run to the booth and bet every horse she picked. I won quite a bit thanks to her.
We'd shoot the rock together on our campus' outdoor courts. Again, I would never tell her this, but she had a cross-over that burned my britches every time.
We'd eat garlic pizza and drink beers while watching the Bullets play.
Okay, I admit it, I am rather shallow when it comes to looks, but Laura was foxy. Not like super model hot or anything, but enough so to make other guys think, "What is she doing with that douche nozzle"?
After a little more than a year together we drifted apart for some unknown reason. Actually, the reason is known but I feel like a schmuck fessing up because it was my fault.
She was the one that got away. All I am left with are fond memories.
So guys, if you are lucky enough to be dating or married to a good looking, die-hard sports fan, learn from my mistake. Do not screw it up.
Know that you are probably one of the 5.719 percent of men on the planet who has been graced with this good fortune.
Tell this rare bird why you love her so much, buy her flowers, put the seat down, and console her when the team loses that big game.
I just refrigerator magneted my ticket stub.
As I raise my glass of bubbly water, I make a toast to every female who is a big time sports fan.
And, well...my phone number is (555) 555-5555.
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