Thursday, September 19, 2013

Good times in pinstripes.

What do you get when you bring 11 cooler-than-average guys together, many of them pushing, or pulling, 40, many of them sporting award-winning facial hair, put them on a short bus fully stocked with more than enough delicious beer, dress them up in full-blown baseball uniforms, pinstriped pants and the whole deal, and drop them off at Miller Park?

A really good goddamn time that’s what.

We’ve been doing this for three years now and boy oh boy do we have a blast. We’re becoming minor celebrities. They talk about us when they give the stadium tours. Little kids come up to us and ask for our autographs. The chicks dig us. We’ve made the TV broadcast each year. And we’ve been in hundreds of photos with people we’ll never see again. It’s glorious.

I don’t think it gets any better than this. This is what life is all about right here. Or at least this is what life should be about more often. Letting it all out. Acting like a little kid. Not giving a shit what anybody thinks. And just living in the freedom of the moment. God bless America. I’m a lucky man.

Each year has had its own special moments, mishaps and memories. Some more special than others. 

A couple years ago things got out of hand — or in hand (you’ll get the pun in a second.) You see, the pinstriped pants, although very stylish and a very key piece of the overall ensemble, are quite tight, especially in the man parts. It’s no wonder baseball players are always tugging at their junk. Let’s just say I needed to make some adjustments in order to enjoy the events of the evening in full comfort. Lucky for me, I was caught on camera with a handful of my own goodies. And even luckier for me, it was a camera that belonged to the TV station broadcasting the game across the entire state of Wisconsin. Good times. Apparently a large percentage of the people I know watch the Brewers on TV. Who knew?

It’s all good though. A little humiliation is good for you. Builds character.

What started out as a whim has become an annual tradition. It gives a group of great friends who don’t get to hang out that often anymore, a chance to get together and act stupid for one night. And we do stupid very well.

It’s also a chance to give my busy brain a rest and not think about anything but fun shit for one whole night. Sign me up every year. Sure, the days after have proven painful, but the memories of the good stuff last a lot longer than the three-day hangovers.

Plans are already underway for next year’s event. Can’t wait. Watch for us on TV.

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