Jack and I easily found our seats, close to the field and behind home plate, and prepared to cheer on the home team. We looked up players in the program he'd purchased on our way in, and I continued to wonder if Jack would finally point out his brother to me. But it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on the date and easier and easier to focus on the inept home plate umpire. After yet another pitch was called a strike as it sailed by the hitter's nose, I was in full fan mode and began calling out the usual insults (and some clever homemade ones) loud enough for the umpire to hear. Insults that involved his vision or lack thereof, his intelligence and total lack of skill. A white cane and a seeing-eye dog were even offered. The crowd around us enjoyed the show and joined in. Dating Disaster: His Name Wasn't Scott, Evidently
I turned to Jack to share a laugh after a particularly funny remark was called from somewhere behind us and found him stock-still and stone-faced.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Just fine," he replied. "Enjoy the game."
And so I did. As it ended, I ran to the bathroom. When I returned, Jack was standing at the bottom stair, speaking through the backstop fence to the umpire. As I came down the steps, Jack turned to me. He had an odd look on his face.
"Lewis," he said to the umpire, "this is my date, Susan." He looked at me and finished, "the heckler." Strrrrrrrrrike.