Stealing Home

One time at home against Middlesex we were in the bottom of the 7th (we played 7 innings, not 9, right? I think so) and the game was tied with me dancing off third base like Jackie Robinson. Or Jackie Kennedy, more likely.

Anyway there was a wild pitch and the ball got past the catcher and rolled back to the backstop, which, I should say, wasn't that far behind home plate. But I said "fuck it" and took off for home despite hearing Coach Ashton, who was coaching third base, yelling "NO! NO! NO!" I thought about stopping for a split second but I probably had a smoking hot date afterwards for which I needed this game to end as soon as possible, so I kept going. While today I may be a refined man of letters who can control his hormones and behavior, back then there was nothing that could get between me and some sweet stank, including a baseball game.

I slid in safe and was the hero of the game, and Coach came up to me and asked "Didn't you hear me yelling No! No! No!?" I gave him my "I'm a confused, lost teenager" blank look (ie my normal look) and lied through my teeth "oh, I thought you were saying Go! Go! Go!"

You're welcome, fellow Trojans!!!