Surrounded by a heightened spirit of genuine camaraderie, this rising seventh grader could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a bolt of lightning shooting across the night sky.
While belting out the words to the chorus from “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” as we swayed in a back-and-forth motion with interlocking arms, this Royal Rangers Outpost from Ellwood City Assembly of God sang in unison with the other nearly sixteen thousand amped-up baseball fans who were tightly packed into Three Rivers Stadium for a highly contentious game between the Pittsburgh Pirates and the San Francisco Giants.
With the visiting team only scoring a meager two runs early on in the contest played atop artificial turf under bright lights, the enthusiastic rendition of the unofficial anthem for major league baseball during the seventh inning stretch signaled their eventual demise in the five-to-two victory which was handed to the Bucs with a pop fly ball caught by Kent Tekulve at the top of the ninth.
The festive atmosphere was absolutely electrifying!
Upon discovering the pre-planned professional baseball outing to the Steel City while attending my very first Royal Rangers meeting, I exuberantly counted down the days, weeks and months on my very own desk blotter calendar until that glorious day when we would be sitting in the stands where the first night game was played during the 1971 World Series.
That unforgettable day had finally arrived.
Immediately after our church bus pulled into a parking lot near the ginormous venue which was also home to the two-time Super Bowl champion Pittsburgh Steelers and the legendary “Immaculate Reception,” this close-knit band of brothers eagerly purchased miniature toy megaphones sporting the Pirates logo from one of the many street vendors prior to finding our coveted seats directly behind the home team’s dugout.
Although San Francisco had a solid second inning by running up the score two-to-one, things were about to get real at the bottom of the third when the next hard-hitting slugger for Pittsburgh stepped up to the plate and sent the ball flying over their opponents’ heads into the stands behind right field.
Going, going, gone!
“Bill Robinson’s on fire,” proclaimed Jimmy Allen clapping his hands together as he applauded his favorite player circling the bases. “Not only did he bring John Milner in for a run with his double in the first inning, but he also brought Milner in for a second time with this home run; so, the left fielder’s credited for three points on the night.”
Those Giants might as well pack it up and go home!
A short time later when a boisterous stadium vendor selling footlong hot dogs and ice-cold beverages came down the cement treads next to our exact location, I suddenly developed a hankering for a delicious frankfurter smothered in melted cheese and a bottle of Coca-Cola with which to wash it down; whereupon I reached for the billfold in my hip pocket.
“Put your money away,” directed Dirk Arkwright with a resolute voice after tapping me on the shoulder from behind to obtain my undivided attention. “Since the moola in your pocket is most likely counterfeit, I already paid the man for your snacks; because we don’t have the time to go down to the local police station and bail you out of jail.”
“Thanks a million, Daddy Warbucks,” I teased flashing a mischievous smile upon turning around in my seat to push the envelope with the Riverside Middle School student. “If I’d known a rich benefactor was going to pick up the tab, I would’ve bought some mouthwatering cotton candy and a king size Snickers bar for good measure.”
Don’t push your luck, Spaghetti Head!
Over the course of the next two innings, my intimate companions and I thoroughly enjoyed eating – a Pittsburgh Pirates Classic – one of professional baseball’s signature dishes along with a twelve-ounce bottle of thirst-quenching carbonated drink until they both magically disappeared into our collective bottomless pit; after which we began belching out the alphabet like a bunch of drunken sailors.
Not long after serenading every single baseball fanatic within earshot of our very peculiar talent, the hard-hitting slugger – who had made a home run earlier in the game – hit a sacrifice fly at the bottom of the fifth inning that sent the horsehide sphere sailing past the third base line and into the stands beyond the home team’s dugout.
“This one’s coming right to me, fellas,” hollered Chris Honneffer in utter astonishment while quickly putting on his baseball mitt to make the extraordinary catch. “If I can get Bill Robinson to sign this baseball after the game, it could be worth a million bucks someday; and this little piece of history could even end up in the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.”
“I’ve got an even better idea,” I suggested placing an arm around the instant celebrity before explaining how our mugs could possibly land on the front page of the newspaper. “If you hire me to be your sports agent, I’ll convince the team to sign you as the league’s youngest player ever; and we’ll make it rain all the way to the bank.”
It was a silly pipe dream at best!
Regardless, this little pack of laughing hyenas was off to the golden arches where they engaged in a number of clever hijinks following the conclusion of the totally epic game.
When I exited the McDonald’s restroom with a curiously long trail of toilet paper following me into the crowded dining area, Ronnie Popoff – the Straight Arrows commander – attempted to remove the disposable poo-poo tissue from the bottom of my shoe in an effort to spare this minister’s son from any further embarrassment.
However, I began running in the opposite direction as the Royal Rangers leader, thereby wrapping him up like an Egyptian mummy for a stellar Halloween display in a hilarious twist of fate.
You’re completely on your own the next time you exit a restroom attached to a string of two-ply butt wipes.
Looking up at him with puppy dog eyes and outstretched palms, I giddily stated, “Me don’t know how that even happened.”