Call the Game

 

It shouldn't have taken that long to go from Greenwich to Queens but, of course, that's traffic for you.

Fifteen innings and two walk-offs later, along with myriad New York traffic nightmares, I'm back home.

Where to start? Honestly, I don't have the energy or time, so let's see if I can keep it short.

My first mistake was when I left Greenwich. Not knowing what awaited me I felt I needed to find food. I probably needed something for a late lunch and something for dinner.

I elected to run into Stop and Shop where I felt I could find a sandwich or something.

I should have stopped somewhere but, instead, I decided to pull off in New Rochelle. They had a hot buffet where I picked up some wings and caesar chicken wrap for later on.

Yet, the lines to pay were crazy and, oh, by the way, their ability to process debit and credit cards went wonky.

So that took longer than needed. But, oh, I needed gas. 

I'd get some when it was convenient. No need to panic, amirite?

Then I hit the split on I-95 for the Throgs Neck Bridge. 

It might be time to panic. Not only was I running low on gas, I now worried that I had enough time to get to the field in time.

Like, really?

Yes.

But I did stay calm. It would be OK!

While low on gas, I spied a gas station that I'd visit as I left St. John's.

Put a pin in that.

I got to the booth with under an hour to spare. Not ideal. Space was, er, limited. My videographer needed a little help with audio and getting the unit that streams the video up and running.

It would all be OK, as the sweat began to run off my face.

I kept laughing to myself about how much time I had and how I'd still take care of the videographer, set my audio equipment up, and still write the lineups.

All set. Then an official walked in and told me I needed to move.

And that's all I have to say about that. It all would be OK.

And I still got it ready in time.

I felt like I called the first game in a vacuum. I felt like I began to find my groove in the second game.

Or not.

Anyway, I still had to find gas after two walk-offs. Despite requests for me to return tomorrow (I honestly don't know why) I'm committed to calling softball in Pennsylvania where I'm hopeful someone will appreciate my clearly limited skills.

Oh, so remember that gas station that I was going to stop at as I left?

Out of gas. You can't make this up.

Can I panic yet?

I took a deep breath, followed my instinct, and found a station near the Long Island Expressway. I threw some gas in and fought my way home.

Back at it tomorrow.