I just want to get this out, right now, right after it happened, so maybe the forgiving process can begin.
First of all, I found out the absolute WORST way to watch a potential no-hitter is by GameCast. Just excruciating. From the 7th inning on, every time the little bottom line gave the message "Incoming pitch has been hit into play" I suffered a minor stroke. By the 9th my eyes were an inch and a half away from the computer, both hands were pulling my hair, and I was tapping my feet and rocking back and forth like I was on speed. My dad's partner, on her way out the door, glanced over at me, did a double-take, and made sure I was OK. I wasn't, but I lied so she could drive home in relative comfort, not having to blame herself if the resulting brain anneurysm killed me.
So now there's two outs in the 9th, me on the edge of insanity, when Danny decides to give a call. Against every single shred of good judgement, I answer the call. I wish there was a black box or something to re-listen to this conversation:
Danny "Are you watching Sportscenter?"
Me "One more out...one more out...whyaretheyshowingitonTVnow?noI'mintheofficewatchingitonGameCastit'sgonnahappenhe'sgonnadoit"
Danny "Yeah they're show- Ohhh my!!! Oh they just broke it up!!!"
Me "What?!?! Shut the fuck up!! Shut up! No he didn't!!!"
Danny "I'm serious I'm watching it right now!!"
Me "Shut up! Shut up! You're lying! Shannon Stewart?!?"
Danny "I don't even know who Shannon Stewart is-"
Me (as the GameCast catches up to real time) "No!! No way! No fucking way!!! YOU!! YOU DID THIS Danny! You did this! I'm hanging up now!!!!!"
End transmission.
So Daniel Vincent John Sondreal, you have blood on your hands. The blood of a Curt Schilling no-hitter. I will take partial blame for answering the phone in the first place; but nevertheless, I have already begun constructing my Kobe Bryant voodoo doll.
