Go Cardinals (#11 in a series of 30)

I'm sitting in bed eating zucchini bread. I think there's some rule about eating after 7:00 pm but I'm just going to have to ignore that rule. Nom nom nom. (I read that eating sound thing on facebook and it cracked me up.)

Jay and I went to watch the Cardinals practice today. We have a strategy; we get there when practice (2 hours) is halfway over, then I go hang out against the fence where all the players pass by after practice. Jay watches the practice and then joins me when practice is close to being over. It's very important to get a space right next to the fence. I am very protective of my spot and I feel it belongs to me. After all, I got there early and waited in the hot sun. Don't expect to get close to the players and get the good autographs if you aren't willing to stand in the miserable sun sweating with nothing to do. So, anyway, we were there, standing next to a kind of big kid around thirteen and a couple with their five year old. By the time practice was over there were scads of folks behind us but I was standing quite solid with my hands on the fence and my body A PIECE OF STEEL. They could not get by me. Hahahaha.

Jay was right in front of me. The couple on one side of me was nice. The boy on the other side of us seemed like a good boy, but his mother was a shrew. She was sitting in a lawn chair a ways away and kept walking over to yell at this boy. "Here's you brother's ball. Get it signed too. He got a ticket from the coach to go meet one of the players and he's getting a HAT."

"Mom" the kid said, "I can't get his ball signed too, they only sign one thing and then they move on"

"You'll get that ball signed or you can walk home, and Phoenix will take you awhile. Now do what I say. Your brother has Kurt Warner's autograph on his and you don't"

The woman next to me gives me a look. I looked at the shrew woman. The kid seemed a little embarrassed.

"Okay, I'll try" he says.

She's still yelling at this poor boy. "Don't drop your brother's ball. I don't know who you think you are mister but I better see a signed ball when this is over."

The players start to come off the field. We're getting autographs. The shrew woman trys to push in. We all hold our ground. She starts yelling at her son again. "Get it SIGNED. Get it SIGNED." Picture a younger, meaner Phyllis Diller. At the same time the woman next to me says "Stop yelling at your kid two inches from my ear" and I say "It's just an autograph." She hears us both, turns away and sits in her lawn chair. The kid smiles. Matt Leinart signs everything we ask him to. A point for our side.