“Serving overseas as a small-town boy in America has been intense, stressful and humorous! Enjoy a light-hearted story with me from our last 20 years overseas!”
—Matt
Splattered at Sporting Events
Growing up with in a small-town with no Major League Baseball team nearby, it seemed that most people had to go to neighboring areas to find a team. Some people went west to the Cardinals, northwest to the Cubs, north to the Tigers, or east to the Indians. I went southwest to the Reds. My Dad was a Los Angeles fan, and one of my most memorable boyhood events was going to a Reds vs. Dodgers game together with my brother and Grandpa at Riverfront Stadium in Cincinnati.
We got into the stadium well before the start to watch the teams warming up. It was too good to be true that the Reds’ George Foster threw a baseball to me and the Dodgers’ outfielder Dusty Baker signed the ball a short while later.
A more memorable event was the celebrations after each time the Reds scored a run. We had what we thought were great seats in the lower deck, right under the edge of the upper deck. After the Reds’ first run, I was cheering with all my might, when all of a sudden, a waterfall of beer came splattering down on us. We learned that the fans in the upper deck threw any beer left in their cups up into the air after each Cincinnati run. Let’s just say that the Reds scored many runs that game. I remember the wet sticky ride home to Indiana as much as the game itself.
Twenty years later my parents were visiting us overseas and there were no baseball games to take them to, but we had a more eventful sport – bull fighting. There were no animal rights groups, and bulls and goats seemed to play a role in most of their lively local festivals. As my wife and I drove my parents to the bull fight, we stopped at a gas station to find the way there. A local told us that he knew the way. Instead of pointing the way, he just opened a back door of the car and got in. I think my mom about jumped out the other side of the car not expecting a hitchhiker and navigator to be joining us.
Well, our hitchhiker knew the way quite well as he was the man who ran the chute to let the bulls out into the arena! The bull fight was well received by the locals and the last bull fighter did an exceptional job with a dangerous bull. He received the high honor of being walked around the arena on the shoulders of two men. They cut an ear off the dead bull for him to hold up for all to see as a high honor. Having seen this done before at another event, I yelled out to the bull fighter, “The ear please!” Without hesitation, he threw the ear up into the stands to me. Being an American baseball fan trained me well to catch flying objects from the infield, and I caught the hairy bull’s ear easily. However, I did not calculate the quantity of blood that would be in the ear. On impact of the ear smacking my hand, it splattered blood across my face and beyond.
I have learned to not wear my best clothes to sporting events in America or abroad.
Something similar ever happen to you? Contact me and let me hear your story!
mattsmishaps@gmail.com Matt’s Mishaps, PO BOX 114, Grabill, IN 46741
