Bobblehead

I'm acutely aware of just how long has passed since my last post. It's distressing, mostly because there is so much post material piling up and I know the humor in much of it will be gone by the time I get to it. But, let's go back a couple of weeks, because here's a story that actually gets somewhat funnier, if less urgent, over time.

A while back, I heard that the San Francisco Giants would be having a bobblehead giveaway on May 17th in honor of their ace pitcher, and Smunch's baseball hero, Tim Lincecum. Naturally, I thought this would be the perfect game to take him to. When I checked the tickets, it looked like there were very few left and those were in the bleachers. I haven't sat in the bleachers in a while. I figured that'd be O.K. Of course, it was just some computer glitch. There were plenty of good seats to be had. But we sat in the bleachers anyway.Of course, that's not the story. The story is about this guy:Handsome devil, isn't he? Well, O.K., so he's got a great big ol' head and it doesn't seem attached altogether well. And he's got this puny little body. This, my friends, is the Tim Lincecum bobblehead. And if you're like me...I mean, the me that came to her senses while sitting in the bleachers...you wonder what in the world anyone would want with one of these things. Seriously, people! Who needs this kind of stuff in their house?

Well, we do, apparently. Suspecting some chaos in obtaining one of these rare creatures, we sent Daddy to the ballpark three hours before the game to get in line. And he did. And he had a perfectly good place in line. A line very much like this one:Smunch and I joined him about an hour later. Still seemed like a pretty good place in line, but as soon as the gates opened, there was absolute pandemonium, bringing out the ugliest and stupidest of human behavior. For this... Observing mob mentality is really an educational experience.

I got separated from Smunch and Daddy. I couldn't even see them anymore by the time I turned the corner to the gate. To his credit, Daddy was doing his best to make sure Smunch actually got the trinket he'd been standing in line 3 hours for. Before I made it to the turnstyles, I saw another fan give the axe sign to one of his friends in line. The bobbleheads...all 20,000 of them...were gone. I didn't get one. I didn't really care, except that I figured with three of them, Smunch would have one and we'd have a spare to put away until he could really appreciate it...long after he'd trashed his. Then, I'd planned to find a sad little kid who didn't get one and give the third away. Seemed like a cool thing to do. But there was no third. I held my breath when I saw Smunch and Daddy on the other side of the gate. Daddy held up two boxes. Turns out, they were the last two boxes at the gate. No one behind them got one.

And that's the end of the saga part of the story. The rest was about baseball. It was Smunch's favorite kind of baseball of course. He got to watch the Giants play the Mets on a lovely, if somewhat chilly, Sunday evening.They'd lost several games in a row prior to that night, but that night, they won.If I've learned anything about my son, it's that he'll live and die by the home team. And the Giants are his team. We edged towards the exits as Brian Wilson made the last three outs of the game. Smunch sat on Daddy's shoulders so he could see the action over the heads of the crowd.And after we braved the crush to exit the ballpark? One very happy Smunch skipped all the way back to the train station.