To begin with, I never should have been at that game. I had already purchased a gazillion tickets and it was only June. Second, it was a Tuesday night game (although, to be honest, I like going to games during the week). So, I was sitting at my computer one morning, and I received a new email. Oh joy, it was a Detroit Free Press free stuff thank you e-mail (sent to subscribers every so often, and featuring fun freebies like tickets to area events, Caribou coffees, etc.). Well, lo and behold, one of the offerings was two tickets to an upcoming Tigers game. Naturally, my fingers flew like the wind as I made my selection and sent it through cyberspace. You have to wait a while to find out if you were one of the "first to respond," as they only had ten pair of tickets available.
Fate smiled on me, and my tickets soon arrived in the mail--infield upper deck box, 16th row, third base side. My mom was coming into to town, so I invited her to join me at the game. Little did we know that we were about to experience a piece of baseball history.
I'll spare you the play by play, since you know what happened, but we began to witness Justin hurling some filthy stuff. The Brewers were hacking away like Florida Southern against our Big League club each spring (no disrespect FS). The fun stuff was Verlander walking the same guy three times (Hall), Magglio's sliding catch, Neifi Perez' wicked double play turn, and the nefarious sea-gulls, who flew in to gobble up hatchling moths.
I started to get really nervous, in fact, my stomach got all tied up in knots, and was aching like nobody's business from the fifth inning until about two hours after the game ended. In the top of the seventh inning, Justin is pitching y'all, and the section next to ours tries to start the wave. I wanted to stand up and shout at the top of my lungs, "Don't you know there's a no-hitter in progress here!?" but of course, I couldn't jinx it, so I scowled and grumbled under my breath a little about the oblivious masses at Comerica, who obviously don't know diddly about baseball.
Luckily, moms was there playing shutterbug, so I've got the Kodak moments all glossy, with my scorecard full of zeros, and my ticket stub to enshrine the game with all proper ceremony. Now, this is a little small of me, I know, but in the days of heartbreak last year when we didn't make the post-season, I downloaded the no-hitter off i-Tunes and watched it, reliving the past glories of that game.