Editor’s note: A week ago, I received an email from a woman who said she’d gone to her first C’s game the night before, found the experience extremely enjoyable, and would like to write something about it. I said I’d be happy for here to do so… fully expecting that, like so many before her, she wouldn’t follow up.

Well she did, and I’m glad. In fact, I’d like to encourage anyone connected with the C’s, from fans to staff to owners-to-be to players, and their parents, to feel free to submit anything they’d like to see posted on the site by simply registering a free account, and dropping me a note saying they’d like to write.

The more voices that can be found on Notes From The Nat, the better a resource it will be going forward, and with so many people having expressed how appreciative they are of the site over the past week, I think we’re already way further along than I ever hoped/dreamed we would be.

Anyhoo, I don’t want to hijack Smrtpants’ article, but I do want to encourage more like it – bring the text, people!

…With No Intention Of Oscillating.

The events leading up to my attendance at the game on Thursday, August 31, are not as important [but equally as coincidental] as what ensued. And what ensued has, in a matter of days, created a fan who intends to be diligently die hard and reasonably relentless.

It went something like this:

I hummed and hawed about going to the game at the Nat that night explaining that I had lived just blocks from the stadium for some years and still hadn’t managed/bothered, so why would/should I now?

“Well”, exclaimed my friend, “What’s the harm, besides which you really should get out of the house and allow yourself to be mindlessly distracted – you’d be surprised at how turning off your head can do wonders for someone who just plain thinks too much… ”.

He did have a point; I could see the logic [maybe not the validity, though] of his argument. Off we went.

We planted ourselves, three beers between us, way out by the VanCan’s bullpen. I suspect my friend knew me well enough to know that I wasn’t the sort to be exposed to something new without having at least a half-dozen [baker’s dozen, that is] questions, comments and observations that I would be compelled to ask, articulate and describe, and out of respect for anyone in earshot he took me where I could get that out of my system.

The rapid firing of enquiries unleashed: Is the lighting in all stadiums the same? And if not, is that distracting to the players? Are some players necessarily better in daylight? What about that Clarkdale Motors ad with the multi-media headlights? What’s with all of the hand signals? Is there a hierarchy in terms of information relay? What if someone in the signal sequence doesn’t agree? [It seemed obvious to me that the catcher’s kneepads put him in the best position to ‘beg to differ’.] Who has the last say when there is just such a disagreement? Are disagreements ever ‘staged’ in an attempt to disturb, or distract, the other team? …blahblahblah.

My companion provided answers to the best of his ability to be both knowledgeable and tolerant, but was soon stumped and decided to consult the bullpen – which seemed inappropriate to me, but apparently is no big deal.

The first player to parade conveniently close was a pitcher (whose name, number and face must have been [paradoxically] noticeably non-descript and therefore affords no specific reference). He was asked who has the final word when there’s a disagreement with the catcher, etc., to which he replied, with no hesitation, ‘The pitcher’. “Of course he’s going to say that”, I said, “he’s a pitcher”.

Then Mike Klug, grease paint and all, approached us. I asked him the same question. He gave the same answer. The confirmation was comforting in the way that not everything in this world is ambiguous and contingent on a self-serving level.

Mike Klug stayed put giving us the chance to ask more questions; each subsequent one being sparked by some aspect of his response to the current one. He didn’t miss a beat, nor did he bat an eyelash [below those healthy eyebrows of his] or roll [either of] his eyes. Impressive.

Yet even more impressive than that was his ease and lack of judgment in discussing his particular predicament of wearing so many hats. He explained that he was 2B, but that night he was dressed to play relief catcher [please pardon any inaccurate use of lingo, soon come], and so on.

It was obvious to me that his patience and presence in this discussion had nothing to do with much of anything on account of me being old enough to be his mother [’s younger sister], yet I still set out to get some background info on this North Dakota darling do-good’er and that’s when I was really ‘bitten by the baseball bug’.

After visiting the VanCan’s website I found the ‘Notes from the Nat’ site and I was a goner.

I found myself deep in the throes of fast-track baseball self-education, but due to the fact that the season was a split second from being over I knew that I had little chance of ‘making my presence known’ insofar as having valid comments, observations, etc. other than those which I could only intuit/infer and had no place on even an unofficial blog.

That said, I persisted in contacting the wizard of HollywoodOz, Chris Parry, who didn’t dismiss my enthusiasm, but even endured it.

I can see my timing as a detriment or I can see it as an opportunity to further my knowledge of this amazing game and it’s dynamics.

During the off-season I plan to ready myself for the upcoming season so as to be a knowledgeable fan with less inane, and more pertinent, questions, comments, and observations.

The bottom line is that between Mike Klug and Chris Parry a new VanCan fan has been successfully recruited.

A fan that has no intention of oscillating.