I love a good baseball game.

I’ve probably attended somewhere between 30-40 professional baseball games in my life. I love getting out of class or work, putting on my jersey, and parking it in my designated seat for a perfect night of baseball. There are few summertime traditions that top a good baseball game on a beautiful night in Minnesota.

I’ve seen a lot of good games, maybe even a great one (more often for the other team), but when I purchased my ticket for April 17th, 2008, I had no idea I was about to attend the greatest game at the Metrodome since Game 6 of the 1991 World Series.

I can guarantee I had no idea, because I left the game in the 7th inning – when it was just an ordinary game.

What you’re about to read is a story I try to forget. It’s the stuff that holds you just below the bar of superfan, the stories that make your fellow diehards shake their heads and question your allegiance. But it happened, and it’s the reason I’ll never leave a game before that final out again.

I would like to dedicate this post to my dear friend, Kelsey Jass, who sulks every 17th day of the 4th month, remembering what we did. Here’s to you, my friend: and to staying for 27 outs for the rest of our lives. 

Seven years ago today was just another day when I woke up. Just another day for me and just another day for Jason Kubel, an outfielder for the Minnesota Twins.

That was all about to change.

I went to my classes like usual and made a late afternoon decision to go to that evening’s Twins game at the Metrodome with my dad. He brought his wife (who hates sports more than my oldest sister, if that’s even possible) and I brought my fellow superfan, Kelsey.

We had pretty crappy seats in the upper deck, but I was just happy to be at a game for free. The game was fairly uneventful and by the time we made it to the middle of the 7th inning, we had dug ourselves into a 3-8 hole even I didn’t think we could get out of.

My stepmom wanted to leave because she had finished her book and wanted to the get to the “Holy Land” restaurant before it closed. My dad said if by the end of the 7th inning we were still down by 5 we would leave. Kelsey and I were annoyed (mostly because we didn’t like Middle Eastern food), but we halfheartedly agreed. The game was a tough one to watch.

The only notable thing happening was that Jason Kubel (our hefty, inconsistent right fielder) was having a good game. So far he had hit a single, a double, and a triple. But that kind of stuff doesn’t matter when you’re losing by 5 runs.

They scored one, but we (read: they) decided to leave anyway. As we were driving away, Kelsey’s boyfriend (now husband!) started texting her – “Twins are making a comeback in the bottom of the 8th!” Denard Span had just hit a two-run double, narrowing the score to 7-9. We were getting hits and hits, and with 2 outs the pitcher intentionally walked our MVP slugger Justin Morneau to load the bases. (We were getting all of these updates via text because we couldn’t find the game on the radio).

Up walks Jason Kubel with the bases loaded.

He let the first pitch go – a curveball, strike one. But the next one stepped right into his office and he launched it into the upper deck.

Cool – good for him, right? Twins win. No, this was so much more than a comeback win. This was a historic event. 

Ya see there’s this thing in baseball called a “cycle.” It’s an almost impossible feat to accomplish – because you need to hit a single, a double, a triple, and a home run. In the same game. It’s only happened 282 times in the history of Major League Baseball. That might sound like a lot but when you consider there are roughly 2,500 games played in a Major League season (with 18 batters given a chance each game), that’s 45,000 chances per season to get a cycle. (End baseball nerd rant).

The point is: this hardly ever happens.

But Jason Kubel didn’t just hit a cycle. He hit a cycle with a grand slam. This has only happened seven times in the history of Major League Baseball. And it hasn’t happened since.

This story stinks, and I wish it was the end. Because it was truly one of the greatest games of the 2008 season – and probably in the top 3 games ever played at the Metrodome. But my blunder that day doesn’t end with that game-winning grand slam for the cycle.

The following is why Kelsey and I have an annual grieving session on April 17th every year (which we can’t forget because Bert Blyleven never ceases to replay the clip during that year’s game):

The next morning Kelsey and I were in the commons area outside the dining center at a work event. A friend of ours who was at the game came up to us to console us for missing the end (he saw us leave and rightfully judged us).

“Dude, I caaaaaan’t believe you guys left that game.”

“Yeah we know. We’re planning on burning our jerseys later.”

“No, you guys don’t understand – I can’t believe you left early.”

“Yeah, we get it. We’re traitors and deserve to be banned from watching baseball.”

“Listen. That grand slam ball flew into our section and hit your seat. Nobody was sitting there so some random guy came and picked it up.”

Jaws dropped, Kelsey and I realized we had committed the greatest crime in baseball history since Smalls stole his dad’s ball signed by Babe Ruth (later eaten by a giant dog).

We spent the next few hours in the first stage of grief: denial. He was just making it up – it couldn’t have hit our seat. Nobody hits a home run that high.

But our curiosity got the best of us and we looked up the video online.
 
As we saw the ball land in our section, on our seat, we didn’t speak a word.

We knew this was a day that would live in baseball infamy.

But that’s what baseball is all about. The grueling 162-game season, the endless fruitless at-bats – all for that one moment you can’t believe. Hoping one comes my way again some day, I won’t miss it.

Endnote: I later learned that the guy that got the ball was a schoolteacher of one of my summer campers. It’s probably a good thing he did, otherwise Kelsey and I would have had a “Solomon-cut-the-baby-in-half” dilemma to resolve. Joint custody would have probably worked too.