The life of a dugout phone is not a hard one. In fact, if it were possible, I wouldn’t mind living the life of a dugout phone.
What’s not to like?
You get to watch 81 games a year with the best seat in the house. You get to hear all the ‘baseball guy’ banter. Unlimited sunflower seeds and Gatorade. Sure, you do get touched by the manager, like a lot. But if you really love baseball, you’re not that far off really loooooving baseball, so I’m sure that feel is something that could be adapted as a positive. I mean, hey, sometimes we all need a gentle grab n’ hold. Amiright?
Anyhow, if you were to ask me a day before yesterday if living the life of a dugout phone was something I would be interested in, I might smile a bit and then nod gently. Because a day before yesterday, this did not happen.
It all started with David Ortiz, Big Papi as he’s referred to, taking what looked to be ball four.
To the umpire, Tim Timmons, that obviously was not a ball. To David Ortiz and to the viewer, that obviously was a ball. But unfortunately, only one of us has the final say.
David Ortiz taught me something yesterday. Actually, he taught me two things.
1) David Ortiz is a very big man with a bat, who I would rather not anger.
2) I no longer wish to spend a day as a dugout phone.
Please also note, based on the fallout, I don’t want to be Dustin Pedroia either.