Call the bum out.

It was a really nice mild spring evening 1962. My friend Ron and I were at Dodger Stadium to watch an early season baseball game. What a beautiful ball park the Dodgers have. The outfield grass trimmed nice and even with a lush field of green. Dirt infield raked and smooth. All just right for a weekday’s major league ball game. So the home plate ump yells “Play Ball!” Then the defensive players nine took the field, the pitcher threw a few warm ups and the ball was thrown around first to first and then to second and out to the left center and right fielders. And the batter was up to bat scratching around the turf at home plate. Then schoowop. Strike one. Then shoowop again. Ball one strike one. .

Then after a few innings of play a commotion began to erupt in the stands. A teetering man in a very drunken wobble began to slowly shuffle his way down the steps of our deck level. Yelling at the top of his lungs, “Free peanuts!” The man obviously bought the entire venders tray of roasted peanuts. Including the tray with shoulder strap and was tossing willy nilly peanuts to everyone. Free Peanuts! He yelled at the top of his voice. What a sight to see. A middle age man drunken and wobbling from side to side. But uh oh, here came the stadium police. Two of them and grabbing the drunken peanut tosser and escorted him out of the stadium. But after several visits to Dodger Stadium such an occurrence was not all that abnormal. Other crazy things had happened. I often wondered how that was described by the radio play-by-play announcers. If at all. Cue the stadium organist. Take me out to the ballgame. Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks.

Published by OkieMan

I come from a family who migrated from the parched red dirt Plaines of southern rural Oklahoma. Migrating to blue collar working class community of East Los Angeles. There is where I was born. I am Mr. Writermelon. I can only write what my grammar and spell checker allows. I am neither profound nor profane. Boy howdy! Send comment to:

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