When I was two years old, my mother took me to a baseball game and like most
children in their terrible twos, I got bored. What do two-year-olds do when they get bored?
They find something to do to entertain themselves. So, given my propensity to be
an obnoxious little snot, I started jumping around and acting the fool. Mom
kept telling me to sit down or I'd fall off but of course two-year-olds don't
believe anything mom tells them. I ignored her. Sure enough, true to her predition,
I wound up falling off the top of the bleachers.
It might have been a pretty fun experience had some stupid kid not parked his bike
directly under the spot from which I fell--his handlebars caught me in the outide corner
of my left eye necessitating a trip to the hospital to get a few stitches. I have
a scar there, and to this day I get the creeps whenever I go to a baseball game.
Back to the halftime show