The Perfect Job Opens Up!

This was a post from 11/15/07 that was everyone's favorite I believe. Enjoy!

Yeah, you heard me. Or read me. whatever.

PERFECT JOB, for me at least. I can't think of a better one in the world.

Bat Boy - St. Louis Cardinals.
Pay - $6.50/Hr
Requirements (According to the listing):

Must be at least 16 years of age

Flexibility to work 81 home games days between March 30, 2008 and September 20, 2008 and all additional home post-season games

Must be an outstanding student

Physically able to lift a minimum of 40 lbs.

Link (probably not for too long)

Everything but the "outstanding student" and "physically able" part I'm perfectly qualified. I hit the weight room, and call a few professors and I'm a shoe in.

Why Ryan, why would you take a pay cut and move all the way back to St. Louis for a job any 16yr old could do?

If you seriously asked that question you either:

a. have never seen my cubicle covered in cardinals stuff
b. have never seen the old Busch stadium Seats I have in my apartment
c. searched on Google for "how to make a kickass cardboard fort" (actual search)
d. have no idea who I am.

I am the biggest (tie) cardinals fan I know. 2006 was the best baseball year of my life. I went to Spring Training in Florida, all 3 opening games in Philadelphia, caught 2 games in St. Louis, AND went to Every Round of the playoffs, including the deciding Game 5 when my boys won it all.

I check 3 cardinal websites first thing every morning, and watch every game I can. In the off-season, I continue to check everyday (sometimes multiple times) to see if we'd made any FA moves or trades.

In simple terms, I'm obsessed.

And that brings me to one of my greatest highs, and unfortunately greatest lows of my life.

The time was Summer, 2005. The last year of Busch Stadium (2), the only theater of combat I'd ever known in St. Louis. I'd seen them win there and seen them lose there and this was it's final year. They were tearing it down at seasons end.

In my whole life, I had never been on the field. I had never run the bases. But on that fateful day, the gods shined down upon me. An announcement rang over the loud speaker:

"At the end of today's game, all children under the age of 16 are welcome onto the field to run the bases."

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"Mom, mom, mom we have to go, I have to do it. Please!? PLEASE?!" - me

"Of course, you couldn't miss that for you life, but how, you're 23 years old, you don't look 16!"

Whatever, I said, we'll figure it out when the time comes. I'm sure there will be other people my age and older running the bases.

Game ends and the line starts to form, probably 1,000 people, who knows. By the time we reach it, it's literally circling around the stadium. Oh well, we're doing it. Get in line I say.

As the line moves I can't help but notice the throngs of children in line. I could be in trouble.

I start scheming in my head, as does my mom who knows how much it would mean to me. I can't be sure who came up with it first, I'm not sure I want to take credit for it, but the plan we came up with was genius no matter how offensive it may be.

DISCLAIMER: If you are Offended by the next section, I am truly sorry and in no way shape or form did I intend to do that. Sometimes what is necessary and what is right aren't always the same thing. This may have been neither, we shall see.

We exit the tunnel in left field onto the warning track, and see the line circle all the way to first base, where there are a TON of Official Cardinal Reps guiding people and passing them along. (Mostly for little kids, but certainly also to keep older than 16 off the bases).

As we got closer and closer my smile got brighter and bigger. I can't contain myself, but I also can't give myself away. I initiated the plan somewhere around the right field foul pole.

I acted mentally challenged.

What 3rd graders and younger call "retarded" and the impressions we did those days before we knew how offensive it was, I did at 23. I cocked the arm, I smiled crooked. I held it. All the way to first base.

The usher passed me along like I was a little kid. "There ya go buddy."

I've never felt more joy, disgust, satisfaction and fear all at once in my life.

I wanted to break into a sprint around the bases as if I just hit a screamer into the corner, but I was so afraid of getting caught and yelled at that I held the pose the whole way around. Right until the end. Right until home plate. Where you couldn't stop me from being the real me (after this some might challenge my supposed mental state).

Me on the field afterwards.

I smiled. Slammed my feet on the plate, and walked away. To my mom. Who was smiling. And laughing. What kind of son did I raise, must've been the thoughts going through her head.

A dedicated one, mom. A dedicated one.

So now maybe you'll understand why I'll leave my engineering degree, my government job, and my very best friend for a job in middle America.

Go Cards.

Yes, he is a sick individual. Sorry about that. please send hate mail and or "de-friend" requests to theoriginalrs@gmail.com . Mailbag next week, please get in the best of the best.