Poblanotes 51.5- Dinner With A Fan
Posted: Wed Jun 29, 2022 8:13 pm
Every year, a charitable organization in El Paso holds a “Win Dinner With A Celebrity” auction, and the Chilis always participate. It’s hard for me to find guys willing to take part, either because you never know who you’ll be forced to endure a dinner with, or because so many of my players don’t speak much English. This year, I ended up with Stan Cyr, Robert Chenoweth, and, as a distant third option, myself.
Stan Cyr ended up having dinner with a guy from eastern New Mexico who tried to indoctrinate him into a religious cult and, that failing, asked him for a large amount of cash to finance an armed raid on Roswell, New Mexico to free the alien beings supposedly sequestered there.
The winner of dinner with Rob Chenoweth was the daughter of an oil company executive who repeatedly groped him under the table in areas normally covered by a swimsuit. Her suggestions for what they might do after dinner were acrobatic in the extreme, and she became more and more insistent, until Rob excused himself to go to the men’s room and made his escape through a window, with his virtue more or less intact.
I was worried about mine- would I even command enough money to afford a restaurant that used real china?- but eventually I raised enough money to facilitate a trip for us to Olive Garden. I was relieved at first to meet my dinner partners- a husband and wife, and their ten-year-old son Jimmy.
“Jimmy’s so glad to meet you” gushed Mom. “He’s a big Chilis fan.”
“Well, we need as many of those as we can get. So, do you have anything about the team you want to know, Jimmy?”
“Yes, Mr. Ruiz. Why do so few of your draftees ever make the majors?”
I forced a chuckle. “Well, Jimmy, lots of things can happen; we can trade a prospect, or we could just decide to be extra specially careful with his development.”
“Yes, but couldn’t you develop some pitching at least? I mean, Mr. Ruiz, you rank near the bottom in almost every pitching category.”
“Well, a lot of that is our ballpark”
“Yes, but your offense is near the bottom in home runs.”
“Isn’t he adorable?” said his mother.
“Absolutely precious”, I replied. “Here’s some yummy breadsticks, Jimmy…why don’t you stuff one in your mouth.”
“And your budget, Mr. Ruiz”, he continued. Isn’t it true that you spent too much on international free agents this season, and then had to unload some good arms to get back under your budget limit?”
My chuckle this time came out more like a gagging sound. “Well, Jimmy, you certainly are a smart one, and maybe when you grow up you can help us in the Chilis front office.”
“Oh, no thanks… I plan to go somewhere like Yellow Springs, where they’ve really got their act together.”
“Well, I’d gladly ship you there in a crate.”
His father reddened. “What did you say, buddy”?
“Um, I said “I’m glad this spaghetti is great”. I frantically called for the check; Dad looked like he had mayhem on his mind.
I paid the check and bolted into the El Paso night. I didn’t even give them a chance to order dessert. No cannoli for you Jimmy; that’ll teach you to disrespect your elders…
Stan Cyr ended up having dinner with a guy from eastern New Mexico who tried to indoctrinate him into a religious cult and, that failing, asked him for a large amount of cash to finance an armed raid on Roswell, New Mexico to free the alien beings supposedly sequestered there.
The winner of dinner with Rob Chenoweth was the daughter of an oil company executive who repeatedly groped him under the table in areas normally covered by a swimsuit. Her suggestions for what they might do after dinner were acrobatic in the extreme, and she became more and more insistent, until Rob excused himself to go to the men’s room and made his escape through a window, with his virtue more or less intact.
I was worried about mine- would I even command enough money to afford a restaurant that used real china?- but eventually I raised enough money to facilitate a trip for us to Olive Garden. I was relieved at first to meet my dinner partners- a husband and wife, and their ten-year-old son Jimmy.
“Jimmy’s so glad to meet you” gushed Mom. “He’s a big Chilis fan.”
“Well, we need as many of those as we can get. So, do you have anything about the team you want to know, Jimmy?”
“Yes, Mr. Ruiz. Why do so few of your draftees ever make the majors?”
I forced a chuckle. “Well, Jimmy, lots of things can happen; we can trade a prospect, or we could just decide to be extra specially careful with his development.”
“Yes, but couldn’t you develop some pitching at least? I mean, Mr. Ruiz, you rank near the bottom in almost every pitching category.”
“Well, a lot of that is our ballpark”
“Yes, but your offense is near the bottom in home runs.”
“Isn’t he adorable?” said his mother.
“Absolutely precious”, I replied. “Here’s some yummy breadsticks, Jimmy…why don’t you stuff one in your mouth.”
“And your budget, Mr. Ruiz”, he continued. Isn’t it true that you spent too much on international free agents this season, and then had to unload some good arms to get back under your budget limit?”
My chuckle this time came out more like a gagging sound. “Well, Jimmy, you certainly are a smart one, and maybe when you grow up you can help us in the Chilis front office.”
“Oh, no thanks… I plan to go somewhere like Yellow Springs, where they’ve really got their act together.”
“Well, I’d gladly ship you there in a crate.”
His father reddened. “What did you say, buddy”?
“Um, I said “I’m glad this spaghetti is great”. I frantically called for the check; Dad looked like he had mayhem on his mind.
I paid the check and bolted into the El Paso night. I didn’t even give them a chance to order dessert. No cannoli for you Jimmy; that’ll teach you to disrespect your elders…