Dear Jesus: Thanks, man/Son of God. You just had to resurrect on that exact Sunday in Jeru-salem, didn't you?
While you later got to skip town and fly away home to the real Zion, your decision to ditch Tomb Arimathea on the third day -- rather than the second, or the fourth -- created some real problems for me last Sunday in Charlottesville.
Mike Ballard, a long-time friend and Humphreys First Left hallmate from four years ago, throws the first no-hitter by a U.Va. pitcher since 1974, in front of a packed house of 2,077 at Davenport Field, and I ...
miss the game.
I miss the game.
There's a one-word explanation for why, and it lies in the answer to this riddle: If the sun sets in the west, it rises in the ...?
Easter.
I had known for over a week about my Omni Easter brunch date with the Floridian Parsley chapter, but it was only hours in advance that I learned it started at 1:00 p.m.
The third and final game in the Virginia-Boston College series also started at 1:00.
Which is where my problem began.
It'd be one thing if this was some normal, ho-hum Sunday afternoon; but it wasn't -- this was a holy day of obligation for me. After all, Ballard was getting the start on the hill, and I was a devout Humphreysciple.
The eternal optimist, I got dressed thinking I'd have enough time to wolf down a dank meal, capitalize on some rare, quality face time with kinfolk I know better from Christmas cards than anything else and still be in the bleachers by the bottom of the sixth -- maybe even earlier.
But even in this best-case scenario, getting to the field that late would still be cutting it close ... which is why, a little more than an hour before the first pitch, I texted Mike with some simple instructions:
Yo, I have to be late today so you better eat some innings and wait for me to get there.
The VB southpaw who roomed with Nationals third baseman Ryan Zimmerman in Humphreys 112 says he didn't get the memo until after the game. ... And when he finally checked his messages, basking in the glow of the best performance of his life?
"I started cracking up," Ballard said.
Laughter is not exactly the sound that came out of my mouth when I found out what I'd missed.
My reaction was more along the lines of "F****** S***!!!"
The brunch had gone long, way longer than I anticipated. First, we were late getting there. Then, we started eating and never stopped ... until it was picture time -- which was prolonged by my eighth grade cousin's battle with the afternoon sun that was glaring in her eyes. By the time we gave hugs and headed out, the hands on my watch were entrenched in a perfect right angle: 3:00 p.m.
Which is where my problem got worse.
To the final two innings I assumed I'd be able to catch at that point, I said screw it. My belly was full, it was a beautiful day outside, and I'd finally discovered that there was another Parsley male (The Bob's brother David) who had bird legs and was not fat ... just like me!
In short, I was feeling good, and didn't think twice about the possibility that I may be turning my back on a piece of Virginia sports history in the making. Besides, what were the odds that Ballard would still even be in the game at that point?
Without thinking of turning on the radio to check, or even calling one of the field hockey girls sure to be in the stands, I headed straight for the driving range.
In hindsight, that was when a problem transformed into a monumental mistake.
"The dog pile at the end of the game absolutely crushed me," Ballard said the night afterwards. "I didn't think it was actually happening, and then I got speared and tackled. Before I knew it, there were 25 people on top of me, going nuts."
Great ... did I mention I hit some outstanding golf shots at the range?
When I found out a few hours later that those golf shots had come around the same time that Ballard was getting mobbed, I keeled over in disbelief, paralyzed by the massive sucker-brunch I'd just taken to the gut.
Take the level of disappointment I felt two seasons ago, when I missed Zim's first career home run by three minutes, and then multiply it by infinity for how I felt about missing Ballard's first career no-hitter.
I'd rather be stuck in traffic for the birth of my first-born child than have missed this moment. You can always have more kids; Big Time Ballard ain't throwin' any more no-no's.
If only we could TiVo life -- all of the world's problems would be solved.
Do I blame JC for this year's ill-timed Easter? In part, yes. But do I also blame myself for being ye of little faith that Ballard could go the distance? You have no idea.
Besides, I kind of deserved it for skipping Easter Mass. The God of the Old Testament is back, and He's taking names. I knew I'd get mine for the no-show on the biggest day of the Liturgical calendar -- I just didn't think I'd get it so quickly.
You can't escape karma; you can only hope it doesn't come looking for you during baseball season.
Bayless' column ran bi-weekly on Thursdays. He can be reached at bayless@cavalierdaily.com.
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