Cris Reifsteck is a longtime friend of mine and a faithful reader of NuckolBall. He posted this on CraigsList last night:
I have 2 tickets to the World Champion Giants — Padres game on Sunday 9/29 at 1:05 PM. It’s the last game of the season! I am looking for a hot girl who is less than half my age to go to the game with me and let me have my way with her. I am a 42 year old bald fat guy with bad skin. All I really have going for me is that I used to be smart. I guess my balls are pretty big (but nowhere near as big as my friend Mike Nuckols). The seats are crappy seats way up high where the sun blasts down on you and makes watching the game somewhat uncomfortable. The photo above is an approximation of the view you can expect from these seats. I want to eat at least 3 orders of Garlic Fries before the first inning so when Pablo strikes out I can poop my pants! In a perfect world we could have a fake relationship where we fall madly in love and can’t stand to be apart or think about anything except each other for like the first two innings. Then you see me buy cotton candy and give it to a girl and you get jealous and we fight for most of the third inning. Then I tell you I bought it for a little girl who has leukemia and is going to die next week, and we make up, go under the bleachers and have mad, passionate sex. Then you finish your fifth beer and I figure out you’re an alcoholic and I tell you I’m leaving. But you get serious about recovery during the bottom of the fourth inning and I get lonely and we make up again. Things get serious and we decide to move in together. I propose to you in the bottom of the fifth just as Hunter Pence hits a three run homer, it must be fate! We waste the entire sixth inning planning our wedding. We get married during a beautiful ceremony at the seventh inning stretch. Then the game slows down dramatically. Both teams go through 4 relievers each during the eighth. It feels like it will never end. Things are boring and you start making trips to the ‘ladies room’ and I start hanging out at the Crazy Crab Shack. You tell me you’re 5 innings pregnant. I reveal that I had a vasectomy when I went to change my underwear in the second, and the baby can’t be mine — you slut! I demand to know whose baby it is. You tell me you ran into Barry Zito when you were drunk in the late third inning and you had a meaningless fling. I tell you I forgive you, but secretly, I don’t. I resent the shit out of you but keep it hidden deep inside, wanting to be a good husband and honor my marriage vow. The ninth inning finally arrives. We wish it had come sooner. Romo is out for the save. There isn’t even going to be a bottom of the ninth. We both know it. We both realize we hardly even paid attention to the game. We were so caught up in our fake relationship we missed everything. And then it’s gone. Romo strikes out the side, but all we can wonder about is how it all fell apart. We can’t stand each other. I ask for a divorce partially because I have become even more bitter and cranky than before I met you; but mostly just to feel powerful for a moment. You agree, secretly longing for Barry Zito to return, but knowing that he won’t. I exit through Willie Mays Plaza without looking back. So if you’re looking to fulfill your entire life’s dreams in single afternoon ladies, here’s your chance to give your life some meaning! Send me a quick note letting me know why I should pick you over the other thousands of replies I’ll be getting.
When asked for a report from the game — Mr. Reifsteck was quoted as saying:
What did the egg say to the pot of boiling water? It might take me awhile to get hard, I just got laid last night.