Explosions, Ejections & Majick

I had some time today before having to make it to Brickyard Park here in Oklahoma City. So I took a cab to where the "Oklahoma City Bomber" did his thing on April 19, 1995, almost exactly 13 years ago. I saw all of the footage on TV when it happened, but since this is my first time to Oklahoma City, I wanted to see for myself what's there.

The Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum is beautiful and terrible and heartbreaking and spectacular all at the same time. If you ever get down this way, or even if you don't, I recommend taking the tour and seeing for yourself what can happen when people go too far.

Which brings us to Monday night's game. Ninth inning, two men on, two men out and I'm pitching with a one-run lead. Then the crazy thing happened. I throw a 2-2 pitch and the batter makes contact (It was Marvin Majick, a pinch hitter). Before you know it, there are explosions. But it wasn't the war kind. It was fireworks. Somebody got a little switch happy and set off a full load of fireworks at the moment the ball met the bat. Needless to say, just about every soul in the ballpark was distracted. Our left fielder, Miguel Ramirez, would normally have caught what my dad, "Red" Scott, would call a "can of corn." Simple fly to left. The game should have been over.

But he missed the ball. You see, the sky was suddenly on fire.

Two runners scored by the time Miguel realized he'd missed the ball, the ball was in play, and he needed to throw the ball back to the infield. Well, his throw was far too late and we lost the game and I "blew" another save. Marvin Majick was a hero.

The story doesn't end there.

Our manager, Dusty Graves, went ballistic. You thought there were fireworks behind the outfield wall. You should have seen this. Dusty yelled and screamed. He pounded his fists. He got into the faces of ever umpire present. He kicked dirt. He lifted bases off the ground and threw them. It was a complete rampage.

We stood on the field, unsure if the game was over or not. Turns out it was. The umpires decided not to replay the final pitch, my final pitch; their decision made easier by Dusty's continuing craziness. Dusty was ejected, and a few of us wondered if it could be technically called an ejection since the game was already over.

When Dusty was "escorted" off the field by security, we followed him into the dugout and clubhouse. But just as I stepped into the on deck circle, one lone firework shot into the air. I turned to look. It was beautiful. I'd pitched poorly, our manager had humiliated himself, but looking at that one momentary glow in the air, I realized how unimportant this game can be sometimes. I thought for a moment of the victims of that terrible tragedy from 13 years ago in this city and promised myself I'd spread the word about the museum. Don't forget about the past. Those who died there deserve better.