Cheering Too Much

Ron Nagasawa
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Wednesday - September 03, 2008
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Do you remember where you were the day the Waipio Little Leaguers won the 2008 World Championship? I’ll never forget where I was because my wife won’t let me.

That Sunday, Aug. 24, started out to be one of conflict for me. After church that morning, we were committed to attend a welcome-back picnic for our 11-year-old daughter’s parochial school. Normally, I look forward to attending this family-oriented event.

However, church and the picnic happened to occur about the same time as the televised Little League World Championship game. We’re huge supporters of the team not only because they’re from Hawaii, but also because they hail from the same neighborhood in which we live.

Still, church always trumps everything, and the picnic had priority since we committed to bring food. In this case, it was pizza, since that always sells out anytime there are kids involved. Right after church was over, we headed to pick up the pizzas.


On the way, I dialed in the AM radio station to the game, which was nearing the final innings. My wife and daughter went in the store to pick up the pizzas, and I was glued to the radio in my wife’s car. My wife’s car, also known as “the nice car,” is our mode of transportation for family outings.

I didn’t really notice that they were taking quite long for the pizzas, as I was animated and yelling at the radio for every great play the Waipio team made. When they returned to the car, they explained that our order was accidentally given away and they had to wait for a new batch.

They were given a free order of bread sticks, which they started eating in the car and dunking into those little containers of garlic butter. When we arrived at the picnic, they were eager to leave the car and deliver the food. I told them I was staying in the car and listening to the rest of the game.

My excitement was totally building up, and at the bottom of the sixth when the third out was made against Mexico, I literally jumped up from the car seat, cheering. Doing that, I also knocked those open, still full garlic-butter containers into the air and onto my wife’s beautiful leather seats.

There was garlic butter everywhere, and even though I managed to sop most of it up, the hot sun was going to do a number on that garlic-butter residue. I locked up the car and went to join my wife and daughter. As I approached my wife, she excitedly asked, “Well, did they win?”

I looked at her and said, “You want the good news first or the bad news?”

 

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