Big Skill: The Man, the Myth, the Legend.

(Update: Speaking of egregious errors, I fucked this one up bigtime. I got the game this story happened at wrong, meaning all those details about who was batting were wrong. The real game was this game, with the Twins playing the Brewers. The details are strikingly similar; Lohse pitching (important, because Big Skill was definitely flipping out at Lohse), Lohse mentally collapsing after getting hit with a liner, and a lone run scored off a double when the Twins were down 6-0. I'm leaving this as an update instead of changing the original post for three reasons: first, a reminder to myself to not fuck up again in the future; second, anyone who's already read this and saw it again later would notice the MASSIVE changes in details about the game; third, I'm lazy. Apologies for the error, and I'll give my best efforts so that it won't happen again. The important part is all the info about Big Skill's gambling, the excessive celebration, and the root beer float are 100% accurate. The Legend continues forth unfettered.)

Today has been a bit hectic for me and has left me without the time to concoct a proper post tonight. Instead of worrying about creating something funny, I'm going to save time and tell you a story and start the Legend of Big Skill.

There's one thing you should know about Big Skill before I start: he's about three large losses from being a full fledged gambling addict. Well, no, not really, but he definitely isn't a stranger at the card club or casino. The biggest difference between Big Skill and a legitimate gambling addict is that Big Skill is willing to go do something else when people turn down the casino instead of saying "screw you guys" and going by himself. If Big Skill's group of friends were more into gambling than Kev and I are, there's a decent chance that he would be trying to sell you bootlegged copies of "There Will Be Blood" at the corner of Portland and 8th street on Saturday at 2:30 in the morning. Also, try not to get scared off by his limp and the two missing fingers on his left hand; Bruno told him that it wouldn't happen again if he sold three more DVDs this weekend.

Kev and I have thankfully managed to keep Big Skill's gambling from going to this extreme. Still, there were times when the casino and card club just aren't enough for Big Skill. To feed his inner demon, he has occasionally made "friendly wagers" on baseball games. The rule he went by was he won as long as the team he "wagered" on won by at least two runs. Seems like a decent enough chance to win if you pick the right pitching match-ups; Big Skill did a good job cleaning up in the summer of '04, making a handy "profit" off his "wagers."

Now, here comes the good part. Towards the end of that summer, right before the three of us went back to college, the three of us decided we had to go to one last Twins game. The only game we were able to attend this late in the summer was, unfortunately, against the Royals. Big Skill, convinced that the game would lack entertainment because the Twins (77-58) were playing the lowly Royals (48-86), took all his profits to this point and wagered it on the Twins. This was questionable, since, even though the Royals officially sucked hairy balls at this point, Kyle Lohse was pitching for the Twins. How well do I remember this day? Well enough to link you to this game recap. As you can see, Big Skill did not have a good day.

The fact that Big Skill lost is NOT the funny part of the story, Schadenfreude aside. The funny part was how it happened: Lohse was pitching a decent game, giving up two runs in the 3rd but having shut down the Royals in the first and second. There was still confidence after the third that the Twins would eventually get to Gobble and Lohse would buckle down for the win. Suddenly, in the top of the fourth, Lohse got hit by a line drive. Reports say the ball ricocheted off his glove, but Lohse became obviously rattled and gave up another 4 runs in the 4th inning. Big Skill, realizing his situation around the top of the 5th, angrily went to get a root beer float to calm himself down. His frustration became readily apparent when he screamed at me "I THOUGHT LOHSE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR BOY!!" (I calmly reminded him that Johan was my boy, and not Lohse. This, shockingly, did not make Big Skill feel any better.)

Begin the bottom of the 5th. Lew Ford grounds out to short. Kind of expected. Christian Guzman starts a miracle rally by hitting a ground rule double. An extra base hit by Christian Guzman was definitely the sign of a miracle starting. Next, Cuddyer walked. Big Skill started getting excited. He could feel the rally beginning, regardless of the fact it was still 6-0 in the bottom of the 5th. Terry Tiffee came up, and cue the obligatory "I'm-Terry-Tiffee-and-I'm-going-to-kill-the-rally strikeout." Big Skill, deflated, sat down and started sipping somberly on his root beer float as 41 year old backup catcher Pat Borders came to the plate, a sure sign that the inning was over.

Then, magic happened. Pat Borders somehow lined a ball into left center; Guzman flew around third, towards home plate. Big Skill, excited and celebrating infinitely more than the situation dictated, made a hilarious yet egregious error: as he jumped out of his seat, his root beer float slipped out of his hand, slammed into his knee, and exploded directly into the head of a middle aged, portly Asian woman sitting in front of him. The force and amount of root beer were similar to this, regardless of the difference in medium. The woman, in one of the most hilarious (for Kev and I) responses possible, refused to turn around. She stared straight ahead, with what I guarantee you was a look of complete horror on her face. Her husband, sitting to her left, quickly patted down the back of her head with paper napkins, glaring at Big Skill. Big Skill did attempt to remedy the situation by going to get more napkins for the woman and her husband, but the damage had been done. I'm sure the two are now die-hard White Sox fans.

As Big Skill ran up the steps to get more napkins, we noticed that four mid-20's guys chased up the stairs after him. Apparently, a drop had gotten on the Doug Mientkiewicz jersey of one of these fans. Assuming that Big Skill apparently aimed the root beer at them through the portly Asian woman's head, they charged after him and confronted him at the napkin dispenser. When I noticed this, I asked Kev if we should go help. Kev looked at the guys running up the stairs, looked back at the game, looked up the stairs, back to the game, took a deep sigh and said: "...He'll be alright." True friendship at it's finest. Big Skill told the four that it was an accident, and though the four were upset and out of breath from the 20 stairs they just ran up (hey, it's a workout for some), let him slide past. When Big Skill returned, he told us what happened, and I told him we saw and Kev's response. Big Skill got even more upset at this, claiming they could have tried to kick his ass, while Kev responded simply: "Hey, you're fine, aren't you?" Big Skill quieted down, focused on the game, and obviously started debating if it was too soon to get another root beer float. The game concluded without another incident (unless you count the six more runs the Twins gave up.)

The moral of the lesson is this: the next time you go to a Twins game, beware the guy behind you sipping a root beer float bitching about how he's about to lose a "friendly wager" on the game. There's a decent chance that he will almost seizure in excitement at the smallest sign of life from his team. The other moral? Everyone should know about Big Skill. Let the Legend begin.