Wednesday night there was an auction at the game. You could bid on each player’s jersey. If you won, you got to go on the field after the game to get the jersey off his back and get your picture taken.
Even the entry bid was rich for me. It’s not like we’d have to go hungry, but I have a lot of grown-up responsibility things I need to do with my money in the next couple of months.
But I’d just had two beers, a bacon cheeseburger and a basket of fries so I felt like anything could happen.
I decided to bid. I figured it was just the low bid and I’d probably lose and if no one else bid, I’d get the jersey and my Kalif moment.
The thing is, once my name was on that piece of paper, that jersey was mine. I was obsessed with it. I went back to the auction table before the game started and at the half just to see how the bidding was going. In my head I kept bumping up the number I would be willing to go to so I could win. You know, with this money that I don’t really have for pure folly.
Of course at three minutes before the auction ended they texted me that my bid had been beat. I would have to double my bid in order to win. So then I thought of other players that I like (honestly, I like all of them) and wondered if I should run up there and see if their jerseys were still available.
Except I was watching the game and why was I desperately trying to throw my money at something, anything, so I could go home a winner. I managed to reel myself in.
As we were leaving I bragged about how much money I’d saved.
They had a Make-A-Wish kid at the game and it is a fantastic and heart-twisting story.