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Brett Lawrie, (3rd Baseman for the Toronto Blue Jays) has been on a 15-day disabled list due to a strained oblique muscle he might have suffered chasing a foul ball on July 18th. But can we all agree, that in my mind it was strained under sexier reasons? Thanks! His absence has left a noticeable hole in the lineup, the 1-2-3 punch of Lawrie, Colby ‘the Colblooded’ Rasmus and Jose ‘the Body’ Bautista is what I’ve been living for the past few months.
Now, I wrestled with writing this: Do I research this man I crush on daily so I can write something factual AND funny? The answer: NO! This post WILL straddle the line between ridiculous and super ridiculous because that’s what I do and it’s Friday. There’s been buzz about his return happening as early as next Tuesday, so without further adieu, here is:
MY FANTASY FIRST DATE WITH THE TORONTO BLUE JAYS’ 3RD BASEMAN, BRETT LAWRIE (upon his return from the disabled list)
I would be sitting behind home plate. All game I would be peeping a certain bampsy with my peepers doing his thing on the field (THE CERTAIN BAMPSY BELONGS TO BRETT LAWRIE!!! *single blink*)
It’s the 9th inning and Brett is on deck. Colby just smashed a double into right field, the Jays are tied WITH two outs. It’s all up to him and the entire SkyDome knows it. (Yeah, I said it. It will ALWAYS be the SkyDome to me.) It’s a full count and with a mighty swing he catches a piece of the pitch and it skyrockets into foul territory. Everyone watches this one soar behind home plate, everyone ‘cept me and the ball hits me square in m’drink hand. All of the soda goes everywhere and I’m pretty sure I heard a crack upon contact. The crowd in my close proximity gasp and groan while everyone else in the stadium erupts as Brett hits a ball deep to left for a home run! I didn’t notice Brett scanning the crowd as he rounded 2nd – did he have a sixth sense he had hurt a potential love? Nobody knows!
Colby and Brett cross home plate. The Jays win!
Excitement is something I would feel if my hand wasn’t expanding to the size of an adult’s baseball mitt. The game is over, the stadium medics arrive, my beverage is gone…this situation is NOT the one. I advise them I’m fine and I’d rather not have any attention but they insist I must be checked out. I’m led down to the parking garage where an ambulance is waiting. Oh brother, what a scene! I’m telling them I just need some ice when I hear, “You should probably listen to ’em, they know what they’re doin’.”
My head snaps around like someone yelled “Free cake!” and there is Brett, still in uniform, moseying toward the ambulance (he looks like he’d mosey, doesn’t he? Or amble. Prowl? Whatever he’s doing, it’s hot!) I’m pretty sure my body was saying ‘yes please’ while my eyes said ‘psychopath’ but he continued moving forward.
Brett: “Doesn’t look too good.” His eyes elevator down to my Nutty Professored fingers.
Brett: “They told me that foul ball hit someone but I didn’t realize it was someone so……..” He doesn’t finish his sentence. “Hello, I’m Brett.”
Me: “…………..” Brilliant. I’m effing brilliant. I’m also trying to keep my back as close to the ambulance as possible since my back was emblazoned with “LAWRIE” and the number 13.
I look to one of the medics wide-eyed and mouth agape, nothing is coming out. Immediately he tells the driver (and Brett) I’ve gone into shock and they need to get me to a hospital quickly. Brett orders them both to get in the vehicle and then lifts me up “An Officer and a Gentleman” style into the back of the ambulance and calls to the front that he’ll ride in the back with me.
GUYS!!!!!! (This post is strictly for me obviously, but I’m bloody getting excited!)
Okay, so my hand is getting Andre the Giant-sized but I don’t even notice the pain because Brett-Brett (thats what I’m calling him now) is holding it in his paw and icing it with the other. We ride in silence though I’m positive he could hear how hard my heart was beating inside my chest. There’s so much traffic, we’re at a standstill and I send a silent ‘thanks’ to the man upstairs (I’m not religious but I needed to thank somebody). Somehow, we begin chatting. A little small talk, he won’t divulge why he’s still in his uniform OR how he knew where to find the injured person he hit. Then we’re talking about where we grew up, our cray siblings, our favourite foods. I make fun of him because he was a year old when “Blossom” hit the airwaves and I was 10. Laughter and merriment ensue. They ensue so good.
All too quickly, I feel we’ve come to a stop. We’re here. We have arrived. Desperately, I wrack my brain for something witty to say. This can’t be the end. The back doors open and Brett assists me to the ground. A nurse has met us outside, takes one look at my hand and steers me toward the entrance.
Brett: “Hold on a sec!” The nurse stops, I turn around. “Is there any way I can make this up to you?”
“You don’t think you’ve done enough,” I say with a smirk holding up my mitt-shaped hand.
Brett: “I’m not going to live this one down, am I?”
Me: “I’m willing to let you try. I mean this date has been so successful, maybe you can give me a concussion on the next one.”
Brett: “I’d never intentionally hurt you, but I might take your breath away.”
I chuckle, the nurse does not look amused.
Me: “Well, um… I gave him all of my information so give me a call some time.” I say this with an upward inflection at the end, of course. The medic who drove us to the hospital gives me a wink and a nod to Brett.
Brett: “Sounds good.” He turns to head back to the van and yells over his shoulder, “You like candy, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah I do,” I call out as the nurse leads me toward the doors. I steal another look back, my eyes landing on his balcony and add, “I think you have all the candy I need.”
*No bampsies were harmed in the writing of this post. Just ogled. Only ogled.
To read about my first fantasy first date with Steve Buscemi – please click here!