Killed by Kindness

“Hey Reubel, you got nothing! We own you!”

This is '97 or so. I can't even remember the guy's face, just his voice, which droned on like a busted beacon. What was supposed to be a signal had turned to noise, and all we could hear was this guy stuck in a loop while some anonymous left-hander warmed up in the visitors' bullpen.

His name was Matt Reubel, and he pitched for the Pirates. Didn't last long as I recall because, much as it pains me to admit, he had nothing. I mean, he was good by human standards but not by big-league baseball standards. Everyone there is the best of the best of the best, sir.

So we're sitting there watching the game. The Padres weren't good that year. So it was a usual year for them except that they were good the year before and the year after. That's the thing about baseball is it's so damn unpredictable, which is why we keep watching.

Why this guy kept yelling the same thing over and over again, I have no clue. I should have asked him. As regrets in life go, that's not high on my list, but I'd be curious to know his motivation. Did he think Reubel would nod in acknowledgment? Or even say something? What the hell would he say?

“Hey man, thanks for coming out to the game this evening. Hope y'all are having a nice time at the ballpark. I'd love to stick around and chat, talk about what I do or don't have and what not, but they might need me to pitch so I have to get back to work now. We'll catch up some other time. Take care!”

The headline would be epic: Heckler Killed by Kindness, Southpaw Subdues Sucker.