Standing up for my Tigers!
Baseball is not necessarily an obsessive-compulsive disorder, but it's beginning to seem that way. We're reaching the point where you can be a truly dedicated fan or you can have a life - Tom Boswell
I have been fortunate enough to witness LSU compete in the College World Series seven times, and although my previous six trips resulted in a 4-10 record, I enjoyed each and every trip. As Jay Johnson began to assemble the 2023 roster, I knew in my bones that a trip to Omaha was in the offing, and I threw caution to the wind. Fighting all of my superstitions and thumbing my nose at the baseball gods, I mentioned Omaha well in advance of the final out against Kentucky. My wife, to her credit, knowing that I may cave in to the bad mojo associated with such confidence, booked our flights for Omaha - arriving June 16, returning June 27. We were in for the duration - there was no turning back. And boy what a trip it was.
At this point, every LSU fan has binge watched every play of every game, marveling at the uniqueness of this incredible run through Omaha. If you need to be reminded, please read Cody Worsham’s piece, as it completely encapsulates the miracle run (LSU baseball's national title was unlike anything we've ever seen.) I will come at this from a totally different angle - the perspective of the fan experience.
I need to state upfront that I am what you would call a nervous LSU baseball fan. I have been known to do things that may seem a bit eccentric to normal people, e.g. when watching a game at home, if the opposing team puts a man on base with less than 2 outs, I switch to radio, go outside, grab my garden hose and water anything in sight. Actually, writing this down does make it seem a bit weird - but it works. While attending games in person, I am the SRO guy - Standing Room Only. Standing for the game gives one the ability to change vantage points, gracefully move from an unwanted conversation during a tense moment of the game, but most importantly, wander around the concourse like a mental patient rubbing a golf ball with an LSU logo on it.
As we were planning this trip, our group reached eight people (all family), with one being my 8-month-old grandson. I didn’t want to burden the group with my insistence on standing for 4 hours at a clip, so we set off buying seats, which is actually worthy of its own article. Unless you buy a ticket for every game in the CWS, you are left to purchase tickets on a game-by-game basis. We choked hard on the fees, but we purchased tickets in Section 132 - right center field. Time to get on that big bird and head to Omaha.
Arriving in Omaha, it all starts to come back to me. And here we are, decked out in our best LSU gear, not too much, but enough to represent. At the baggage claim, I spot a man with an S on his baseball cap - no need to engage with a Stanford fan this early in the trip. Being within earshot, I immediately recognize an accent that sounds more similar to mine, and I instantly start searching my internal database for schools in Louisiana starting with an S. Thankfully, the man approaches me and introduces himself, as I would have never guessed Sulphur. Grasping for a conversation starter, I remember Barbe is in Lake Charles, Gavin Guidry went to Barbe - there it is. Just then, his son approaches, and we learn that he will be attending LSU next fall - not just as a student, but as a left hander pitcher for the 2024 Tigers. Our bags find their way around the carousel, we snatch them up, wish the young man good luck and give him a Geaux Tigers!
Saturday morning arrives, all of our party has safely arrived in Omaha, and our first stop is Barrett’s Barley Corn - for the uninitiated, Barrett’s is as close to Walk-Ons on Burbank as you are going to get in Omaha, and it’s been this way since the early 90’s. With six hours to 1st pitch, I am still relatively calm, due in large part to the presence of my 8-month-old grandson. If you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, don’t bring an adorable little guy with you. A reporter from WDSU in New Orleans spots the Little Man, and wants to put the youngest LSU fan on TV. We oblige.
Game 4 - Tennessee v LSU
With the previous game having a rain delay, it pushed our opening game back 40 minutes. It also made it very difficult to get into the park, as the park must be cleared from the Stanford v Wake Forest game. As it was nearly impossible to find seven seats together, we were forced to split up. We were fortunate, however, to get five seats in Section 132, or so we thought. Three of the seats said Section 132 and two said 132A - without even thinking about it, we push our way to Section 132 and find out the A stands for accessible, as in handicapped accessible. An area at the top of Section 132 that had about 2 dozen comfortable chairs, ready to rearranged as needed.
It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt. - Mark Twain
My brother and his son find their seats, and are a little uneasy about sitting in this area. In an attempt to ease his mind, he turns to a couple of LSU fans in the chairs next to him. My brother felt comfortable in sheepishly asking “did you know these seats were handicapped accessible when you bought them?” The veteran bent over, pulled up his pant leg to expose an artificial leg from his time in Iraq - but rather than be bitter, he brushed it off - my brother made an instant friend.
For my part, sitting in Section 132 was bearable, thanks in large part to a 5-0 lead and Paul Skenes still pitching into the 8th. Then he gives up a double and single, with 2 outs, trimming the lead to 5-1. Starting to rock back and forth, I watch as Gavin Guidry’s first offering is taken over the centerfield wall, 5-3. Like a patient about to hit the buzzer to stop the MRI, I instinctively get up and head for the concourse. As I stroll through the centerfield concourse as if I am actually heading somewhere with a purpose, I meet eyes with a Stanford fan from twenty feet away. As certainly an octogenarian, he slowly makes his way into my direct path, to the point I must stop for fear of running into him. We both stop, and he says “son, are you nervous?” Since the gentleman reeked of class and stature, I resisted my usual sarcastic “uh, you think so”, instead going with “is it that obvious?” He reached out an arm and placed it on my shoulder, saying “you guys got this” and gave a little chuckle as he moved on. Taking a little time to appreciate this encounter, I returned to my seats just after Brayden Jobert extended the lead to 6-3 in the 8th. LSU 6 Tennessee 3
Game 8 - LSU v Wake Forest
Having endured a majority of the previous game in a seat, and because we won, I decided to give it another try. It’s the winner’s bracket game, with a chance to climb into the proverbial driver’s seat. We switch sides of the park, finding our seats in Section 122, deep down the left field line. Just prior to first pitch, two obviously unattached fans settle in a couple rows behind us, which in and of itself has never been a big deal. But today was not one of those days. Sitting behind us was an SID from some BIG12 school that appeared to be interviewing for a job, as he would not shut up, about basketball, no less.
All baseball fans can be divided into two groups: those who come to batting practice and the others. Only those in the first category have much chance of amounting to anything. - Thomas Boswell
I could see my brother’s blood pressure starting to rise, and instead of resisting the temptation to feed the trolls, he turned and abruptly asked “are you f*(#ers gonna talk basketball during a baseball game?” I can attest to their answer, as I now can tell you who started at power forward for TCU in 1998, with an 87.5% FT percentage.
During the 6th inning, when the home plate umpire appeared to have a stroke, calling ball after ball on Ty Floyd, the crowd booed in unison. When Frick and Frack asked what was everyone booing for, all five of us let them have it. Wake Forest 3 LSU 2
Game 10 LSU v Tennessee
With the majority of our party heading home after the first two games, my wife graciously agreed to stand for the remaining games - back with our peeps. Just a quick note about the SRO area at Charles Schwab field - first, there is no yellow line and associated usher to police it - second, Charles Schwab field has a ledge that runs the entire extend of the SRO area, making it a bit easier to stand for four hours.
True baseball fans do not cheer for their teams to win; they cheer for them not to lose. Victory does not come with joy, it comes with relief. Losing causes only pain. - Will Leitch
As much as I hate to admit it, my mindset going into the Tennessee elimination game was not so much winning the title, but not letting Tennessee send us home. As the visiting team, we leaned against the rail along the 1st base line, perched behind the LSU section. Nate Ackenhausen pitched a gem, and the only excitement was watching a voluntary usher attempt to keep Chris Guillot from returning to his seat. Did you know that Chris has been going to Omaha for 39 years? Neither did I. LSU 5 Tennessee 0
Game 12 Wake Forest v LSU
Having dispatched Tony Vitello, sending him to 1-4 in Omaha, it was time to test our mettle for the second time against Wake Forest. Standing amongst our people for the second game, my wife befriended a gentleman from Scott, La. named Domingo. As the Tigers had a comfortable cushion through the middle innings, Domingo proceeded to tell us that this trip to Omaha was on his bucket list, that he is retired, his children are grown, and it was time. From the grin that shaped his dialogue in the late innings, we could both appreciate the happiness Domingo felt, and as the game neared an end, it appeared that the Tigers would live to see another day. In the 9th inning, Domingo leaned over toward me and declared “when we win, I’m gonna hug your wife. Hell, I’m gonna hug you, too.” LSU 5 Wake Forest 2 (hugs 2)
Game 13 Wake Forest v LSU
It was very clear that Thursday afternoon leading up to the game that the Tigers could pull off the impossible - hell, we had Paul Skenes on the mound. But “how certain are you?” was the question my youngest daughter, Molly, posed from Houston, as she was scheduled to fly in for the final series, with a deadline of 8:13 pm to cancel the flight without penalty. Approaching the deadline, the Tigers were locked in an epic pitcher’s duel, as both Paul Skenes and Rhett Lowder were still throwing up zeroes. Before I could decide whether Dylan Crews should have taken 2nd with his leadoff knock in the 11th, Tommy Tanks put all those scenarios to rest. Tigers were going to the ‘Ship, and my wife and I were going to celebrate with the team at the Hilton.
With the crowd at a constant fever pitch, I made my way to the bar for a celebratory cocktail. I settled in behind a nice gentleman, and as we waited, ESPN began playing the highlights of the game. When they showed Tommy Tanks’ walk-off blast, the crowd noise went to 11, and instinctively, I grabbed the gentleman in front of me in an attempt to illicit a high five. He complied, and as our hands met, he says “that’s my son!” Probably sensing my utter surprise at this chance occurrence, he reached into his wallet to show his ID, to which I vociferously proclaimed. “Yes, you are, and we are so glad your son chose LSU.” Fighting back obvious emotions, he said “so are we”.
Has anyone seen my baseball? - Warren Jensen
When my Little Man’s mother found out we were going to the team hotel, she asked if we would get some autographs for him. I knew if there would be any scribblings on the $25 ball, it would be thanks to my wife - you see, I am not that guy, never, ever, ever. Well, about 90 minutes after my chance occurrence with Mr. White, my wife spotted Tanks Sr. and a lovely lady standing at the bar with a young man with a beard and longish hair, wearing an LSU hat. Without the usual prodding, I grab the ball and flare pen (which cost $5), and stroll across the hotel toward my new BFF. As I walk up, I find myself between the three and awkwardly ask Tommy for his signature - for my grandson, of course. As you may have guessed by now, I felt like I was starring in one of those Southwest “Want to Getaway” commercials. The young man says “I’m not Tommy”, and as he turns back to close the circle, he chuckles “that’s the second time tonight I’ve been mistaken for Tommy.” I hope my grandson never does a signature match on his ball - Tommy’s number is 47, correct? We’ll get Molly to do the rest - oh, did I not tell you that she made the right choice about the flight? LSU 2 Wake Forest 0
Finals Game 1 LSU v Florida
Best of 3 series against Florida for all the marbles - a rematch of 2017, or should I say a chance for redemption. Just as in 2017, the 1st game was the most critical, and this game did not disappoint. After Tommy Tanks tied the game at 3 in the top of the 8th with a solo bomb, Ty Floyd recorded his 16th and 17th strikeout to keep the score tied, giving way to Riley Cooper to finish it off. Fast forward three innings and Cade Beloso steps to the plate to lead off the 11th - after being beat on a heater from Florida’s closer, Cade guessed correctly and squared up the 0-1. Boom!
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. - German proverb
As the Tigers took the field in the bottom of the 11th, needing 3 outs to secure Game 1 of the finals, it was apparently too much for one LSU fan. A lady with a Tigers jersey comes rushing into the SRO area - initially I thought this may be an impending intestinal issue, but as she stopped midway between the SRO area and the concession stand, I noticed the number on her jersey - #24! Yes, it was Cade Beloso’s mother, who apparently couldn’t bear to watch the final 3 outs. Feeling her anxiety, I did my best to give her a play-by-play as Riley Cooper did his thing. It wasn’t until the next day that I saw the video of Cade pacing back and forth in the tunnel behind the dugout. Good stuff. LSU 4 Florida 3
Finals Game 2 Florida v LSU
With only one more win to capture the Natty, we were filled with optimism on that abbreviated day. You see, this was the first day game for the Tigers in the CWS - 4 hours less prep time, if you know what I mean. My son-in-law, who was in attendance for the first weekend, had booked a flight back to catch Game 2, which was looking like the National Championship game. With an arrival time at 2:02 p.m., just 5 minutes before first pitch, we made the necessary arrangements to accommodate him - placed the key to the rental car in the gas compartment, dropped a pin, and headed to the park. It was all downhill from there - after several delays, his plane would arrive at 5:45 p.m. We actually stayed for the entire Florida run barrage, walked to the rental car, headed to Eppley field and arrived just as he was walking out of the terminal. Trying to “make lemonade from lemons”, or “chicken salad from chicken shit”, I kept repeating what the Skipper used to say - it only counts as one loss.
Knowing we had another shot at the Natty, we visited a local Omaha steak house, enjoyed a lovely dinner and headed back to the Airbnb. Florida ? LSU ?
Finals Game 3 LSU v Florida
Back to our comfortable place playing under the lights and the shadows, we knew we had a long day ahead of us. Trying to stay in our routine, we head over to Barrett’s for lunch, arriving around 1:30 p.m., only to find out they ran out of food. As we begin to discuss plans for our next stop, I notice that my wife is not offering any suggestions. You see, she woke up early that morning with an unusual pain across her chest and back, initially playing if off as a 10-day absence from the ole Sleep Number bed. But her continued silence told me it was more than that, and we decided to make a trip to the nearest emergency room. Parting ways with my daughter and son-in-law, I drive to Methodist hospital, drop my wife off, and before I can park the car, she was taken back for examination - EKG, blood panel, chest x-ray - the works.
In constant contact with Little Man’s mother, who is a PA, she instructs me to login to the patient portal so she can look things over. Everything negative, and since I’m smarter than George Costanza, I know negative is really positive, and I inform my wife. With the immediate crisis behind us, her thoughts go to the baseball game, apologizing over and over, to which I reassure her with “don’t be ridiculous, it’s only a game.”
Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too. - Yogi Berra
My daughter, the PA, actually works in the ER back home, and she quickly poured cold water on our newfound optimism. She proceeds to tell me “Dad, since every test is negative, there’s no pressing need to see her … you guys will be there for a while.” If you ask my wife, she’ll deny it, but she actually suggested we pull off the medical equivalent of a “dine and dash”. There are certain things in life that you don’t do, and I’m sure one of them is leaving the hospital without being discharged. Fortunately, we didn’t have much of a chance to debate the issue, as my wife was called back to see the ER doctor and judicially released. Clean bill of health. Scare over. It was 4:30 p.m.
As we enter Charles Schwab field from the exact location we used the previous seven games, we start to scout out the SRO area along the first base line. It seems that there are far more people with my SRO affliction than I thought, and wouldn’t you know it, my son-in-law knows nearly ever damn one of them - you see, my son-in-law is a true man of the Deep South, having never met a stranger in his life. What a gift! With her medical fears allayed, my wife strikes up a conversation with a young man in a Tigers jersey - #6. After about 10 minutes, she turns to me and says “that’s Brayden Jobert’s cousin.” Duh - I saw the number 6 (inner dialogue, of course). Not eager to stand for another four hours, my wife and daughter head to their seats near the Tigers’ bullpen, and with my wingman yucking it up with every one and their brother, I settle in next to Jobert’s cousin, and from our small talk, it was obvious that we both were eager to get the show on the road.
As the game started with Cade Beloso getting plunked, it was obvious this was not an ordinary game. The rules for high fiving went out the window - early in the game, high fives were given after a strike called on a 1-0 count to a Florida hitter. And not just one high five, you had to high five everyone within arm’s length.
Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while - Unknown
Approximately 375 high fives into the game, we found ourselves with a 6-2 lead in the 4th. After Brayden Jobert plated the 7th run on an RBI by Jordan Thompson, I moved over to Jobert’s cousin while Josh Pearson came to the plate. I leaned in and said “Pearson is going to hit a bomb to the Tigers’ bullpen and Skenes is going to catch it barehanded. Book It".” As if. Well, one of those things happened, and Cousin Jobert moved up and down our group yelling “my man called that shit!' Little did he know that I do that on almost every batter - don’t tell him.
There’s no crying in baseball - Jimmy Dugan
By the time the 9th inning rolled around, it is safe to say we were all conserving our energy for the final out - we were up 14-3 for crying out loud. A single by Crews and back-to-back doubles by White and Morgan barely moved the needle. Then, Brayden Jobert dug into the box. In what can only be described as the sweetest left-handed stroke since Will “The Thrill” Clark, Brayden Jobert launched a towering bomb to right field, capping the scoring at 18 runs. Knowing that he took the perfect path to the ball, there was no need for a bat flip - he merely finished the swing and held that pose for a second or two. Baseball folks would say he pimped it. And pimp it, he did!
Being in energy conservation mode, I nonetheless needed to give Jobert’s cousin a little love. I glance to my left and right, but nothing. I crane my neck to the back, and I see him slowly stepping away from the mass of Tiger fans gathered at the rail. I move slowly toward him, and as I raise my hand for the Bobby Boucher “slap hands” moment, he comes in for the real thing - a great big bear hug. I met this young man several hours earlier, and he is hugging me like a lost uncle who returned from war. I obviously reciprocate, and the hug begins to last longer than normal. Caught off guard by it all, I begin to pull away, and immediately understand his reticence in letting go - there were tears streaming down his face - the tears that could only be generated from joy, relief, and sheer happiness. With all due respect to Jimmy Dugan, I looked him in his tear-soaked eyes and proclaimed - “LET THE TEARS FLOW, BROTHER! LET ‘EM FLOW!” FOR ALL OF US! FOR ALL OF US! LSU 18 Florida 4
How can you not get romantic about baseball? - Billy Beane
See y’all next year in June at The Chuck (this will need to grow on me), standing for my Tigers between Sections 105 and 106. Geaux Tigers!
Are you a retired English teacher? Great piece of writing and loved how you painted the picture for us and made it seem like we were there with you! Glad to see you had the time of your life and hopefully next year we will meet up in Omaha and watch the Tigers win another one! Thanks again and Geaux Tigahs!