Diablo II and My First All-Nighter

I didn't play a lot of PC games when I was a kid. We always had consoles, and even offbeat stuff like The Sega Channel (Shoutouts to TCI Cable.) The few games I did play on PC were too slow for my young mind. That all changed when Diablo II came out. Diablo II's gameplay is the epitome of "simple, yet effective." Your goal is to kill the big bad demon at the end of the game, and en route you kill a bunch of smaller demons. You do this by left clicking your man around the world with the mouse, and right clicking on enemies to use a certain skill. Its really not that much more advanced than that. When we got Diablo II, I was hooked pretty fast.

Diablo II came out in the summer going into my Freshman year of High School. I had recently become re-acquainted with two of my best friends, Joe and Kevin, and we all decided to play the game "together." I quote this word because online play back then was somewhat primitive, and so most of the game was actually done in single player sessions, which would be verbally explained whenever we got together (which was almost every day that summer.) When we did decide to play online, it was often buggy, and we wouldn't always be at the same point in the game, so if you were more advanced in the game, then you spent your time helping the others along.

I distinctly remember the first time we decided to play at night. My parents had forbid me from playing video games past 10 PM, so I had to use alternate means. I went to sleep at 9:30 or so, and lied in my bed waiting for the right time. My parents went to sleep around 10:45 or so, and I was ready. I had kept the door cracked the entire night waiting for the light to turn off. I knew I had to wait until they finished brushing their teeth and all that, so it was all a very tense affair. Eventually I felt confident enough sneaking downstairs, where the computer was, and getting it going. I had to remain basically silent the entire night. I couldn't even chance wearing headphones, as it would mean I wouldn't be able to hear my parents waking up unexpectedly. I played in near silence that whole night. I think the biggest struggle was containing my giggling. I was on an adrenaline high that whole night, and Joe and Kevin are funny guys even in text, so playing the entire night like that was quite possibly the thrill of my life. Like all good things, it had to end. At 4 AM or so, I called it quits. When my friends asked me why, I told them that my Dad was going to wake up soon (he's an early riser) and I was supposed to be asleep 6 hours ago. I sneaked back up to my room, put the covers over, and went to sleep without anyone the wiser.

The next morning, I was rudely awakened by Kevin. The three of us had sort of an unspoken rule to not initiate contact before at least 10 AM so that we could sleep in/etc. Nonetheless, bright and early at 7 AM, a mere three hours later, Kevin arrived. I was pretty angry. Did he not remember the night of glee we'd just had? Why violate this law on this day, of all days? It turned out Kevin hadn't broken any creeds. It was 2 PM. I was so tired from my first all nighter I could barely see straight. I knew I had to wake up though; sleeping in any longer would be even more suspicious. I zombie'd myself down the stairs only to be greeted by my Mom happily wondering why I was so tired. I calmly explained to her that the rigors of being a 13 year old in the Foster City Summer are very stressful, and this had been a long week. Amazingly, no more questions were asked. I left the house with the hopes of rejuvenating myself by the sun, and reveling in my accomplishment.

I tried the same thing a couple weeks later and got caught. I think I tried too many things; I left a light on, I used a little sound, I giggled a lot. My Mom caught me, sent me immediately to bed, and I don't think I ever tried it again. Some people ask how one can stay up all night playing video games, and the fact of the matter is that I might as well have been playing tiddlywinks all night; I was having an adventure, and I was doing it with my friends. The simplistic game of Diablo II was just a medium. Even though the punishment I received later scared me away for a long time of doing it again, at least I got a story out of it.

Another Reason I'm Weird: Shoeless Running

I've talked a lot about my old playin days. Like any good grizzled veteran (or someone who likes to think of themselves as such) I've got my war stories. Few, if any, are better than the day I ran the 2 mile championship at League Finals. Let's recap.

At this point I already didn't really like running, and the 2 mile wasn't my best race. Running the 2 mile was the safety school for competitive running for me; if I didn't make it to the sectional meet in the 1 mile, I would at least make it in the 2 mile. The meet that day was at Sequoia High School if I remember correctly. The track was nice; brand new I believe. The 2 mile doesn't start the same as sprint races. In a sprint, the runners are in what's called a "Staggered Start" where each runner takes their own lane and their starting point is slightly adjusted to compensate for the longer curves they may have to run. Distance runs on the track use a "Waterfall Start" or what I like to call a "Ghetto Stagger." Instead of running in heats of 8 with everyone in their own lane, they just smush everyone into the same race and have them stagger as best they can. The formation ends up just being sort of an upward slope, or a waterfall formation, as being on the outside only gets you maybe a step or two in front of the inside lane.

I was somewhat in the middle of the pack. There was a tier of runners that were flat out better than me; two guys from Menlo Atherton and two twin brothers from Carlmont were in that tier, but I think I had a chance to beat anyone else in that race. As the whistle blew in that race there was a lot of jockeying for position. You start out on a curve, so everyone is breaking inwards to lessen the distance on the curve. You're supposed to wait until you have a full stride on the gentleman next to you before you broke in, but this rule gets violated in the beginning. Everyone is so desperate to get away from the outside but not be boxed in by slower runners in the inside that there ends up being a lot of elbowing and such. This isn't intentional for the most part, but it happens. As I come around the turn, someone near me stepped on the back of my foot, flat tiring me. This isn't normally a huge deal; with all the bodies flying around I've had my shoe stepped on before. Unfortunately this flat tire was so severe that it caused my foot to come right out of my shoe.

This wasn't good. As my family can attest to, I wasn't the best about tying my shoes growing up; heck, I didn't even learn to tie my shoe until I was in second grade. I remedied this in sports though, and danged if that shoe wasn't a full triple knot with authority. That knot was specifically designed to not be undone by mortal hands. You ever fear you stepped in something en route to the office, and you spend the rest of the walk there scraping your foot on the ground in the hopes of getting whatever it is off? I basically did a more pronounced version of that maneuver the rest of the first lap. I probably looked like I had no business running in that race with such bad form, and it didn't help. I came around for the end of lap 1 in just as sorry of a state as I was in earlier. The shoe was a nuisance at this point. I couldn't let it just hang there for the remaining seven laps. I had two options.

1) Stop. Untie the shoe (maybe with a needle or something?) Put the foot back in. Re-tie the shoe. Keep going.

As we've discussed, this would take a very long amount of time. There's no way I'm getting that shoe untied in less than a minute, much less putting my foot in and re-tying it aptly (I'm still not great at tying shoes.) This just wasn't viable. I had to go with option 2:

2) Forget the dang shoe. I have races to run.

As I came around to the last straight of the first lap, my coach was equally as confused as I was. I pointed to the shoe, used my AYSO training to kick that shoe into the infield at my poor, beleaguered mentor, and kept running. I figured I've got soul; I didn't need sole! I ran that race with one shoe. Boy, let me tell you, I looked as stupid as you think I did. I could visibly see laughs from the side, and couldn't get my mind off of how dumb I looked. You know what the nutty thing about it was?

I ran my best two mile that day.

Call it nerves; call it undue stress from past experiences; call it whatever you want. The fact of the matter is that I ran my best race that day, and I've never run two miles that fast since. My foot finished the race looking like Mr. Deeds', and my coach used that tale as an inspirational/motivational story for a while afterwards when people complained of soreness. In the midst of all the intense competition, that moment will always stay with me. It may have been the stupidest I've ever felt in a race, but at least I got a story out of it.

Another Reason I'm Weird: Ted Lilly

I've met a fair amount of celebrities in my life. I worked my way through college waiting tables, and occasionally we would get someone of note coming in to eat. I've met athletes, musicians, dignitaries, actors, and thoroughly embarrassed myself around at least 80% of them. I don't think any such encounter was more awkward though than when I met Ted Lilly.

I was living in Davis. I went out to have breakfast with a good friend of mine named Jordan; I think it was on a weekday in October or November. As we walked to our table at the Davis IHOP, I passed by a man and got that jolt inside my head. You know that feeling when you recognize something, but you can't put your finger on where its from? This hit me hard. As we sat down, I asked my friend a question and didn't listen to the response unfortunately (I apologize, by the way, Jordan.) As he talked, I began rummaging through my mental archives to try and figure out from where I knew that face, but I couldn't figure it out. To my great benefit, Jordan suddenly had to take a call, so I was free to ponder without interruption.

There isn't a good way to creepily keep sneaking looks at the guy two tables down in an empty IHOP, but I did it anyway. My nature often compels me to figure such things out before I can go on, so I was determined to figure it out. I went through my mental processes. I figured it had to be someone whose face I saw on a daily basis that I could recognize him out of context at a moment's glance. Was he a friend of the family? No, that wasn't it. Was he a musician? No, I don't look at album covers enough. Was he an actor? No. He was a baseball player! He was Ted Lilly!

I imagine most of you don't know who Ted Lilly is, so let me give you some background. Lilly was a late round draft pick by the Dodgers in 1996, who started with the Expos in 1999, and played for the Expos, Yankees, Blue Jays, Cubs, and most importantly, the A's. Lilly was a member of the starting rotation when the A's made the playoffs in 2002 and 2003, and I was a big fan. Lilly is somewhat the epitome of "Solid but unspectacular." He'll probably never win the Cy Young, but he's a good #2 starter, or a great #3 starter. Every winning team needs a Ted Lilly to be a rock of consistency when the team scuffles. Combine my love of the A's with a recent pension for picking him up in my Fantasy Baseball leagues, and I knew it was him. I quickly looked him up on what primitive version of the internet my Motorola RAZR phone had, and confirmed my suspicions.

Just then, Jordan came back in, and I told him what I had figured out. Jordan, not being much of a baseball fan, thought it was neat, but didn't really care. I, on the other hand, was somewhat freaking out. As you can see from the picture, Ted Lilly is a normal looking guy. He's also a normal acting guy, as I'm not sure how many pro athletes would eat at the IHOP in the offseason. As I pondered these things, he got up to leave with his friends. I jolted myself to an alert status as I had to figure out what to do. Would I introduce myself? Would I simply allow him to go about his day? No, I had to talk to him. I had to absolutely confirm my suspicions. So with a mix of resolve and nerves, I sauntered up to him in the otherwise empty IHOP, and asked him:

Me: Excuse me?

He turned around slowly, with a plain face. "Yes?"

Me: Hi. Umm. This might sound strange, but...are you Ted Lilly?

Him: "Yeah, how's it going."

It wasn't so much of a question as it was a statement. How's it going. He didn't think it was special, even if I did. Unfortunately, I hadn't really thought my cunning plan through past the first step. To use the South Park model, my plan went something like: 1) Inquire about Ted Lilly's Reality. 2) ??? 3) Profit. It wasn't foolproof, but regardless, I had to improvise step 2. There are a number of acceptable follow ups here. "I'm a big fan!" "I followed you when you were on the A's!" "You pitched great this year for the Cubs!" Any of these things are fine. To expect anything of such normality from me, though, is folly. I went with something unique:

"You're on my fantasy baseball team!"

Think about that. The reason I admired him was because his digital presence inflated the numbers of my virtual fake baseball game. To speak nothing of his actual baseball ability, which was good, I instead pointed out how his digital presence was to my profit. It wasn't until a few minutes later, after he quickly excused himself, that I realized how weird that was. You, Ted Lilly, are a great asset. May I shake your hand? Oh, you don't want to join me at my table and enjoy Belgian Waffles? I don't understand, but wish you well anyway.

I don't think a lot of people would recognize Ted Lilly at the Davis IHOP, but leave it to the one guy who does to totally make it a laughable experience. Oh well, at least I got a story out of it.

Games that Influenced me: Dragon Warrior

I think I was four years old when we got our Nintendo Entertainment System. I should say rather that my brother got his Nintendo Entertainment System, and I simply reaped the benefits. That would make him eleven at the time, and old enough to regularly receive games; this meant I regularly received games. We received two games originally if memory serves; the all star duo of Super Mario Bros/Duck Hunt, and some other game. Mario was a game I could get my noggin around. The little man had to get to the other side of the screen without running into any little monsters. there were only two buttons and a directional pad on the controller, I couldn't screw it up. I have distinct memories of breaking my arm, and holding the duck hunt gun directly touching the TV in order to cheat, and having that not work due to...physics.

That other game though ended up really doing something. My brother apparently discarded the game quickly after he saw it, but ironically my Dad was the one that latched on to it. The story goes that one day when he was too sick to go to work, he fired up the Nintendo to see what all the buzz was about. He tried Mario, but he couldn't keep up; he kept dying on the first level. He wanted to try another game, but the only game we had was Dragon Warrior. For those that don't know, Dragon Warrior is a story of a hero that needs to save the princess, kill the dragon, and save the world. The game might as well have been called Dungeon of the Bad Guy Quest Heroes for how generic it was, but c'est la vie. The gameplay involved you, traversing the world, and occasionally fighting monsters. When you were presented with a battle, you were given a menu, with the options of Fight, Spell, Flee, and Item; pretty self explanatory. As threatening as the monster was in front of you, he was considerate enough to allow you to choose what you wanted to do for an indefinite amount of time before using his own move; it was all very chivalrous. In Mario Bros, the killer Goombas did not wait for you. They walked right into your indecisive behind and punted you right back to the beginning of the level.

My dad was hooked. He could spend as much time as he wanted doing anything he wanted. There was no time limit, no immediate threat, no points. The bad guys were going to kill everyone, but they weren't on a set schedule. You could pound away on the local brigands until you were the greatest fighter in the universe, and they'd still be tapping their feet in their castle, waiting for you to come to them. It was great. When I started playing Dragon Warrior, it was mesmerizing. I could do anything I wanted. I didn't have to follow just this set path or risk dying. Andy could do anything he wanted. You see, in Mario Bros, you play Mario; there's no mistaking who the hero is. In Dragon Warrior, you get to name the hero. My Dad always just picked a name that he liked (I think he used Arnold for a long time for whatever reason,) but my hero was always named Andy. I wanted to be the one who saved the princess, became the strongest, and killed the dragon. Andy was a legend.

Andy could do anything he wanted. If he wanted to spend three hours killing Magidrakees (don't ask) in the mountains without fear of the sun ever going down, he could, and if he wanted to run away from every single battle, he could. I spent more time playing that game than was probably healthy, since with so little direction, I never got anywhere. It took me forever to get through that game, since I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do, where I was supposed to go, or what the heck a princess even was. As you can see by the picture, I couldn't even remember to sleep apparently.

Video games tell stories, yes, but they also draw you in. Just as much as you are controlling a man on screen, you are the man on the screen. That man does nothing without you as the impetus, and you are the one choosing to make the story go forward. Dragon Warrior was amazing as it didn't need grandiose storylines to make it work; as long as the gameplay was fun I could fill in all the details myself. I think my imagination really grew from playing that game; I spent a good chunk of my later childhood writing stories and playing games based off of games like this, since they needed details for the story to work. I hope that I'm taking my life in a similar fashion. I hope I'm doing what it takes to be worthy of being "That guy" rather than just another random talking head on the street. Time will tell I guess.

Renters Keepers

I don't think I got an allowance when I was a kid. Every now and then I'd get the itch for something, and I'd ask my parents for it. They'd most of the time tell me, no son, you can't have that random thing which costs a bunch of money and will end up just sitting in the garage two days after you buy it. Sometimes I would get a little cash for doing chores, but I didn't really have much to spend it on; I could get free food at the Sea Cloud Snack Shack because my Dad umpired up more store credit than he could ever use. I didn't need video games because my brother would get them, or I'd rent them. Let me tell you about my childhood of renting games.

I lived near Foster City Video, which had a fairly decent selection of video games in the Super Nintendo/Sega Genesis era. When Friday rolled around, my friends who lived in the same complex and I would race immediately to the store after school to rent the game du jour. The typical foursome we had was Zach, Kevin, Joe, and myself. Zach, Kevin and I rode our bikes to school, so we were typically at an advantage over the kids who were driven home from school, thanks to being able to take shortcuts and leave immediately after school. The reason we had to race there was that I was convinced there were at least three other groups of kids in the area that also wanted to rent that game every weekend. If we didn't get there first, we ran the risk of losing it for the weekend. Of even greater concern was the fact that, as a rental, those mystery kids could do anything they liked with it for the weekend, including deleting our save (this was back when save games were kept on the game itself.)

Assuming we successfully got the game in time (which we almost always did, pick your favorite reason why) we'd then race even faster to Zach's house to play. Zach's room was made for entertaining; he and his brother had bunk beds which allowed for more room to spread out. He had a couch, bean bags, and the TV in the room itself. We could comfortably fit up to eight kids in there if we wanted to, but it was usually no more than five. We typically rented Role Playing Games when we had a choice. This way we were able to play the game as a unit, and just have one person decide basically by committee which actions to take (though most of the games were very linear.) With Zach at the helm, we'd all form a peanut gallery watching the entire game unfold, and thus play vicariously

When we'd get a game for the first time, we'd have to name the characters. The hero was always introduced first, and that was always Zach, since it was his house. After that, it was first come first serve. If you happened to be in the room at the time, you'd get a character. I have a distinct memory of Chrono Trigger exhibiting the ruthlessness that followed. Zach got the hero, the frog knight was named after Joe, the Robot was named after me, and Kevin...well, Kevin didn't get a character. I think he was on vacation that week, and we ran out of guy characters. He came back the next weekend only to find us having super awesome fun time with no Kevin characters. At that precise moment, though, we did obtain an airship which could be named, and thus the phrase "Board the Kevin?" was born.

We had many such inside jokes. In fact, I think we probably had more inside jokes than any other circle of friends on the planet. My friends and I were able to turn video games into an inherently social experience through rentals. Instead of fighting over it, we formed a sort of video game rental gang; we'd unite against the mystery others outside our immediate housing circle. Even single player role playing games became a party, as the man at the helm might have seven other people in the room telling him what he should do next. Rental stores aren't really a thing much any more; the age of Netflix, Gamefly and Goozex have put down what little market was there. Unfortunately the group that suffers is my generation. We didn't appreciate rental stores, and now we won't be able to fall back onto the rental when our kids start asking every day for a new game. Let's just keep hoping that our kids are satisfied with OnLive.

Talking is Disruptive

When I was a kid, I talked a lot. My mom tells stories about what a great baby I was; I was fat and slept all the time. I never cried, even when I got my first hair cut. That said, it didn't last long. The moment I was able to talk, I didn't stop. Even now its fairly obvious that storytelling is one of my great passions, and I'm more able to practice it in appropriate places (like a blog.) It wasn't so at the age of four. I pretty much only had my family to talk to, and talk I did. The funny thing was that I didn't really have anything to talk about. When you're four years old and you want to tell stories, its a rather rough spot to be in, since you don't actually have stories. I hadn't lived at all to tell stories from experience, so I did a few things.

1) I recounted comics I had read. I pored over my brother's tomes of Calvin and Hobbes comics, since they seemed relatively well received by the whole family, and I could just tell Watterson's stories without the advantage of art. Too many of my conversations would begin with "Did you read the Calvin and Hobbes where..." and obviously my sister hadn't read it, and would get frustrated as it just wasn't funny to hear from a four year old's mouth. I still have this problem I think, but in this day of age I can just google the thing I want to hear and annoy people with visual aid. This unique experience lead me to a few scant successes here and there, when my tale would get a raucous reception, which spurred me to the next step.

2) I developed schticks. Once I had stumbled upon things that made people laugh, I stuck with them. The one that sticks in my mind was my Sean Connery impression. I actually had little idea who Connery was when I was 8, but the Celebrity Jeopardy sketch with Darrell Hammond impersonating him was silly enough, and I really just impersonated the impersonation. Regardless, I was decent enough at it that my whole family enjoyed it. I reveled in it for a while, until I noticed that it suddenly became the only thing that was funny. Whenever I had worn out my welcome telling bad stories, someone would suggest I do Connery, as a way to redeem myself and end on a good note. Unfortunately it got to the point that it was all I did, and I got bitter whenever people asked me for it, since I felt like it was all anyone ever wanted to hear. This lead on.

3) I stopped telling stories. I still talked, but it was mostly to myself. This was the period when I became a lot more introspective and secluded (read: depressed.) I started to wonder why I didn't have any stories to tell, and it was because I wasn't making any. I was stuck inside the high-school Simple Plan/Blink 182/Etc. mindset of "Why doesn't anyone invite me to anything?" The reality was that I was shutting myself down in order to pity myself. It was a terrible cycle of self inflicted, Godless deprecation, but it was the product of a mindset that wanted experience without experiencing it. God pulled me out of it, and it still evolved.

4) I lived. Its a going concern, but I began doing things which begat the telling of stories. I tried new things; I began playing Dungeons and Dragons; I auditioned for a play; I got a job. I was better at some things than others, but fortunately they had all produced stories. They also allowed me to meet people who had their own stories, and I could learn what they did that let them have such great stories. I'll always remember the ride home in Coach T's car with Joe and Jamil where we did nothing but tell stories of our families and laugh for two hours. Since God has taken over my life, I've begun relying more on the unpredictable, and I've started to become a more tale-worthy man. Obviously I'm not ready for the Autobiography (it'll be short, "First I sucked, then God fixed it") but I feel like I'm getting closer.

Go try something new today. Even if you totally stink, at least you'll get a good story out of it.

Motoichi Matsuo

I recently joined a baseball simulation league. Its like fantasy baseball, except absolutely everything is fake. All the players are fake, the league is fake, the teams are fake, the games are fake. We simulate 10 games of the 162 season three times a week, and post stories about how are team was developing. This week was the sim for opening day of the 2028 season, and I noticed that the computer brought in my closer to play shortstop in a long game after I ran out of infielders. Here's a little piece I wrote about the fake experience:

The game on Friday, April 7th, 2028 was filled with buzz. It was the first Friday night game of the year, and the Mexico City fans were eager to see their boys trounce the schmucks from the Far East. Los Diablos Rojos had just suffered a humiliating three game sweep at the hands of the growingly powerful Taipei Tigers, and after a day of rest, were hungry to show their Far East brethren what they could do. The Samurai had just been drubbed three games to none by the defending champion Bogota Toros, including a 6 hit shutout at the hands of Jose Gonzalez. The flight from Bogota felt like it took days, with Joe Mitchell complaining about his back. He'd like everyone to think he was spiked at a play at a base, but the doctor said he hurt a herniated disc. "Great, the new guy can't last one week," they all mumbled. Beleaguered, they sloshed into the visitor's dugout and got ready for their game.

With Mitchell out, the lineup seemed to be without much hassle. Defensive whiz Victor Flores took over at short, and everyone else took their usual spots around the diamond. Miguel Colon took his seat on the bench as the lone utility infielder, but he was never without company, as the Samurai struggled to put runs on the board in the early going. Going into the 7th, the score was 3-1 Mexico City, and the Samurai had struggled to convert what few opportunities they had. The air seemed more damp; it was like the team was already saddling up for a long season, and we were only on game 4. Granho lead off with a long flyball that had promise, but died when it hit the depression layer that had settled over the stadium from Tokyo's hopes.

Without warning though, third baseman Mario Sanchez put an end to that, and roped a single up the middle on the first pitch. Sanchez wasn't known for his baserunning by any means, and almost by instinct, Tony Bickford sprinted out to take his place. The red hot Miguel Martinez, who tore through Spring Training and kept his heat alive through the opening days ballista'd a 2-2 pitch to left center, which left the speedy Bickford with little trouble scoring. Suddenly it was 3-2, and Mexico city starter Andres Ramirez was kicking the dirt a lot more than usual. Jack Hamilton worked a six pitch walk, and suddenly the Samurai were down 1, had men on 1st and 2nd, and one out. This was the closest they could get. Without hesitation, Flores was called back to the dugout, and the career minor leaguer Vincent Rice was sent forward. The Samurai couldn't afford to blow this chance.

Unfortunately, Rice proved his skill. He went down swinging on four pitches, and despite a single to left by Tomas Moreno which couldn't slow molasses-footed Martinez, the Samurai failed to score, asJuan Herrera grounded out to end the inning.

"Uhh, Coach?"

"Get out there Vince, we got baseball goin on!"

"I don't have an infielder's glove."

Suddenly panic lurched up the spine of manager Ralph Tsuyoii. Without thinking, the Samurai were without infielders. Mitchell was in no shape to play, and Rice hadn't played the infield since he was 10.

"Get on the horn, tell him to get in there."

"Sir, you don't mean...?"

"Yeah, he's our only shot."

"But sir, you promised his mother..."

"I KNOW WHAT I PROMISED JENKINS. If this team is going to get anywhere, people are going to have to step up. His father would've wanted it this way."

Slowly the bullpen gate opened. The audio team scrambled to find music for a pitching change, but there wasn't a report of a pitching change. The cameras panned in to figure out what was going on. Apparently Tokyo was bringing in their closer, Motoichi Matsuo down by one in the bottom of the 7th. The club scrambled to play his usual entrance music but he wasn't sprinting as quickly as he usually did. He seemed to be taking long strides, like he was stretching out. Even the infielders seemed to be confused. Then it all became clear.

Motoichi Matsuo was brought in to play Shortstop.

With Colon playing 2nd base for Hamilton, the Samurai needed someone to fill in. Matsuo, a pitcher known for his glovework, was taking grounders at short with relative ease. The Mexico City fans and announcers were ruthless. They seemed to laugh in unison at him, until they saw him play. The Samurai hopeful were cringing at first, but then grew comfortable with the situation. They slowly forgot that their closer was playing shortstop and tiring himself out, and the game dragged on. And on. And on. Suddenly it was the 13th inning and Matsuo was still in. He was awful at the plate, but the guy could pick.

The Samurai ended up losing that game. It was a long drawn out affair, and the Samurai finished 0-7 on the week; Matsuo himself 0/2, though with zero errors and one double play. As he left the park, Matsuo trotted back out to shortstop one last time. He picked up some of the dirt, and put it in his pocket. He looked skyward and smiled. He seemed to utter something as a single tear streamed down his cheek.

"I'm sorry."