Superfan

Larry never missed a game. He always made time for the home team - sitting on his lucky seat cushion, arms snuggling a large bag of in-shell peanuts. His gray hair, normally unkempt in appearance, was respectably combed back for today’s event. He adjusted the team jersey he was wearing to straighten out the printed number of Marty Reach, the star player of the home team. 

Although Larry’s bones had become weak, and his eyesight was slowly failing him, he still had impeccable hearing. The sounds of the cheering of the crowd, the satisfying crack of the bat, and even the occasional food vendor advertising their goods made Larry feel right at home. Larry fiddled with his cane as he eagerly awaited the next play in the game. 

It was a humid Sunday afternoon, but Larry didn’t mind. The sixth inning had just finished, and the home team was down by a single run. Larry cracked open a peanut and threw the shell on the ground. 

“One more, and that’s it for you today,” Larry’s wife had come back with another hot dog, doused in ketchup and mustard. Larry began feasting on the treat, presumably his last for the game. “Why do we still spend so much time on this? There’s so much else that needs to get done – like cleaning the house. Yet here we are, every Sunday.”

Larry grunted, “What are you talking about? The house seems fine to me.”

His wife chuckled, “Or paying the bills.”

“If we wait long enough, we’ll both be gone, and we won’t have to pay the bills. There’s plenty of time for that stuff. Let me enjoy the game.”

Larry threw another shell on the ground, popping the liberated peanut in his mouth, adding to the collection of shells gathered beneath his seat.

“Look at that mess you’re making. Who’s going to clean up all those shells? I bet you’re not going to pick them up!” 

Larry didn’t respond, for Marty Reach had just left the dugout, and was approaching home plate with his bat.  Larry leaned in, intently listening for what might happen next. He soon heard the crack of the bat, and the crowd exploded in joy after the star player of the team hit a home run, tying the game up. Larry relaxed back in his seat and closed his eyes. 

“I will never miss a game. I can’t. I have a standard to live up to!”

Larry’s wife knew where this was going. “The club.”

“The 500 club,” Larry glowed, reminiscing. 

His mind took him back to a warm, August evening 10 years ago. Larry was at the stadium, minutes before the game was scheduled to begin.  It wasn’t unusual for Larry to be early to a game, but this was no ordinary game – on this day, prior to the start of the game, Larry was escorted out on to the field, along with two other fans. When they reached home plate, they were greeted by the stadium announcer and Marty Reach, who was all dressed up and prepared for the upcoming game.

“Tonight, we would like to congratulate and honor these three superfans,” the announcer proclaimed, “who have each attended more than 500 games.” 

Larry stood proud as Marty – the Marty – placed a medal around Larry’s neck. The medal consisted of an emblem with the number 500 in gold, as well as an engraved drawing of the team mascot. The crowd cheered wildly for each of their achievements. “We are excited to induct each superfan into the 500 Club, and sincerely thank each member for their devotion. We look forward to seeing all three of you at 500 more!”

From that day forward, Larry considered the medal – and his membership in the club – amongst his most prized possessions. While the ribbon tied to the medal had long since broke, the medal was kept perfectly intact in a small, locked chest in a closet near the back door. At least once a day, Larry would take the chest out, unlock it, and delicately take the medal out to examine it, his finger tracing the engraving of the team mascot.

“I worked hard for that medal – there was only three of us who attended 500 games. I can’t just let my streak end now. I owe it to my team.” Larry threw his hands up, “If I miss a game, and they lose, it will be my fault! I am a superfan!”

Larry popped another peanut into his mouth, dropping the shell into the ever-growing pile on the ground.

Larry’s wife caressed his arm. “You are a superfan - the superfan. And you always will be.”

She paused. “But it’s been years since then – things are not the same. The world’s not going to end if you miss a game here or there. We’re not getting any younger. And I’m not sure this counts towards your streak anyway.” 

But Larry’s mind had already been made, and so he continued to focus on the game.  The last batter in the lineup was up for the home team, and, as expected, ended up striking out. The inning finished, with the home team now leading by one run. Larry smiled, satisfied, and began cracking open another peanut. 

As the home team triumphantly switched places with the visiting team, the sound faded out – there was no crack of the bat, no crowd chanting, no vendors taking their orders - for a moment there was complete silence. Shortly thereafter, the silence was broken by a whimpering and scratching coming from the back door.

“But surely they won’t mind if you miss a commercial break – Baxter needs to go out.”

Larry grunted, putting down the peanut. Cautiously, Larry got up from his seat, and walked towards the back door, grabbing Baxter’s leash from the closet. While in the closet, Larry caught glimpse of the chest containing his medal. He hesitated, yearning to take the medal out once more. His desire was interrupted, however, by a sterner whimper from Baxter. Larry shut the closet door and went outside with the dog.

Meanwhile, Larry’s wife turned the radio down. Sighing, she grabbed the broom and dustpan from the closet, and began sweeping the broken peanut shells off the kitchen floor. 

Under her breath she chuckled, “Once a superfan, always a superfan.”