Mackenzie Montana, aka a woman on a mission
I never meant to become a criminal. But in the grand scheme of life, I don’t think I’m technically engaging in criminal behavior.
At least, if it is, you could call it a crime of passion.
And I am very passionate in my belief that while the Fireballs need to make changes to halt their record-breaking streak of being the worst losing team ever to play professional baseball, they don’t need to do it with a new mascot. Which is why I decided to take two weeks off work and fly to Florida for spring training, where I’m not saying that I’ve snuck into my home team’s ballpark after hours to steal the worst proposed mascot costume, but I’m not saying I haven’t either.
They actually let a meatball make the final cut.
I needed at least another full season to get over the fact that the new Fireballs ownership killed the last mascot, and here they are, letting fans vote on replacing Fiery the Dragon with flaming meatballs.
I snort to myself while I creep through the darkened concrete hallways with a flaming meatball swallowing half of my body.
If you’re going to steal a giant meatball costume, it’s best to act like you know what you’re doing. And striding out of here with zero shame means two things—one, no one’s going to stop me, and two, even if they do, I’m incognito.
It’s the perfect crime to counter the crime of killing Fiery.
I’m one turn away from the door that I left propped open for myself after hiding out in the family bathroom after today’s game when voices drift toward me.
Neither is familiar, but as I get closer to my final turn, I realize the voices are between me and my exit.
I got this.
I can stroll on by, flash a thumbs-up, pretend like I’m heading out to prank the Fireballs at the team compound they’re all staying at, or to make a fast-food run for publicity.
Acting like I know what I’m doing inside this mascot costume is as easy as breathing. When you’ve seen thousands of baseball games in your lifetime, it’s not hard.
So I turn the corner.
And then I suck in a surprised breath, because that’s Brooks Elliott.
Oh. My. God.
The Fireballs’ newest acquisition. Like, so new he arrived yesterday. A mid-spring training acquisition, which is practically unheard of.
He plays third base, and he hits the ball like it’s evil incarnate and he’s an avenging angel and it’s his job to send that evil into another dimension.
He could be the reason we legitimately have a shot at making it to the post-season.
And I am not going to hyperventilate like I did the last time I was face-to-face with a baseball player.
Pretending to be a mascot?
I got this.
Talking to the players?
It’s like talking to the gods.