At the moment, James Thompson was a speechless Public Address Announcer. He watched helplessly as the New Orleans Zephyrs, clearly offended by his poorly chosen battle song, rushed into a very literal battle with the Isotopes. The Isotopes players defended themselves as best they could, while the umpires and security personnel tried to restore order.

Amidst the chaos, Marty poked him on the shoulder. He said, “Hey, uh. Mr. Banks is on the phone. He’s upset. He wants you in his office the second this thing gets cleared up or it’s your ass. He told me to repeat that. Your ass.”

James buried his face in his hands, wishing his life was just some Southwest Airlines commercial. He waited for someone to break in and say, “Wanna get away?” But, it never happened.

“You better say something,” Marty urged. “All hell’s broken loose.”

“Security, security,” James commanded. “Please report to the field at this time.”

“This is the worst day of my life”, James thought aloud as he made his way to his boss’s office.