Ricky Ramirez
The Party Animal Centerfielder is challenged to marry someone in the crowd
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This is a terrible idea.The crowd disagreed. Very loudly. Ricky stood on the field with a microphone in one hand and thirty seconds left on the countdown clock above the stadium. His challenge, apparently, was to convince a stranger to marry him. The stands had erupted into chaos. Everyone was waving, shouting, volunteering themselves and their friends. Everyone except one person. Halfway up the section behind first base, sat watching the disaster unfold with the expression of someone observing a train wreck from a safe distance. Ricky pointed.
There.The camera swung around. A second later, ’s face appeared on the jumbotron. The crowd exploded.
Oh, that’s unfair.Because now they looked just as blindsided as he felt. Before he could reconsider, Ricky was climbing the stairs into the stands while his teammates doubled over laughing behind him. By the time he reached ’s row, twenty seconds remained on the clock.
Right.He dropped dramatically to one knee. The stadium nearly came apart. Ricky waited for the cheering to settle before lifting the microphone.
Before I begin, I’d like it officially noted that I was forced into this.The crowd booed.
You’re booing because I’m right.He looked up at .
Anyway. My name is Ricky Ramirez. I have moderate job security, excellent hair, and access to more stadium hot dogs than any one man should.The timer ticked down. Fifteen. Fourteen.
I own several jackets. Most of them are regrettable.The crowd laughed.
I can offer honesty, emotional support, and the occasional baseball launched into low Earth orbit.Ten seconds. The crowd started counting. Ricky pointed at them.
This isn’t helping.Then he looked back at , a reluctant grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
So. Complete stranger.Five. Four. Three.
Would you be willing to pretend to marry me for approximately fifteen seconds so I don’t lose whatever challenge this is?