For those wondering, Lady Human did not boot me out of the Clarkston Zoo. 

I didn’t know how taboo it was to write about feminine products until last week.

A text message I received from a reader made me realize that I might have crossed the line.  

“Nice knowing ya, Derek. I’m printing out your column. It could be your last.”

Then there was the neighbor who was surprised that Lady Human was still talking to me. 

I told her I’m thankful she didn’t make me sleep outside because I might have had to survive by eating the sandwich that Cody buried.

Another reader made me feel a little bit better about the situation. 

“BTW, I’ve experienced the dog in the household bathroom trash!” the message read. 

I’m lucky that Lady Human has a sense of humor. However, she wasn’t amused when she caught me watching replays of American Legion baseball games over the weekend.

It should have been comforting for her to know that I was streaming a baseball game instead of viewing an XXX flick.  

I stumbled upon a website — meridix.com — that has archived sporting events. I searched “Kodiak” and found Post 17’s three games at the 2018 state tournament. Needing a baseball fix, I spent hours watching the three games, which included an upset 3-1 win over top-seeded and 23-1 Juneau in the opening round. 

Disclaimer: I coached that team, and it was the first time I watched what many dubbed the biggest upset in the history of the tournament.

The cliff notes of the game: Kodiak only earned an invite to state after two teams failed to file insurance paperwork on time. 

Huge underdogs to a team loaded with college-ready players, the Bears, who had a trio of middle schoolers on the roster, scored three runs in the sixth inning to turn a one-run deficit into a two-run lead that they never relinquished. 

A double-play in the bottom of the seventh secured the win and sent the players and fans inside Mulcahy Stadium into a frenzy. 

It was a great moment for Kodiak baseball.  

For some reason, watching that game reminded me of a childhood Easter memory.

I’m four years older than my brother, and we both collected baseball cards back in the day. Mine are still in totes at my mom’s place on Satsop Hill.  

I don’t remember how old we were at the time, but one year the Easter bunny put packs of cards in our basket.

We ripped open the packs — I believe they were 1990 Donruss — while sitting on the floor in my bedroom. 

I noticed my brother had unpacked a Ken Griffey Jr. card. Living in Washington, The Kid was my favorite player. I had to have that card. I needed that card. But, I couldn’t. Not on Easter. Wrong.  

Before my brother noticed Junior, I snatched the card out of his pile and shuffled it into my stack of cards. 

I ran to dad to show off Griffey, holden the card like it was the golden egg.    

That move could have sent me down a path of crime, but that was the last time I stole anything unless you count the time the owner of the pharmacy in Elma wrongly accused me of shoplifting. I was let go when the owner found nothing in my pants pockets. 

My brother had no clue about the great Easter heist until Thursday afternoon when I confessed.

“That’s too funny,” he said via cell phone from his home in Washington state. “Sounds like something my boys would do.” 

Like uncle, like nephews. 

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