I'm known for my performance under pressure. Calm eyes and what not. But my heart was racing this morning.
Mr. Dave Doyel (or Doyle? Doyal?) will be coming to South Florida for a few spring training games. I was tasked with purchasing the tickets. It was more suspenseful than Paranormal Activity.
First there's the virtual waiting room, an online limbo that could never end ... but you better be on standby or you go to the back of the line.
Then the fun starts.
You have one minute to pick your seats.
I'm hurrying! OK ... Two reserved box seats. Just in time.
Nice try, sucka. We don't have that available. Clock is ticking.
Um ... box seats?
No soup for you! MACGRUBER! (Bomb explodes)
Actually, I was able to pick some bleacher seats for the Red Sox-Marlins on March 12.
Then you have a minute and thirty seconds to remember your password. I have about 10 of those, and I never remember which ones go where.
Then a little over two minutes to fill out your credit card info. I'm racing through my name, address, postal code and I never know where the Doomsday Clock is.
And they even want me to buy ticket insurance. Is everything insured now? Can you buy anything anywhere without someone trying to get you to sign up for this card or buy this insurance or purchase this warranty? Sigh ... society.
But I made it through to the other side. I came up huge in the clutch. Now I know what those Hurt Locker guys were going through. The pressure. Any small mistake could cost you your life ... or a chance to see Marco Scutaro battle Burke Badenhop.
I think this makes up for my Taboo debacle.