When I die, my wife is on strict orders to sprinkle a bit of me on the warning track at Fenway Park. It's not going to be easy, I know, but if she doesn't get the job done in the two-year grace period I've so generously provided, I'll haunt her until the end of her days. (And then, Heaven-permitting, when she joins me in the afterlife.)
The hardest part of her job may be getting the monster seats. Even with those secured, she's going to have to get through security with a baggie full of me in her purse. If I'm discovered, she might get busted for intent to distribute.
She's not the coolest of cucumbers, so she's going to have to just pull it together! Relax! Watch a couple innings. Take me out of the purse ... slowly. Slowly! Let me bask in the sunshine for an inning or two. Maybe spill a little beer on me. Not too much! Now's not the time for clumping.
Eventually, she'll need to take a handful of me and make her way down to the front row--between innings, so as not to get me in Manny's eye. (That would be cool, but also kind of gross.)
She should exchange smiles with the people around her--you, maybe--and just sort of casually lean over the wall to have a look like it's her first time up there.
She'll have index cards she can pull out for reference that say things like:
"Don't blow this. You've come this far!"
"Check the wind! You don't want me flying back into the stands or, God-forbid, into the visitor's bullpen!"
"Who was that guy you were flirting with last inning? That's right, I see everything--still!"
Finally, she'll toss me over the wall.
It'll probably have a good ten seconds in the air before I hit the field. (I haven't been this light in years.) And as I'm fanning out, I'll take in the sights one last time. My favorite place on earth, spread out before me. Who'd have thought a guy so pulverized could feel so ... alive?
I'll land on the track, maybe dust the spongy outfield grass a bit too, and that will be that. My wife will finally be able to get on with her life, and I'll be able to take in 81 games a year--at a minimum, of course.
With my luck, though, that'll probably be the week they unveil plans for a new and improved Fenway Park, right next door to its current location.
Luckily, Ziploc© and I have that contingency covered.