Minor League; Major Schwag.

Last night I went way the hell out into the country, picked up a hot guy at a minor league baseball game, and brought him home with me.



Yeah, that's right, kids. Not only was I one of the 7, 135 fans who turned out for Bryan Voltaggio bobblehead night with the Frederick Keys (and watch them lose on "guaranteed win" night), I was one of the lucky 1,000 who actually GOT a Bryan Voltaggio bobblehead. And I am fully cognizant of how much luck that entailed, since I got the third to last one.

What I didn't get, though , was the opportunity to have the specialty concessions that Bryan and the VOLT staff had cooked up for the fans. This was because the line for concessions started back here, above the first baseline: and then kept going all the way to here, the VOLT concession stand, on the third baseline behind our seats:
It's hard to explain just how slowly that line was moving. At one point I tried to find easily identifiable people and follow their progress -- this was in the fourth inning, when it was starting to at least not get recognizably longer any more (though one would be hard pressed to say it was getting any shorter).

They were in front of the "Dugout Dogs" stand on the third baseline when I started tracking them, and ALMOST to the front by the time we left, at the close of the sixth inning. There was also a family near us who'd made their mom hold a place in the line while the rest of them watched the game (and occasionally went to check in on her). The mom had not returned with food by the time we left.

As we were leaving, we did get to see Bryan and his staff handing out snacks to the people who'd been in line the whole game, which was really nice of them -- the stadium was clearly woefully unprepared for the number of people who turned out, and to see Bryan and the VOLT folks making up for the club's failings just underlined what a standup guy he is.

We also got to see him throwing out the first pitch: His adorable son seemed singularly unimpressed with the whole event. I'm sure he's just holding out for a Major League park, or at least a minor league team that's in an organization with a better record, and doesn't have the mysterious "Keyote" as its mascot.

But still, it was a fun night, and I got to take Bryan Voltaggio home with me. I quickly put him to work overseeing things in my kitchen:


Bryan got my morning egg to the perfect level of cooked-ness -- firm white; runny yolk. He did a much better job than I usually do (though I don't have to stand on a salt box to see into the pan).

I'm also going to let him help edit the Top Chef posts in the future:

Here he is reading last week's to get a sense of my tone. I may have him step in for me sometimes while I'm out of town.

Here's the thing, though: I don't have A Bryan Voltaggio bobblehead.

Oh no. I have TWO Bryan Voltaggio bobbleheads.

(They're going to get together and beat up Eddie Murray later in the day, once I let Bryan II out of his box).

So what to do with them? What to do? What. To. Do?

I could dent one's nose, draw additional tattoos on him, and convert him into a MICHAEL Voltaggio Bobblehead.

I could stand between the two of them and satisfy my dream of being the meat in a Voltaggio sammich (sangwich).

Or. . . .