So I'm out here in Oregon when my father calls me and tells me about Gallaraga's perfect game bid with two outs in the ninth. I feverishly try to log on to my mlb.com account so I can listen to the end, when my dad said, "Here's a groundball ... he GOT HIM! Oh wait, no....no..."
About five minutes later, I'm on my way out the door when I check my phone and see there's a text message for me that says: "Your boys have a perfect game going against my Indians."
Thinking it's one of my good friends from Cleveland, and I simply type back "fuck me."
Then, I realize that I just texted someone whose name didn't come up in my phone; just their number. It turned out, it was a high school student of mine who I reluctantly gave my number (along with the rest of his classmates) when we were attending a national convention.
I immediately texted him to explain that this was a mistake, and that it was intended for a friend. Then I started to think about the fact that one of my 15-year-old students now has a text message from his teacher that says "fuck me" without the benefit of voice inflection.
I called my administrator, the kids parents and apologize profusely, and now I'm sure this kid will get some great mileage from my cyberfaux pas.
So not only will I remember this blown perfect game call as the day another hometown team cup-checked me; it was the day I unwittingly made an improper proposal to a student of mine.
Feel free to laugh at my expense (fuck me).