Games For The Weary: Padre-Punch

When I was a little avenger out on a road-trip with the family my brother and I yearned for entertainment. We found it in the form of a game called Slug-Bug. 

Each time a Volkswagen Beetle was spotted on the open-highways the objective was to shout the color of the Beetle and then the word "bug".

If I saw a red Volkswagen Beetle before my brother did I would shout "red bug"! This afforded me the opportunity to turn towards my brother, and with blood-lust, slug him in the arm.

Ah, Slug-Bug.

This last weekend I journeyed to Disneyland . . .

The family and I spent two days at Disneyland, a place renowned for hosting visitors from around the world. But it is the American visitors who I always pay the most attention. Based on their sporting attire, these folks share insights into their origins. It's magical. Just like Disneyland.

But through Day 1 at Disneyland I had yet to see a Padres fan. Sure there were a few damaged souls adorned in lightning bolts but nary an outwardly Padre fan was present to commiserate with. It was just me.

I needed a Padre fan. I needed one like a San Diegan needs Breakfast. And so I concocted a plan that would allow me to celebrate the occasion when a Padre fan would cross my path during Day 2. This plan came together in the form of a game. A game called Padre-Punch*

I decided that the next (and first) Padre fan I crossed paths with at Disneyland would receive a greeting.

I would garner their attention by shouting "Padre" and smiling like the Cheshire Cat of Disney's Alice in Wonderland ride.

Right as the fan recognized that I was a partisan I would lower the boom on their right shoulder while yelling "Punch"! It would be just like the days of yore. The days of Slug-Bug! 

Of course the reaction by my fellow Padre fan would be to recoil. In this instance they would either be constructing an escape route for the purposes of filing assault charges . . . or worse . . . they would regather themselves. Intent on revenge.

Only one thing could prevent either scenario from coming to fruition.

After completing the phrase Padre Punch it would be incumbent upon me to extend my arms and envelop this friend in a warm embrace. Yes. I say friend. Because that is what Padres fans are . . . friends. Friends through the bonds of hapless baseball endured through the decades.

In our embrace I would whisper in to their ear:

"It's good to see you. I know it's difficult that fan favorite Heath Bell has moved on but it was a wise financial decision considering his age and declining peripherals. But it will be OK. The payroll will start with a "5". You and I. We'll be OK. Now go punch a friend."

This last part of Padre Punch would always be subject to modification. For example, when the Padres finally sign their next television contract, the whisper in the ear might sound something like this:

"It's good to see you. I know it's difficult that the new Padres television contract is not nearly as much as what the Yankees or Red Sox earn on their respective networks. It is however a substantial improvement over the years spent at Channel 4. But it will be OK. We just have to weather the Dick Enberg Era. You and I. We'll be OK. Now go punch a friend."

Spawned by a trip to Disneyland, this Padre Punch was my new game. It was more than just a game. It was a celebration. A celebration of the rare instance when someone outwardly proclaims to follow the same baseball team as me. A friend.

With epic gusts of wind, Day 2 at Disneyland arrived. I dressed and prepared for my first round of Padre Punch . . .


*"Friar Crier" was an early favorite for corporate naming rights but after internal debate it was vetoed by a committee of one.