Foul Ball Frame-up at Wrigley Field Read Online Free PDF

twenty guys who looked like that.
    Fortunately, Kevin had a plan, which earned my dad’s approval. With a notebook and pen, Kev and I walked up to a guy who looked like our potential Reds fan.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said.
    â€œYes?” he replied.
    â€œWe’re doing a class project to see how much today’s young people know about our national pastime,” I said. “So we were wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking our baseball trivia challenge.”
    â€œHah!” he said. “Sorry, guys, but I don’t follow baseball.”
    That was fine. We crossed him off our suspect list. A minute later, Kevin spotted a potential candidate—a guy in a U of C Bearcats hoody who was getting off the elevator.
    â€œI think this might be the guy who was in the Votto jersey,” Kev said.
    The guy, who introduced himself as Brian, accepted our trivia challenge.
    â€œWhen was the last year the Cubs won the World Series?” I asked.
    â€œUhm . . . like two hundred years ago—I don’t know,” he said.
    â€œWho is Ronnie Woo Woo?” Kevin asked.
    â€œRonnie who-who?” he responded.
    â€œSorry,” Kevin said, “but you failed the test.”
    â€œI failed the . . . . What kind of test is this?”
    â€œTo be honest,” I said, “we’re trying to find two Reds fans who were at Wrigley Field last Friday.”
    â€œThat game where the kid spilled the pop?” Brian asked.
    â€œYeah, he’s our friend,” Kevin said.
    â€œThat Omar kid is your friend?” Brian asked.
    â€œOur best friend,” I said. “We think a Reds fan who lives here knocked the cup out of his hand.”
    Brian’s eyes widened. He headed toward a quiet corner of the lobby.
    â€œCome over here,” he said, waving his hand.
    We headed over. My dad, who had been monitoring us from afar, joined us.
    â€œI know the person you’re talking about,” Brian said in a hushed voice. “He was bragging about it last Saturday in the cafeteria. He said if the Reds make the playoffs, the team should pay him a million bucks, because he’s the guy who knocked the Pepsi out of that kid’s hand.”
    â€œYou’re serious,” my Dad implored.
    â€œOh, yeah,” he said. “But then when it was all over the news, he got quiet. He doesn’t want to get in trouble.”
    I showed Brian the photo on my phone.
    â€œYeah, that looks like him,” Brian said.
    â€œWhat’s his name?” my dad asked.
    Brian was hesitant to respond. My dad, though, wasn’t going to leave without an answer.
    â€œLook, son,” my dad implored him. “This guy is ruining the life of an eleven-year-old boy, and now he’s hiding like a coward. If he’s not going to take responsibility, we need to
make
him take responsibility. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
    Brian nodded.
    â€œHis name is Blake Utley,” Brian said. “He lives on my floor, but he’s not here now. He and some of the big Reds fans went back to Wrigley for the final series.”
    My dad shook Brian’s hand, and Kevin and I exchanged excited glances. We had learned the guy’s name! The question now was, how would we get ahold of him? We asked students in the dorm, but no one knew his cell phone number.
    Kevin started to panic again.
    â€œWe’ve got to find this Utley guy by tomorrow,” Kevin said. “If the Cubs blow the division, fans are gonna come down on Omar like an atomic bomb.”
    As we lunched at Papa Dino’s, our fears began to morph into reality. Fans in the restaurant cheered as they watched the Reds tee off on Cubs pitching. After two innings, it was 9–0 Reds. This game was all but over, meaning the Cubs and Reds would be tied for first place. Their Sunday afternoon match-up would decide the division winner.
    â€œThere’s only one thing we can do,” my dad said. “Go to Wrigley