Numero Uno... and Dos

The other day my uncle said in passing, "Oh, I think the Fish are coming to town this weekend." Immediately, flashes of leather mitts and wooden bats crossed in front of my eyes. The smell of fresh-cut grass and May rain clouds invaded my nostrils. The salty taste of peanuts and sunflower seeds, hot dogs and pistachios caused my salivatory glands to ignite. I wiped the drool off my chin as I drifted back to reality.

Later that day, I figured I'd take a gander, sneak a peek, 'window shop' (you know... just for the heck of it...) to see what kind of seats I could, might, maybe, possibly, get. After a few clicks and disinterested sighs later, I rubbed my eyes. I looked a little harder at the screen. Then I looked around to see if anyone was behind me, waiting to see my reaction then burst out laughing as if they had pulled the ultimate prank. No one was, and no one did.

I couldn't believe it! What had I just found?! I couldn't STILL hardly beleive it, and yet, there they were! Four tickets... Section 138... sixth row.

Armed with my tickets and my Florida Marlins shirt, myself, Bret, Dad, and Curtis set off to Denver. We arrived just in time to watch Florida's batting practice.

We strolled down to our section and down the rows. 10, 9, 8, getting closer and closer, 7... but we were far TOO close to be in the sixth row? Maybe they misnumbered the seats... or we were in the wrong section. But there it was... two rows up from the dugout... row number six. "Is this right?" came the question amid 'Holy Cow!'s and 'Wow!'s. No one ever told us that the dugout actually consists of rows 1-4.

"Do you want to move back?" asked the usher.

"Yeah, we're a little TOO close to enjoy anything," replied Dad.

So there we were. Row two... er, uh... six... right above the Marlins dugout. We took in batting practice and warmups. I got a thumbs up from Emilio Bonifacio, the third basemen, when I showed him my Marlins shirt. Cameron Maybin, the center fielder, came and signed autographs.

And I just took it all in.

It was almost game time and Hanley Ramirez and Jorge Cantu came out of the dugout right in front of us to get in a few final warm-up tosses.

Here's Hanley going up to bat in the 1st inning. Notice I'm wearing a white ball cap and blue jacket...

Then, all of a sudden, a loud SMACK...!

A thing of beauty!

Did you notice anything unusual? Watch it again.

What about right around the 25 or 26 second mark?

Did you notice the guy in the stands with the blue jacket and white hat? Here let me work some magic and get the guys in the booth to pause it for a second... and John Madden to draw some stuff on it... "Now here's a guy if he wasn't standing he'd be sitting."

Thats right folks. I was on TV. But you all already know that. The guys on Sportscenter can't stop talking about the 'only guy cheering for the Marlins', and after my brief appearances on Letterman and the O... who wouldn't know who I am?



The game was tied 3-3 after 3 innings... but then during the 5th inning the Marlins exploded for 5 runs. Here's Hanley with an RBI single.

Later in the game, Dan Uggla, the All-Star second baseman, was hanging around the top step of the dugout. Curtis yelled at him, "Hey, I want a ball!"

"I don't have any!" he yelled back.

"I want a ball!" said Curtis again.

"And I want to pitch," said Uggla with a grin.

"Yeah, I'd like to see that too!" I said, showing him my shirt. He gave me a thumbs up, and went back into the dugout.

http://mlb.mlb.com/media/video.jsp?content_id=4485121

The Fish won 8-3. Hanley was 4/5 with a HR and 2 RBI and a stolen base. Needless to say, I was one happy baseball fan.

Some of the Bart...

For all you non-facebook users and my madre... 25 random things... careful... it'll rip your face off.

1. I was really shy growing up… I still am in certain situations. I just fake that I’m not.

2. I use wittiness as a defense mechanism to thwart all attackers from breaching the outer wall of ME.

3. I wish I was still a kid. School was easy, I dominated at sports, girls liked me, all my meals were homemade, I saved my money to buy baseball cards.

4. My beverages of choice are: Whole milk, Gatorade, and Dr. Pepper.

5. I don’t understand a single thing about Chemistry.

6. I hardly ever remember my dreams. Really, I’m lucky if I can recall one dream per month. My most recent remembrance: I was on the Phoenix Suns playing with Steve Nash against the Dallas Mavericks and I hit the game winner over Dirk. Any surprise there?

7. I hate winter. It might be because I am the size of Nastia Luken, or because I grew up in the tundra-ed wilderness of Wyoming. The real reason? I am a normal minded person. Who in their right mind likes being cold? This hatred has driven me to several months of social hibernation.

8. I’ve been skydiving and recommend it often. I would love to go again… next time I’ll be sure to wear a helmet.

9. I already have 3 names picked out for 3 kids… now I’m just working on the twins’ names…

10. I WILL have a golden retriever, and a chocolate/yellow/black lab.

11. I hate shopping… mostly because I never have enough money to go shopping. (food/clothing/whatever) And when I do have money… I hate the fact that I have to use it to go shopping. Then, when I’m done shopping, I hate that I no longer have that money because I just used it to shop.

12. I’ve never had braces.

13. My favorite place in the world is Mallorca: an island in the Mediterranean just off the coast of Spain. I lived there for 6 months and would love to have a summer house on the coast!

14. The most I have ever weighed is 167 lbs… the least… 2 lbs 2oz…

15. My favorite band of all time is Five Iron Frenzy. They’re a ska band. I hate ska.

16. I have a gnarly scar across my left shoulder blade that extends down to the side of my ribcage. My grandparents took me on an African safari and we got a little too close to the lion cubs… just kidding… really, I was working one summer in Orange County and was learning to surf with some buddies, a shark came out of no where… no, not really… we went up into the Wyoming wilderness for Scouts and we were collecting wood to take home for the fireplace, I scaled a tree with a small hatchet while my older brother worked on a tree nearby… he chopped it down, it swung in my direction and knocked me out of my tree… I fell at least twenty feet and landed on the hatchet… yeah… that’s not true either. Do you want the real story?

17. I once pelted a girl on a bicycle with a water balloon, from at least 50 yards away, with a homemade water balloon launcher. She fell off. (Thank you Jordan) One of the greatest days of my life.

18. I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

19. I went through a roller hockey phase in 6th/7th grade. Two-on-two roller hockey. I hated being goalie. I also went through a WCW wrestling phase that included choke-slamming my little brother on the trampoline and on couches. That’s not safe. Should I mention the Backstreet Boys phase? No? What about Hannah Montana?

20. I hate writing with pencils!! If I do, it HAS to be mechanical. I also HATE the feeling of cotton balls and the little squeaking sound!!! It drives me nuts!

21. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do a backflip. The one time I tried was on the beach in California and I ended up with a face full of sand.

22. I loooooove going to baseball games! Sunflower seeds, peanuts, Big League Chew, Dr. Pepper, Hot Dogs and Nachos! I can’t wait for Spring!

23. I once coached a 5th grade girls basketball team… also a women’s college basketball team… you’d think there’d be a difference in the level of talent… haha jk

24. I went to high school with a bazillion of my cousins… I wish we could hang out all the time!

25. I grew up on a Wyoming ranch!

Launching the Past

I recently ran into an old friend of mine, Jordan Schultze. He is a year older than me, which made my one year of school at Fairview Elementary the Dali-lama of school years. Jordan and I had been friends for a long time. We liked sports (mostly Bo Jackson... and the Raiders), super fast-dubbed cassette tapes, Weird Al Yankovic, firecrackers, and trampolines. I figured entering the 5th grade at Fairview wouldn’t be so bad if the J-man was around. You see, my parents had bought some land and built a house and so I had to transfer schools. Kinda freaky for a 10/11 year old kid.

I had NO idea how good Fairview would be to me. I remember the first day of school, getting off the bus, and walking on the playground. There were two swings, one slide, and no jungle-gym. The playground consisted of cement, little pebbles, and goat-heads. There was a game of football going on and they needed one more guy. I volunteered myself knowing that my fate depended on my play. We huddled up, the quarterback, Brandon Myrick, told me he was going to throw me the ball. (Good thing I had my thinly-clothed gloves that had the sticky grips on the palms.) The ball was hiked, I made a move, got open, and caught the ball. I sprinted left, then right. Only one kid to beat: the unusually large latino, Nathan Vigil. (The kid had a mustache.)

I spun, then stopped, and zipped by his outstretched hands into the open field. I felt like the Road Runner as I ran, rocks flying from the soles of my shoes. I touched the fence. I scored! But… there wasn’t a celebration in the end zone. Everyone was pointing and laughing at Nathan, who was now near midfield. Brandon ran over to me and said in unbelief, “You just outran Nate Vigil. You outran the Nate-Dawg!” Never in his life had Nate been unable to catch a fellow student. Never in my life would I forget this day.

Instantly, I became a 5th grade celebrity. A star, a hero, a legend. Because Fairview didn’t have any equipment, kids played sports. (I was blazing fast and could catch and throw.) I was picked first. And kids let me cut in the lunch line. I was even recruited by the 6th graders to play with them during recess instead of with the 5th graders. I had friends in the 4th, 5th and 6th grades (Fairview only had those grades as its sister school, Lebhart, had the K - 3rd graders). In other words, I was the David Duchovny of 5th graders (that was the year he dated Madonna).

I mentioned before that I was only at Fairview for a year. The School District made me transfer to Dildine Elementary because it was closer to my house, thus robbing me of any positive experiences I could have had in 6th grade. (I hated 6th grade and I hated Mrs. Harju and I hated Dildine.) But talking to Jordan again brought back so many wonderful memories.

Jordan: You wouldn't be Bart Badbury Son of Lyle and Kathy, Brother to Brett and Blake, and former Wyoming Herford Ranch 2-on-2 baseball champ, would you?

Bart: Oh I would be... and I am... You wouldn't be Jordan Schultze... son of Don and Cathy, Brother to Josh and Cate, owner of one super water balloon launcher used to pelt Natalie Hales, extreme non-padded tackle football champion, and former Oriole GREAT... would you? (Jordan and I played little league. I was on the Dodgers/A’s… he was on the Orioles.)

Jordan: Bartholomew Air Gadbury! Well I can't comment on any alleged involvement in any fiasco(s) involving Natalie Hales or this possibly fictitious water balloon apparatus, but yes all those other accomplishments are mine. It's a crying shame we have not had the privilege of mopping the floor with any sports competitors in probably close to a decade.

Bart: Well you should comment on the aforementioned 'apparatus' because any connection to said item, whether imagined or real, brings back some of the fondest memories of my childhood. (Now, honestly, it is probably one of the greatest stories EVER) And now that I think about it... the Wilmarths were some of the most fierce sixth graders I knew... but if we were to have a reunion of our little clan, I'm sure we would do the same mopping we did ten years ago... except with a different scent... maybe more lemony fresh? Go BO JACKSON AND THE RAIDERS! (The Wilmarths, Matt and Aaron, were Jordan’s 6th grade buddies. Almost every weekend we would play tackle football with our little clan of 10. We OWNED the Wilmarths!)

Jordan: While I can neither confirm nor deny any involvement in certain shady water balloon dealings, nor can I confirm or deny the existence of any improvised latex-based h2o projectile accelerating apparati, or any such implements for that matter, I will say that if I ever require decisive action to be taken towards the stoppage a front bike tire from spinning on it's axis, you are the man I will call.

Bart: Hey... so you know how we loved the Raiders in elementary school... well if you don't, Bo knows.

Jordan: I know Bo knows. Bo knows Baseball. Bo knows football. Bo knows the pump has got the airbag. Bo might even know who shot JFK... Let's start a business and or sports team together. It'll be fun! Plus with our combined power we will be able to crush anyone who stands in our way!

Bart: Honestly... how about the PSA... Professional Softball Association... I really think we could go somewhere with that. Seeing as how we have baseball skills out the wazoo. Speaking of... remember when you were the Orioles and I was the Athletics and we beat your trash? Also... nothing makes me happier than thinking of the Wilmarth beatdowns on the gridiron... no one could touch me I was too blazing fast. Oh... business idea: we sell your old inhalers. Or we could be hired as hitmen... except we use water ballons and your launcher. And we could partner up with Natalie Hales look-alikes and put on a real show (please tell me what you remember of that blessed day) Or we could high-speed-dub Peter Cetera and have people jump on the trampoline. They would pay big bucks.

Jordan: AH hahah the infamous water balloon incident! Man we booked it outta there so fast it was inhuman! I was thinking we could have slam dunk contests off your bed using a door-mounted nerf hoop, with intermissions to taunt Blake. I like the softball idea. i haven't played that in years, but I'm betting we could still work Josh and Brett pretty hard, and most likely all the Willmarths too. Yeah I remember when you were the A's and I was the orioles. Yeah I literally WAS the orioles. Dad blasted retards.

My Mane Man

A friend of mine recently commented on how long my hair is. I then proceeded to look at myself in a mirror. “Hmmm… that is pretty long.” I’d even say it’s reaching its limit in lengthiness. (Well, at least its previous limit. Usually I just grow it out until I get sick of it, and usually I have Kristin around to cut it. She's the best!) But now I have a sort of affinity towards it. It could be due to the fact that my hair is about the same length as Tim Lincecum’s. (Tim Lincecum (18-5) recently won the National League Cy Young award. He was definitely the most dominant pitcher in the league despite throwing for a team that went 72-90. I loved watching him pitch this year.) My hat goes off to him, literally.

My gay roommate, Cameron, commented on how he wishes his hair was as long and full as mine. But he keeps cutting it. Every two days. (I was about to continue writing without clarifying, but in order to clarify… I must write. … Huh?) By ‘gay’ I mean ‘coming into his own’ and by ‘his own’ I mean ‘manhood’.

For example: One day Cameron and I were watching a basketball game. He didn’t understand shooting fouls. I explained to him that if a player is in the act of shooting, the defender isn’t allowed to touch him, otherwise it’s a foul. He then said, “Wow. I’ve learned more about sports in the last few months than I have my entire life. Thanks to you, I really am on my way to becoming a man. There’s nothing more belittling than asking a girl about the rules… he has such broad shoulders.”

Last weekend we watched the Iowa Hawkeyes beat the then 3rd ranked team, Penn State. I explained pass interference and ineligible receivers. He said, “Okay, yeah, I can see how that works… man, he has a really big butt.” I laughed for a while. You see, Cameron has a way of pointing out things that normal, sports minded guys don’t even think about.

When watching the World Series: “Did his pants just rip off?”

Watching athletic trainers tend to an injured football player, who's not moving: “That job makes me wonder. You run on the field and rub people’s necks. ‘How does that feel? Kootchy kootchy koo!’”

I assure you that Cameron is very much a man. Sure, he eats a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream every other night. And sure, he wanted to watch ice skating instead of football (Can you blame him?). But you can’t discount the fact that his favorite Arrested Development character is Tobias Funke. Well, maybe you can. But at least Cameron has a lot of hair. A lot of hair equals a lot of testosterone. (He came into my room the other night and lifted his shirt to show me he had shaved his chest and stomache hair. I believe his exact words were: Burn that image into your mind.)

Now, we all know that there is a lot more to being a man than chest hair (and in Cameron’s case, chest AND back hair). Like sports knowledge/enjoyment, grilling steak, and power tools. But hair identification is a great way to find out what type of man you are. Are you carpeted? Splotched? A naturally barren rock quarry? (That’s me… bulging, hairless muscles, rippling through all material/matter.)

So what really makes us men? The ability to mask manly odor around females is considered, by many experts, one of the top signs that boys have stepped from their awkward, self-indulged worlds and into the realms of manhood. The Gadbury men are known for their pleasing scentistry. (Yeah, kinda made up another word.)

Bret has a natural just-from-the-shower aroma. I use Old Spice body wash and deodorant, (my most recent and successful fragrance: Swagger) and Tide with Febreeze (the purple cap) to keep my clothes fresh. And Blake is Captain Cologne. (The guy smells so good it makes Michael Jackson want to have his old nose back.)

We are complimented often… and we like it. Cameron borrowed one of my pearl-snap shirts: “Oh! Wow! I don’t know what it is, but you smell divine!” I remind you, he’s not really gay. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

Make Like a Banana...

So right now I’m stuck in the middle of relationship battle between my roommate, Dan, and our new acquaintance as of this semester, who will remain nameless. Well... she kinda needs a name, so I will call her Sarah. ... Oh crap. Her name really is Sarah. Oh well. ... Dan is formerly known in this blog as the ‘know-it-all roommate’ (This is not at all derrogitory. He really does know it all. And by 'all' I mean a lot of things. And by 'a lot' I mean one thing. He knows how to banter.) and there is a rather dapper picture of the guy somewhere among the September posts.

(Also, Sarah may also be referred to as Shara… simply because she wanted to make sure we all know her name is Sara with an H. Kinda like Bret with two T’s or Jenny with an I. Or Caroline with a K… and a double R… and a double L… and a Y… and then, guess what, a double N. Seriously? Karrollynn? Why not just make it easy for us all and double up all the letters. That way the vowels don’t feel left out. Kkaarroollyynn. And then add a silent E on the end just to screw us all up again. I just found the name for my 14th daughter. )

Long story short: they hit it off, she made the first move, he was turned off because she made the first move, I was dragged along as the 5th wheel (aka the odd man out, the spare tire, the baker’s dozen [the box only has room for 12 donuts… why in the world would the baker make 13 and call it his dozen?]), she got mad because he didn’t respond favorably. He was passive, she was aggressive, and I was apprehensive. He wanted to make things normal, she wanted to make out, and I wanted to make like lightning and bolt.

This has gone on for several weeks… basically, she wants to vex my roommate. (Now, I bring this slight variation from a line in Kate and Leopold… mostly because I like that movie. And I really hope that one day, when I jump off a bridge to my assured icy doom, the swirling, cold blackness turns into a time-bending vortex that sends me to another place in time. Like Canada in the late 1800’s. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t care if I carried a midget around in my backpack. I’d cut little holes in the bottom for his little legs and I’d call him Tyrell and feed him Maria cookies. )

Anyways… so I’m dragged along on their little excursions (which have included the movie theater… and the movie theater). Which is fine. Because I can, for about an hour and half, forget that I’m even there. So after Hancock and Wall-e (oh and… Shara paid for my Wall-e ticket because I only had a dollar… in change. Dan didn’t want to break his twenty) we come to a recent conversation between Shara and me. She had previously commented on how Wall-e was our first date. (I’m so glad that I treat all unfamiliar or uncomfortable comments as sarcasm. One of my best defense mechanisms to date.)

Shara -Well, how's life eeevaaa?

Bart -Why am I Eva?

Shara-Would you rather be walle? or the fat president?

Bart-Eva is a girl. Why in the world would I want to be a girl robot?

Shara-Girls are way rad, that's why. Besides, i would let you call me walllleee.

Bart-But I'm not a girl... and why would I call you walle? You're not a boy. Walle is obviously a boy robot.

S-Eva is way hotter so i assigned you the name. That's all.

B-So… when you think of me... you think of a sleek, sexy girl robot?

S-Well, yes. Is that a bad thing?

B-I guess that depends on who you ask. If you ask me... I'd say YES.
Does that not even seem slightly backwards to you?

S-nahhh. i'm just being silly. i don't think of you as a girl.

B-Are you sure?

S-Yeah i'm almost positive.

B-Are you HIV positive?

S-ha ha...how did you know?

B-It's one of those things you just notice... eye boogers, peed pants… HIV.

S-Crap i hope i don't have all three of those...

B-Plus its really hard to hide the fact you have HIV when you're sitting right next to someone... especially in movie theaters... people with HIV seem to glow in the dark.

S-Oh yeah? I'm sure that made you uncomfortable...

B-Well you know how you said it was our first date? It was actually our second.
It was you and Dan's first.

S-it was our second? How so?

B-If you look at two factors... body placement and conversational dialogue. I sat next to you at both movies and participated in small talk/chatter both times. Dan didn’t sit by you the first time, and didn’t really talk to you. Remember how you got mad for two weeks because of that?

S-ooooh yeah...

B-Plus, I was scammed into going to both movies... so i really think of our time together as forced togethernessism.

S-how were you scammed into it? he didn't tell you i would be there or something?

B-I’m a guy. When a roommate asks me: do you want to go to a movie? I automatically know there is some ulterior motive for such a question… usually it’s a girl. So, by default, I'm automatically assigned the role of backup or wingman... whether I want to go or not.

And to think I was in the middle of a baseball game.

S-Wow i wonder if you could say anything else to make me feel any better about the whole situation. I don't really see why he needs a backup, but i guess i am pretty mean and terrifying.

B-From what i can tell...

I don't know about you, but all of this has inspired me to continue my non-existent journey to nowhere in no time with no one. I think the semi-correct approach will be to go backwardsly onward and downsidedly upward in my socially inept hiatus of anything that could be considered 'constructive relationship building'. And to think I was in the middle of a baseball game.

Fly vs Pop Fly

In little league, there are three positions that every kid knows are the ‘cool’ positions: pitcher, short-stop, and center field. If you play any of these, you are cool. These are the kids that get almost every play and actually get to throw the ball. But guess what…

You’re the kid who got stuck in right field. Not because you’ve never played before… but mostly because you suck at baseball. But you don’t know that. With all the positive reinforcement during and after practices, you think your basic skills of fielding, throwing, and hitting are what won you the job. But, you soon find out that right field is boring. So every week you’re hoping that maybe, just maybe, you might get switched to left field. Or that there’s a freak accident and Kyle breaks his cool, auto-shading glasses, leaving him artificially blind until he can get a new pair.

But until then, you’re stuck chasing bugs and singing the ‘Dandelion Song’, (You grab a dandelion and say in a tone of rhyme, “Mama had a baby and its head popped off.” You then slide your thumb under the ‘head’ of the flower and pop it off, leaving it for dead. Kind of a gruesome picture compared to a girl grabbing the dead, unplucked weed and gently blowing the seeds into the wind while skipping around in a pink dress, humming and giggling) because no one hits anything to right field. You’re in the middle of the mental debate of which flavor of Laffy Taffy to get after the game, strawberry or watermelon, (strawberry is the flavor you can never be disappointed with, but watermelon is multi-colored, with little black candy seeds.) when all of a sudden the coach is yelling your name!

A little dazed at first, you wipe the day-dream slobber off your chin and begin to frantically search the cloudless sky for that little white sphere. You stick your glove high in the air and take a few steps backwards. Still no ball. You glance at Jessica, who’s sprinting towards you from center field, (yes, she’s a girl and yes, she’s better than you) just to make sure you’re in the right area. As you drag your eyes back to the sky, it appears, and it’s hurtling towards you like a heat-seeking missile. The words “I got it!” come barging through your clenched teeth. It’s too late to back down now. And you brace yourself for impact.


Fifteen years down the road, you’re in college sitting with a group of friends trying to figure out why ‘Timber Tower’ was made as a cheaper version of ‘Jenga’ when it has an obvious design flaw: the lip that doesn’t quite let you slide the tower out of its tin container. (It’s also not a perfect 3:1 width ratio, which allows for spaces between blocks, which could in turn affect game-play performance.) Your attention is slightly drawn from the riveting conversation as a small, black fly buzzes around the room. A sly smile appears across your mug and you begin to think of the events about to occur: the fly will casually make its way to your side of the room, its nonchalant manner will infuriate you, and you will be forced to retaliate.

The fly DOES make his way towards you. You tighten the muscles in your hand to a karate-chop position. And you wait… perfectly still… hardly breathing… staring into space… heightening your peripheral vision. Out of the corner of your eye you see it! Your right hand springs into action and you feel a small nick on the back of your hand!

“I got it!” you exclaim proudly. Responses of ‘You did?’, ‘No way!’, and ‘What’d you get?’ simultaneously fill the room.

“No, you didn’t”, replies your always-gotta-be-right roommate, Dan. “See, it’s right there. You didn’t get it.” He points to a little black spec still buzzing around the room.

“But I did get it,” you defend. “I felt it.”

“So if you got it, why is it still there?” comes the inquiry.

“I got it. Just because I got it, it doesn’t mean I demolished or obliterated it. I hit it. Thus, getting it.”

“You obviously didn’t get it, because if you would have gotten it, it would be got.”

“The got I’m referring to isn’t the ‘got’ when catching a pop fly. Everyone who calls ‘I got it!’, while chasing a pop fly, fully determine to catch the pop fly. Anything less is not considered getting it. I’m referring to the ‘I got it!’ used when achieving something extremely rare. ... Like hitting a fly with the back of your hand.”

The others in the room laughingly comment about the pointlessness of the conversation, but you contend that a conversation is only pointless if nothing is learned. The subject quickly changes and you’re left to ponder the unsettled question: Did you get it? Your mind refers to the Count of Monte Cristo: (the movie, because you don't read books) when Edmond Dantes is trapped on the island prison Chateau d'If with the old man. He tries to pass his hand through the dripping water without getting it wet. When he finally does, he could rightly exclaim, ‘I got it!’

Your train of thought is slightly derailed by a buzzing noise. For a second time your hand tightens, and a forceful movement with the right arm follows. You nearly jump to your feet as you boast, “I got it again!”

And the small, black insect continues its wary flight around the room.