Caught up in my thoughts and the stereo, I made it thirteen hours the first night before crashing at a motel in Eugene, Oregon around 7pm.  Still a little geared up from the drive, I went down to Civic Stadium to see the Ems play a minor league baseball game.  The team was out of town, but that didn’t stop me.

I checked out an old schedule, scanning the calendar grid for something meaningful.  Blinking backwards seemed to be following a pattern.  Remembering the two previous trips I had thought I had cracked the code.  I needed to focus on an event I had specific knowledge of, be it via an actual memory (watching Game 6 of the ‘86 series on TV), or a good secondhand account (My teammate bowling his 270 game).  My previous attempt at thinking of a birthday had been too vague, which is why I chose a specific birthday this time around.  I distinctly recalled my anger in not being able to get the night off from work and having a terrible, terrible night on the phones.  What kind of a boss doesn't let an employee have the night of their birthday off?  I could just...

That was as far as I got in my tirade, as the roar of the crowd distracted me.  Just as I had hoped, I popped back in time to my previous birthday.  Strolling past the ticket booth and literally through the turnstile, I spotted the scoreboard.  It was the third inning, and I actually got to watch the game from the field.  Needless to say it was pretty neat.  I stood behind the plate and chided the umpire a bit, raced some players around the bases, checked out the field level owner's suite, sat in the bullpen, the whole works.