Brad, Groomsman

3 stiffs: me, Brad, Dean

Brad (aka: Bips)

Like a few of the stiffs* that will be standing up Oct. 15th, I initially met Brad playing softball. It was 19-something-and-5, and we were actually on opposing teams.  My team at the time, O'Sullivan's, kept running up against this other team from the area at weekend tournaments around the Chicago land area.  They had cool shirts, and a somewhat offensive name.  They also had a pretty awesome shortstop (whose shaved / bald head is now swelling more as he reads this).

* footnote: do not be offended. this a term of endearment amongst my friends. *

Brad's team looked like a group of swell guys, a group of young up-and-comers, and I really wanted to play for them.  When they went looking for a third basemen to play in this national tournament down in Jacksonville, Florida, I jumped at the opportunity.  "Why hell yes, I can play 3B!!"  (Like most players who valued their face, I hated playing 3B).

In my very first at-bat in a lousy fall league game, I hit a ground ball to the left side, and tried to leg it out.  And just like that - torn hamstring...season over.  My flight to FLA a few weeks later was already paid for, so I decided to go just for the fun of it.   On the ride to the airport, I got pink eye (seriously).  So now...I'm the stiff in Florida with a torn hammy and junk in my eye.

Not sure what I did that fall to impress my new teammates, but they asked me back next season for some crazy reason.  Maybe they saw a lot of promise in that lone AB, a routine 6-3 ground out to short.  Anyways, I'm pretty glad they did.  I developed a lot of great friendships from my time with Sportin' Wood, one of them being Brad, and 5 of those friends will be standing up for Jess & I come the big day.

Besides being the world's greatest shortstop, Brad is also quite the fisherman.  About 10-12 years ago, I took a trip to northwest Ontario, for a week of fishing bliss with Brad and 6 other pals on some remote island.  It was one of the most fun and relaxing weeks I've ever had.  It also reminded me of those times as a kid, when my dad used to take me fishing in the French River for these week long trips: long summer days, fresh Canadian air, remote peace and quiet, endless walleye and pike fishing, tasty shore lunches.  The exception on this trip with Brad: my dad and I never had to send the plane back to the main island to pick up our 30 cases of beer.