"Hey, Cole Hamels is here."
"Holy crap really?" I knew he lived in Dub-C and our friend/ Chef over at Spence has served on him several times (apparently he gets his lucky turkey sandwich before games), but this was my first time seeing him out.
The hostess greeted him at the door, but instead of whisking him away to his special "celebrity" Iron
Hill table, he was put on the waiting list and handed a buzzer, just like everybody else."The hostess must not know who he is." I thought. Then my mind flashes back to the reoccurring column in US Weekly Stars: They're Just Like Us! Now I know it's true.
So, of course people are flocking to him like the awesome mound master that he is, furiously shaking his hand for that slaughter over the Red Sox the other night.
I was star struck! My heart said, "Go say hi you jerk. He's like 20 feet away." but my head said "You are so not the desperate groupie kind. Plus he lives here, you live here. It's no big deal."
And Beeps, who is the biggest Phillies Phan EVER (Maybe not as nuts as Turkey), sat there nibbling on nachos like he wasn't even there. But I knew he must have been dying inside!
Well, I listened to my head, but not before trying to snap a few incognito pictures from my camera phone. Of course getting the guts up to take that out was, in itself, hard enough. I mean the guy was looking right at me. That's just stalker weird. I tried anyway but before I could get off a shot, Cole's little blinking buzzer went off and he and Heidi floated to their awaiting seats.
Hopefully to order a plate full of delicious nachos.
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