#every single staff member on this field makes me fall down the stairs i

[neep-neep-neep]

it's not even halftime of costa rica vs el salvador and i'm already. horned up about one of the refs to the point my mouth is drying out and i'm gulping and feeling butterflies when only a speck of her on the field is visible. the homosexuality

[banashee]

This is another one of my @badthingshappenbingo​ prompts.

Prompt: Chronic Pain

Please mind the tags and warnings in the authors note!

-

 (Pain)fully Human

 Being one of the very few Avengers without superpowers royally sucks sometimes. It really does, even though Clint is used to it.

 It's fine, he keeps telling himself, but he is no longer 20 and getting up in the mornings is a lot harder these days, and a lot more painful.

 Clint is in his late 40s, which isn’t even old, really, but it sure feels like it when you’ve been working hard for most of your life, tagging along with actual superhumans and rescuing a city and occasionally the world every few weeks. Not to mention the injuries - they can be real nasty, and when the weather gets cold, Clint can feel them in his bones. He doesn’t complain though, not really.

 He will complain about everything and anything else all day long if you’ll let him, because at heart, some part of him is a grumpy grandpa and has been ever since he was a teenager, but he rarely, if ever, voices any real distress. It’s easier to deflect because what is the alternative? Admitting defeat or the fact that his days in the field are definitely counted? No way.

 Clint can deal with a lot, but feeling useless - or worse, being useless - isn’t one of those things.

 This is why he forces himself to keep going even when every muscle in his body cramps and protests, and it’s why he forces himself out of bed despite being exhausted. Pain is part of the job, he learns early on, and there are quiet periods where he can heal and relax.

 When exactly the pain stops disappearing, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

 At first, it’s just smaller aches that linger, especially a bad back and a few old wounds. Over time, it gets worse - it is a creeping process.

 Some mornings, Clint can’t get out of bed without being in excruciating pain. He can barely stand, let alone walk. Those days, he can’t even make the short way from his bed to the bathroom without struggling. He clings to the bed frame with watering eyes, cursing up a blue storm and collapsing back onto it, gasping for breath.

 Clint remains sitting on the edge then, shaking like a leaf and breathing through the pain until it fades away just enough for him to be able to carefully get up, slowly making his way through the day. Some days are bad enough that he can’t even leave the house to do anything - the fatigue, the frustration and his mental health spiralling out of control are simply too much.

 He’s always had trouble with Depression and Anxiety, but the constant exhaustion and pain only make it worse.

 Clint doesn’t ask for help, not even when he spends days in bed, only getting up to go to the bathroom and drink a bit of water.

 As long as he had Lucky, those days were somewhat bearable. Clint would spend them cuddled up somewhere warm and soft with the deep, even breathing of his dog nearby, dozing on his chest while he could bury his hands in soft fur. It truly is Clint’s favourite way to seek comfort. Lucky always had a knack for reading his human’s mood. Especially on the bad days, he stays close, trying to help him in the sweet, loving way dogs do. Lucky is amazing in so many ways, and Clint just hopes he can repay his beloved companion enough.

 When Lucky first came to him, he was still kind of young, but now, he is much slower and calmer than before. His once entirely golden fur keeps growing greyer by the day, and their walks get shorter and shorter as time passes on. Instead, Lucky likes his sleep and getting belly rubs for as long as possible. Clint happily gives him all this, and much more.

 He owes this dog his life, and that is no exaggeration. If it wasn’t for Lucky, he probably would have given up on life years ago.

 But unfortunately, no dog lives forever and once his beloved companion is gone, Clint’s bad days get worse. They get worse in an emotional way, for sure, but he could swear that the pain itself doesn’t ease like it used to.

 His therapist strongly recommends getting another dog, because it is proven that emotional support animals can be very helpful, but he puts it off. Clint feels guilty, doesn’t want to replace Lucky, especially while he is still grieving. It feels wrong, but deep down he knows that his therapist is right.

 “You don’t have to replace Lucky. He was special to you and I understand that, but I also think it would be good for you to allow another dog - or cat, or whatever animal you’d prefer - in your life. It helps.” his therapist had told him for the 20th time, and finally gotten through to him.

 A few days later, Clint visits the local shelter and finds himself sitting on the floor, surrounded by dogs of all shapes and sizes. Part of him would like to adopt every single one of them, because honestly, who wouldn’t?

 But then, he falls in love with a black lab.

 This dog is keeping to herself, sitting calmly behind the other dogs as if waiting for a quieter time to greet the new human in the room. One leg is missing, and there are some grey hairs scattered across her sweet face and especially around the snout.

 “Hello sweetie, who are you?” Clint asks, carefully crouching down near the lab. She comes closer, curiously sniffing his outstretched hand, wagging her tail and then allowing him to pet her. Even more so, she practically melts into the gentle touch and Clint has already given his heart to this dog.

 His grief over Lucky is still there - always will be, to some degree - but this sweet, gentle soul seems to be the perfect companion for him now.

 “This is Betsy. She’s an old lady, as you can see, and she’s been with us for most of her life. She was not treated well in the past.” the staff member explains, and it’s clear that she wants the best for Betsy. The young woman smiles at Clint with a knowing smile as she watches him interact with Betsy.

 Clint is head over heels in love, and having to leave without this old lady dog almost breaks his heart all over again. Betsy seems to agree, because it very much looks like the love is mutual.

 Luckily, a few visits and a lot of paperwork later, Betsy comes home with Clint.

 He carries her up the stairs, and once they enter the apartment, the dog is met with an overwhelming urge to sniff and explore everything, and she happily does so for all of two minutes before she trots over to where Clint has collapsed on the couch - the pain is flaring up again, but he smiles at Betsy and pats the space on the couch next to him. A moment later, Clint finds himself with a lapful of very happy dog, and he just knows that this was the right decision.

 Betsy is incredibly loving, calm, and mostly happy when she has food and cuddles available at all times - both of which are plentiful here.

 The first night, Betsy sleeps right next to Clint, burrowing into him and the blankets. From what they told him in the shelter, this is the first time ever she gets to be in a bed - or a couch, earlier that day. She seems so happy and grateful about every little thing, and Clint just knows he would kill for her in a heartbeat.

 Their shared journey only has begun, but the bond is already strong. Both of them are in desperate need of company and love, and they definitely found both in each other.

 As time goes on, the bad days get more and more, and it takes one particularly bad day where Clint almost misses a shot in the field for him to come to a final decision.

 No one but him notices his mistake, but it sends cold dread down his spine.  After the debrief, when he finally makes it home, Clint has a full blown panic attack the second he closes the door behind him. He comes back to himself with Betsy pressing herself close to him, and he leans his cheek into her dark, smooth fur, stroking Betsy’s head in an attempt to calm down.

 The two of them are cuddled up on the couch, warm and secure, when Clint makes the decision. Today had been a close call - just a split second later, just a breath of air in the wrong direction, and people would have died. It can’t happen again - Clint is the best there is at his job, but it’s been too long. He’s in too much pain, getting too unreliable. It’s the last thing he needs, and damn it, the other Avengers deserve the truth. He owes them that much, not only for the obvious reasons, but because they are friends.

 Clint doesn’t talk to Steve. As much as he likes and respects him, the last thing he needs is Captain America trying to be kind and understanding when he himself doesn’t look a day over 30 and could casually weight lift a truck before breakfast.

 Instead, he seeks out Tony in the downstairs laboratory.

 Tony works just as always, chatting away to JARVIS and humming along to Black Sabbath - some things never change. Others do, however. Grey streaks are more and more visible in his dark hair and beard, and it might not be noticeable as much, but he moves more carefully than he uses to.

 If nothing else, Tony will understand, so this is why Clint tells him bluntly,

 “Hey. Just so you know - I’m retiring.”

 “Alright. How come?” the other man asks, letting his screwdriver roll across the table.

 “Getting all old and creaky.” Clint aims for a joke, but he gets a raised eyebrow in response.

 “Excuse you, you’re younger than me. If you’re old and creaky, what does that make me?”

 Clint shrugs.

 “Not the guy who almost missed a shot in the field.”

 There it is. Out in the open. A beat of silence passes between them.

 “What? When? I never even realized…” Tony looks at him directly now and he is no longer joking.

 “Last mission. It still went okay, but… It nearly didn’t. I can’t go out there in good conscience and risk people's lives because I can’t do my job right anymore.” Clint shrugs again, sad this time.

 “That wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

 Tony just nods, letting the silence wash over them for a while. Neither of them is good at the whole talking thing and honestly, they’ve known each other for so many years, there is more than a little understanding between them.

 “Those mortal, squishy, human bodies have their disadvantages, huh?”

 A bark of laughter bubbles up his throat. It feels strange, but he definitely needed that.

 “They sure do. Honestly, fuck that.” Clint laughs some more, and Tony looks satisfied with himself. He totally got the reaction he wanted, and their conversation is a lot lighter after that.

 “Hey.” Tony says later, keeping Clint from walking away just yet.

 “Don’t be a stranger, okay? Us mere mortals gotta stick together.” He goes for a shoulder check, but Clint pulls him into a quick but tight hug. Tony returns it though, clinging on for just a second before he releases his friend with a shoulder slap and another few bad jokes.

 As far as conversations went, this one wasn’t half bad, Clint thinks, and makes his way back home.

 Betsy is waiting for him, and happily greets him as soon as he walks through the door.

 “Hey honey, I’m home.” he tells her, happily letting her lick his face and then they curl up in their favourite spot.

 Clint’s bones are aching and protesting from the movement of the day and old injuries are giving him trouble again. It’s getting cold out, and it only manifests what Clint already knew - he did the right thing.

*+~

Prompt 7/25: Chronic Pain

Warnings:

- breif, non-graphic mention of suicidal thoughts - off-screen death of a dog (due to old age, no cruelty!) - discussions of chronic pain and it's issues over the years - discussions of mental health, bad days

[kalphablog-blog]

Coastal. Uisce beatha. Potential. Warm. Welcoming.

“The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.” ― James Joyce

Clonakilty, a town an hour south of Cork and almost on the coast is steeped full of a rich history. Once known for its brewery and smuggling, it looks set to become world-famous for its whisky. Situated on the south coast of Ireland it is quite the drive from the North of Ireland, but totally worth it. It is an area of outstanding natural beauty. The scene was set for the perfect day and it turned out to be just that.  

After exploring the south coast, we made our way to Clonakilty, we first walked through the streets of the town taking in the sights. It was a quiet morning and maybe the reason for the lack of activity was everyone was still in bed working off the night before, which did happen to be St Patricks Day. We stopped at a lovely local café for some breakfast and then headed across to the distillery for the 11:00 tour.  

If you are approaching the town from Cork/the East, the distillery will be one of the first buildings that catches your eye as you drive into the town. It would hard not to miss it, standing tall and proud. It is one of the most modern buildings and simply stunning. The glass front gives the passer-by a glimpse of the beautiful stills that sit at the front of the distillery. We parked in the distillery car park and made our way in.  

We were met with the warmest of welcomes which can be rare on a bank holiday (most people working on a public holiday aren’t the happiest, I know I wouldn’t be). The two ladies who met us quickly checked I had received my refund as I had stupidly ordered too many tickets. It was the attention to detail and little things that really impressed me. We turned out to be the only ones on the tour that morning apart from one other staff member from the bistro who was training. Our tour guide for the day was Mary and you couldn’t have wished for a better guide. The tour began in the distillery shop which we were then taken outside and around to the beginning spot for the tour which is outside the building. You then climb a flight of stairs and the magic begins.

The first room is a detailed and immersive history of Clonakilty, the distillery and its owners. It was at this point I began to realize that although it is a fairly new distillery, there is a lot of history and work that has happened so that the distillery stands there today. It is rare to see a new distillery with already a rich history. Founded by the Scully family, a local family, they have cultivated the coastal land of Ireland for eight successive generations. Obviously therefore this distillery will become one of the few to have grain to bottle spirits. Another distillery also doing this is Echlinville Distillery which we absolutely love. The barley is grown in fields right on the coast and therefore it gains characteristics from the constant sea spray. They really do say it best.

“Our fields at the base of Galley Head Lighthouse are the perfect environment to nurture and grow the finest of crops. Centuries of sea mist, soft rain and ocean spray provide a complexity to the soil that permeates right through to each individual grain.”

Also a note for any visiting tourists, a recommendation from our guide is to have a walk up by the lighthouse and of course Inchydoney beach.

You then sit down for a short video covering the people and the distillery, it is a beautifully shot film and is easier to digest for those who prefer video to written text. The video details the whiskey and distillery’s beginnings and is a well-rounded introduction to what you are about to experience.

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Once you are finished the video you make your way to the upper level of the distillery to the mill room and a view of the main distillery floor. Up here you can really appreciate the surrounding area, the town of Clonakilty and the beauty of the three stills. Mary very intelligently brought us through the initial processes of whiskey making. A process we are all too familiar with from our many distillery explorations but nevertheless she kept it interesting and engaging.

We then made our way down to the distillery floor which we were taken through the processes of whiskey making from fermentation to distillation. I would go through it in detail here but I wouldn’t want to spoil the magic for anyone visiting the distillery. Their process is similar to that of any distillery and it is clearly all to a high standard. You also get to see the still in which their gin is distilled. Their gin – Minke – was how we came to learn of the distillery when they launched it at the Gin Experience in Dublin. Since that first sip we truly fell in love. This time however we were here to taste the whiskey.

Before we could taste, there was one very crucial stage left, in fact possibly the most important stage in any whiskey – maturation. This is where a whiskey truly picks up its character. Clonakilty have really jumped into the art of this, with using port, cognac and many other barrel types. Again this part is best explained on video. This was in one of the most amazing rooms I have been in.

The distillery is beautifully decorated beginning to end but it is in the aging room that the interior truly shines. A glamorous long wooden table is surrounded by embroidered chairs and all lit with old Russian warehouse lighting. The attention to detail is spot on and I am sure I missed many more details. My favourite was the stunning metal whale tail mounted on the wall.

Clonakilty’s whiskey is finished at their Atlantic Ocean maturation warehouse and this creates even more character given the cool salty sea air that the barrels will sit in.

The above picture shows the charring on the inside of the wooden barrels that give the whiskey its flavour and colour. The charring creates those caramel tones and brings out the oils in the wood further. The aging process and advancement of colour is demonstrated in a beautiful cupboard.

We then moved into the speakeasy to taste the whiskey, the part everyone is the most excited for.

After a fantastic in-depth tour – Mary also took us through our tasting. We had opted for the connoisseur tasting. We were to try three whiskeys – the core Small Batch, the Cognac Cask finish and the Distillery exclusive a Single Malt Single Cask. Before the whiskey tasting we were offered something we had never been offered before at any distillery. Bearing in mind we have been to countless distilleries, this was shocking. Mary offered the driver, three small miniatures to pour the remainders of their tastings so they didn’t go to waste. Again it was the little touches and attention to detail that made this distillery so wonderful. After establishing who was going to drive we went on with the tasting.

I truly believe at every distillery we learn something new and this was no different. This time it was in how to nose the whiskey. I already knew to open my mouth so the vapors also flow through your nose and touch the back of your tongue on the way past, but this time Mary instructed us to pass it by our noses three times in a circular motion to get our palettes used to the smell. This really helped and is a trick I have used since.

The first tasting was the Small Batch, the core whiskey of their range. Served in the perfect whiskey tasting glass you receive a generous amount. First we were encouraged to observe the colour and appearance of the whiskey, then to observe the “legs” of the whiskey. All this before even tasting and we were learning so much about the whiskey just from its appearance. We then moved on to nose the whiskey using the above technique, almost tasting the whiskey as the vapours pass down your neck. Finally then getting to taste the whiskey.

The tasting like the nosing of the whiskey was done in a unique way too. Far too many times I have been to a distillery and been told countless flavours that I should be tasting, at Clonakilty this was quite the opposite. Mary sat back and allowed us to taste the whiskey for ourselves and for once without the guidance of flavour profiles, it allowed our palates to work naturally. We were able to taste what we tasted instead of what we were “supposed to”. I must be honest to start with I felt a little lost without knowing what I should be tasting, but I soon found my feet and it made for a very enjoyable and mind-opening tasting. It truly was a fantastic way to make the taster carve their own experience.

The small batch is a silky smooth whiskey and really is a good core whiskey for them to have. Usually this is the whiskey that will sell the most and be tasted the most, so it is an important foundation to get correct for any distillery. I think the Double Gold it won at the San Francisco Spirits Competition really speaks for itself. I of course picked up a bottle from the distillery shop.

The second tasting was the Cask Finish Series, which was the Cognac finish. If you are a cognac lover but would like to dabble in whiskey, this is the one for you. Any cognac drinker who has tasted our bottle has loved it. At 43.6% you would expect it to have quite the burn but it is wonderfully smooth and is elevated with a few drops of water

The final tasting was a distillery exclusive, a single malt aged in Bourbon casks. Personally I am not a fan of single malts, it has too much of a waxy aftertaste for me. That is totally a personal preference and I can still appreciate a good single malt. This had all the personality of a single malt and wasnt as repellant to me as some single malts. So I’d say its pretty fantastic for any single malt lovers!

Our tasting and distillery experience was sublime and I will certainly be returning with friends if in the area again. There is so much undiscovered beauty on the south coast of Ireland and it is places like clonakilty distillery that make the trip there so worthwhile.

We finished our tour and of course picked up some bottles in the shop to bring home. Even the interior design of the gift shop is brilliant. After purchasing our bottles with a discount from the tour ticket, we popped them in the car and made our way back into the bistro for a fantastic lunch.

A gem of the irish coastline and name I think the whiskey industry will be speaking for a long time.

The Tipsy Times: Clonakilty Distillery @clonakiltydistillery Coastal. Uisce beatha. Potential. Warm. Welcoming. “The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.”

[junker-town]

'I'm not trying to be a celebrity': A night with Marlins Man at the All-Star Game

Miami lawyer Laurence Leavy has transformed himself into a meme and is taking enough selfies to stay that way.

MIAMI — Laurence Leavy is sitting in the exclusive Diamond Club of Marlins Park, eating a huge piece of rainbow cake. He loves this cake. This is the best cake in the world, he tells me, as he scrapes all the frosting off the side. He puts the huge spoonful of sugar and butter in his mouth, then separates the different colored layers from each other. He starts making his way through them, but not in ROY G. BIV order.

I remark that I’ve never seen someone approach a piece of cake this way. A local radio host named Andy, who’s sitting next to Leavy, looks up from his dinner.

“You hang around him for 12 hours,” Andy says, nodding in Leavy’s direction, “and you’ll see a lot of things you’ve never seen before.”

You probably wouldn’t care if another wealthy worker’s compensation lawyer were scarfing down dessert in Miami an hour before the MLB All-Star Game. But Leavy isn’t just a lawyer. Leavy is Marlins Man, the guy who’s become famous for sitting in prominent seats at almost every big sporting event each year, wearing an orange Marlins visor and a jersey. He’s been doing this since 2014, after a cancer scare. He claims he can travel so extensively because he’s able to work remotely, since only 1 percent of his cases go to trial.

“They said, ‘We’ll make you famous,’ and I said, ‘I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t care about that. I already am famous.” — Marlins Man

People take selfies with Marlins Man. Sports websites write about him. He’s a super-fan who became a walking meme, and has since brought hundreds, if not thousands, of strangers to games over the past three or so years since he became A Thing. He says he demands only that his guests perform random acts of kindness in return for tickets. He donates tens of thousands of dollars to firefighters, the troops, teachers. He refers to these groups of everyday Americans as the “silent majority.”

Marlins Man is on his biggest stage tonight: the All-Star Game of his favorite sport is in his hometown. He gets to play host to the world he spends all of his time traveling to be a part of.

“It doesn’t go to my head,” he says, leaning back in the leather chair as he plows his fork through the green layer of cake. “I’m not trying to be a celebrity, I’m not trying to be discovered. I already have my law firm, I already have my horses, I already have my real estate buildings. When people say to me, like, ‘Oh, I can make you,’ I say, ‘I don’t give a shit.’”

He finishes the green layer and moves onto the orange one before he continues.

“I wouldn’t even do Sports Illustrated when they came up to me at the World Series in 2015,” he says. “They said, ‘We’ll make you famous,’ and I said, ‘I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t care about that. I already am famous.’

For a guy who claims he doesn’t care about being known, Leavy certainly seems to track how many people know about him. He tells me that there have been 88,000 pictures tagged of him on the internet and 425 articles written about him. He says he has every single piece of press printed out in a binder, and that one newspaper from 2015, with a headline referring to him as Mr. October, is framed in his office.

Charlotte Wilder

Leavy’s father is the reason Leavy, who at 60-years-old has no wife and no children, is a lawyer. Marlins Man Sr. (not his legal name) owned greyhound race tracks, printing business, TV stations, parking garages, and a few other random businesses in Miami. He had 3,000 employees and 13 corporations and was always getting sued, Leavy says, so he urged his son to become an attorney. That way, the elder Leavy reasoned, his child would have a permanent client.

Leavy’s father was a heavy smoker and died of lung cancer when he was 70. Everyone else in his family lived to be in their 90s. Leavy looks at the purple layer of the cake, the only one he hasn’t eaten yet. He puts his fork down and falls silent for the first time since I sat down with him. I tell him I’m sorry for his loss.

“Thank you, yeah,” Leavy says.

I ask him if he thinks his dad would be proud of him.

“Yeah, I think I’m the most successful person my family’s ever seen. By far. I’ve been in USA TODAY, ESPN Magazine,” he says, and with the mention of national news outlets, Leavy becomes Marlins Man again.

“I’ve been in ... everywhere,” he continues, waving his hand around to indicate where everywhere is. “It doesn’t matter to me. I met this morning with [ESPN’s] Darren Rovell, and I was like, ‘I don’t care if you write about me.’ He goes, ‘That’s what so great about you, you really are a fan, you don’t care.’ I go, ‘Yeah.’”

“You do keep track of your press, though,” I say.

“Yeah, I had to hire two staff member to keep up with it,” Marlins Man says.

‘So, it feels like the main thing that you get is attention,” I say.

“No, I don’t get attention,” he says.

“Really?” I ask. “You have all these followers.”

He tells me that doesn’t have followers, he has people thanking him for what he does, for standing up for the troops. I ask him how he stands up for them.

“I just told you,” he says. “You weren’t listening? Are you deaf? Are you deaf?”

“No, I’m not deaf, I — ” I say, but he cuts me off.

“Okay, so I just told you exactly what I do,” he says, raising his voice a little. “I go around to other cities teaching people how to appreciate those that sacrifice for them.”

“I just meant, how do you do that?” I ask. “Like, how?”

“I fly in airplanes.”

I can tell that I’m not going to get anywhere with this line of questioning, so I change the subject and ask Marlins Man if he’s excited that the All-Star Game is in Miami.

He is excited. So are the nine Mermaids he’s bringing with him, he says. Mermaids is the name he’s given to women he finds attractive and brings to games, since that’s what the Marlins called their cheerleading squad until the team disbanded it in 2012.

@ChelsSteinberg @mikaela_agnolin @korinnamarie. At @marlins game. @espn @mlb Someone told us they are Marlins Man Mermaids. Cute name. http://pic.twitter.com/pxqR7pNb8h

— Marlins_Man (@Marlins_Man) May 11, 2017

“They’re all pretty, all athletic, all with big boobs, all wearing low-cut shirts like Miami, all showing cleavage, every one of ‘em,” he says, showing me a picture of previous Marlins’ cheerleaders. “You see a lot of ‘em look like Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders. They’re showing cleavage.”

“This is what you wanted to bring back?” I ask.

“Yeah, I wanted to bring back energy and positiveness,” he says. “And I asked the Marlins, and they said no. I said, ‘I’ll pay for this,’ and they weren’t into it.”

Marlins Man tells me bringing back the Mermaids would help distract the other team when they’re in the field. It’s worked before, he says, when of the women recently flashed a Cardinals player.

“Does that not seem a little messed up to use— ” I ask, and Marlins Man cuts me off again.

“No,” he says. “Let me ask you this, you ever go to a football game and sit behind the goal? You jump up to make kicker miss the kick? What’s the difference?” He asks.

“This just seems more sexualized,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says. He thinks about it for a second before he finishes his cake.

Marlins Man decides it time “to walk,” which is what he calls going around and taking selfies with fans. We head out to the field.

“I’m a talking mascot. The Marlins do have a mascot, but it doesn’t talk. I talk.” — Marlins Man

He’s immediately swarmed. It takes ten minutes to make it up one section of the park — people keep coming up to him and asking to take selfies. He’s in his element; when he reaches the concourse, a line forms behind him. One woman takes a picture of her son with Marlins Man using a big DSL camera. Everyone is grinning. Thirty people wait their turn, phones in hand, fidgeting with the cameras open.

After Marlins Man photographs his way through the gathered crowd, he takes me to his seats behind home plate. In addition to his Mermaids, he’s bringing 39 other people to the game tonight, paying for all of their tickets. He asks me if I need a seat, cracks jokes with the ushers, introduces me to them. He knows them all by name, and they all seem pleased to see him.

Marlins Man is smiling a lot out here, energized by the lights of the park. His tone has softened, his defenses dropped a bit since getting out of the Diamond Club. He seems earnest when he tells me he likes me, and appreciates that I’ve recorded everything on my phone so I can’t twist his words. I tell him I will do my best not to.

Charlotte Wilder

Leavy is a three-dimensional human, one who seems lonely, even in a crowd, and hungry for attention while vehemently denying he wants it. This real person has tried to make himself relevant by turning himself into Marlins Man, a two-dimensional image flattened onto people’s screens and social feeds. He wants to matter.

And it’s worked. I witness countless fans light up as it dawns on them that the Marlins man walking towards them is indeed Marlins Man. I see the moment when they realize that if they hold their phone in front of their faces and take a picture, they’ll be in on the joke, or a new member of the club, or whatever it is that Marlins Man commands. They’ll be a part of something that wouldn’t exist without him.

“I’m a talking mascot,” Leavy says, turning away from the latest group selfie to face me. “The Marlins do have a mascot, but it doesn’t talk. I talk.”

Before I leave him, Marlins Man tells me to take a picture with him on my phone. I oblige. After we say goodbye, he immediately turns to the person next to him and strikes up a conversation. I turn around when I reach the top of the stairs. They’re taking a selfie.