I am a long time resident of New York City, but I grew up just outside of Minneapolis.  As a result, my sports loyalty lies squarely with all things Minnesota, particularly my beloved Minnesota Twins.  This scenario is what makes my story so interesting.

It was October of 2003 and the Twins were matched up with the Yankees in the American League Division Series.  I was walking through LaGuardia Airport, about to catch a flight back to Minneapolis for the games at the dome.  As I was going through the metal detector and putting my stuff in the bin, I noticed a driver’s license in the same bin in which I placed my shoes.  Amazingly, the ID belonged to the great Roger Clemens, who was pitching for the Yankees at the time.  I took my discovery and walked over to the gate, trying to figure out what to do with the license. 

Upon my arrival at the gate, I noticed none other than Roger Clemens waiting to board the very same flight to Minneapolis, which I was about to board.  It turned out that the Yankees were sending Clemens to Minneapolis, ahead of the team, so he would be well rested for his Game 3 start at the Metrodome.  For obvious reasons, I wanted to keep that license.  However, I had been upgraded to first class, and I knew he would be sitting near, if not next to me.  The internal struggle was quite a challenge. 

I ultimately did what my mother would have wanted me to do.  I gave it back.  In doing so, I went up to that enormous mountain of a man, threw my arm around his shoulder like we were old war buddies and said:  “Hey Rocket, I think I have something of yours.”  He was both shocked and relieved that I had both discovered and returned his precious driver’s license.  He asked if I was going to any of the games in MN.  I proudly answered yes, opened my jacket to reveal a Twins jersey, and told him he’ll be able to hear me rooting against him from the top row of the stadium.  I made sure to stress how nice I was to have returned the license and how bad my seats were for the game in an effort to get some free good tickets out of the deal.  All the jerk gave me was an autographed promotional picture of him wearing Under Armour.  Anyway, we shot the breeze for a few minutes walking down the jetway. 

Clemens ended up beating the Twins 3-1, in his Game 3 start.  The Yanks, like they do every year, knocked out the Twins in four games.  To this day, I think about what would have happened if I would have simply kept his ID, instead of giving it back to him.  Would he have been preoccupied on the mound, thinking about the whereabouts of his ID?  Would a nasty curveball have become a hanging curveball because his mind was elsewhere?  Did I cost the Twins a World Series championship?  I had my chance to contribute to the Twins’ effort to beat the hated Yankees.  In hindsight, I probably should have taken advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity.