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(My goal in these posts is to get you thinking about the value of friendship and the ways friendships happen as I prepare for my journey to reflect deeply on friendship at the end of August)

I, and the Colorado Rockies, were in town in Denver this past weekend. In my case, to officiate a wedding. In the Rockies’ case, to host Juan Soto, Pete Alonso, Francisco Lindor, and the rest of the first-place New York Mets. As is my custom when schedules align, I brainstormed who might be interested in catching a game. Who do I know in Denver?

The answer to this question presented a few options. The couple who used to go to our church being one, and I had partaken in this pleasure with them before. Last time I was in Denver, in fact, they’d been willing to drive into the city to meet me at the ballpark where we witnessed our first fan interference on what would have been a walk-off home run for the Rockies. But there was another answer: Shawn, who I’d met but don’t know so well. Shawn is close with people I know — a friend of a friend. I decided to try him this time, in hopes of getting to know him a little more.

I’d emailed Shawn and didn’t hear back for some time. I also had to make sure this game worked around the wedding weekend schedule, so I wasn’t yet able to commit. When I did hear back, I was pleasantly surprised that Shawn had a lead on some tickets from someone he knew and that he hoped to be able to secure them for us and two more. I wondered, since Shawn is a fairly connected guy, how good the seats would be. I chose not to get my hopes up too high, since the last time a friend secured seats from an athletic director for a college game, and we got our hopes up, we ended up in the far corner of the nosebleeds at Tucson’s McKale Center, against a concrete wall and surrounded by fans of the opposing team. I invited Cruz, my travel companion, and we kept our speculation to a minimum.

A day or so before I hopped on the plane to Denver, Shawn updated me. Yes, we have the tickets! His wife Diane would join us. I still didn’t know where we were sitting. Upon arrival in Denver, I met Charles, the brother of the groom, who expressed that he wished he could catch a game in town. I encouraged him to share our Uber and jump in with us. Being a Rockies game, and the Rockies having the worst record in baseball, we were sure to have an open seat near ours! I reached out to Shawn to ask where our seats were. First base side, 13 rows up… not bad at all! And Charles was easily able to secure one nearby. We had a posse and a plan.

Upon a slightly late arrival, we found Shawn and his wife under the light pole in front of the ballpark. Shawn was eager to get us in the gate, because our tickets came with a benefit. It turns out that the owner of the seats never sits in them, because he is the radio voice for the Rockies who is always perched in the broadcast booth above home plate with his computer and scorecard. With his tickets in hand, we also had access to the booth for one early inning, to watch the broadcasters work and get a photo. We didn’t want to miss our opportunity!

What Shawn didn’t know is that I am a particular fan of radio broadcasts! In my friend Sam’s home I learned, from his father Bob, that the radio is the way to go. He’d mute the WGN-TV broadcasts of the Cubs in favor of the commentators on the airwaves, who spoke far more descriptively about the game on the field, painting the picture for those who could not see what they saw. Since re-engaging with baseball, I’ve primarily listened to it on the radio — mostly Pat Hughes and Ron Coomer calling Cubs games on WSCR, but occasionally to whatever game is on at the time. Doing so has made me curious as to how they do it. How do they find their information, know when to read ads, and keep track of what’s happened throughout the game so accurately?

As we made our way up the elevator to the “press box,” we got some raised eyebrows from fellow fans who were unable to get off at our floor (minus Charles, who was intent on getting a jersey). We signed in and received our instructions before stepping right behind Jerry and Jack as they called Senzatela’s 3rd inning, in which he handled the meat of the order including a strikeout of Alonso to end the inning. They had a small TV screen, but both announcers were glued to the field of play. Shawn whispered, “I wondered how much they used the monitors… they haven’t looked at it once!” Jerry was keeping score the old-fashioned way. Jack had a computer screen full of data and information to chime in with. They were undeterred by our presence, calmly describing the action until, “They struck him out!”… the tension broke at a pivotal moment. We snapped our photos during a commercial break and got in a few words of introduction, and they dove back into their work as we made our way past the Wall of Fame and back down the elevator.

Shawn met Jerry through a friend who thought he might have a heart to help the poor, which he did. Shawn clued me in on Jerry’s transformative journey. A survivor of the United Flight 232 crash in 1989, Jerry went back into the fuselage when he heard a baby crying. He saved the child who lost everything but her life that day. Life was hard for her, and she didn’t make it to her 20th birthday. Of course, there’s a lot more to the story.

Jerry doesn’t take life — or his responsibility toward the vulnerable — lightly anymore. I felt honored to have heard this story, to know a very deep layer of a man’s life who we normally just listen to as a means to hear about a ballgame. The Rockies are no good this year, but Jerry is full of gratitude, and a little bit of it rubbed off on me on this brisk, beautiful June evening in Denver.

I’m so grateful I got to meet the friend of a friend of a friend.

Friend of a Friend of a Friend was originally published in 2,000 Miles to Wrigley on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.