Nine years ago, I was a Navy brat living in Rota, Spain, where my mother worked at the naval hospital. That summer, I went to a Little League baseball tournament in a small town called Kutno, Poland. In the fourth game, we were playing the DoD team from Belgium. I got drilled in the ribs by their pitcher and didn't play for the rest of the tourney. Fast forward nine years to yesterday...I showed up to my new brigade in El Paso, TX, for the first time. The brigade commander informed me that I'd be working at the S3 shop for now. I went on down there and met my new coworkers, and struck up a conversation with another LT. He told me how he lived in Belgium as a kid, and said he had visited Rota and stuff. So we get to talking about our experiences, and I mention the baseball tournament: Him- "KUTNO! Yeah, man, I was there in 2001 for the Belgian team. Good times." Me- "Oh cool! I actually got HBP when we played you guys and I missed the rest of the tournament..." Him- "Oh. My. God. I remember that. It was me who hit you. I've still got the VHS tapes of it. Sorry, bro." So pretty much, I get beaned by a total stranger on the other side of the planet almost a decade ago, and yesterday, it turns out that we're not just both on the same post, or the same brigade, but in the same office, in a city 6,000 miles from where we first "met". I've heard some whacky small world stories before, but this one takes the cake. Wow.