Baseball history was made last Saturday night at Fieldcrest Cannon Stadium, home of the Kannapolis Intimidators, Class A affiliate of the Chicago White Sox. In the first inning of the Intimidators' 8-2 victory over the Greensboro Grasshoppers, I caught my first ever foul ball at a baseball game.
Seated in the third seat of the second row on the outfield end of the third base dugout, I bare-handed a screaming one-hopper off the bat of some guy from one of the teams (the thrill of victory forced all the finer details from my mind). Not only did I get the ball, but I discovered something possibly more important to a baseball fan - the secret of snagging those elusive rawhide spheres. What you need to do, when you see a screamer headed your way, is: 1) close your eyes; 2) duck hastily, as though your life (or your front teeth) depended on it; 3) let the ball carom off the ankle of the guy next to you; 4) open your eyes; and 5) wrap your hand around the ball as it rolls lazily under your seat.
It helps (your ego) immensely if you can concoct a story to make it sound as if you made the play of the game. And you don't even have to lie to make it sound heroic. For example, while the details in my five-step plan for catching a foul ball are, in fact, the way it really happened, I did snag the ball with one bare hand. And it really was a blistering one-hopper, the likes of which cause even a flower-tongued soul like myself to exclaim, "Oh $%#&!!" Of course, I would never say anything like that out loud, unless I'm behind the wheel, but something along those lines did cross my mind as I saw the ball whistling in my direction. It's at moments like those that I wish I had bought the cheap seats.
So, maybe it wasn't one of those amazing grabs that earns a highlight on Sports Center, but for me it was something I'll always remember - my first real foul ball! It certainly beats the story I've been leaning on the last 27 years, in which the Andy Frain usher in the left field bleachers at Wrigley Field handed me a ball he had retrieved during batting practice of a game against those stinking Mets. That occurred at the first game back after the players' strike of 1981 (which brings up much more disturbing thoughts about actually being able to remember, vividly, things that happened soooo long ago). After nearly three decades, it's nice to have a different story to tell, even if I have to polish it up to make it sound good. Plus, you can't really count on impressing people for long with stories about how some old guy handed you a ball simply because you were the cutest kid to stroll through the ballpark gates.
Labels: Sports