Beware of Foul Balls This Time of Year

Recently college basketball analyst Dick Vitale was struck in the abdomen by a foul ball at a Tampa Bay Rays baseball game. Fortunately Vitale was fine and had a sense of humor about the situation when interviewed on camera a few minutes later. It seems there’s been an unusual amount of foul ball incidents lately in baseball games. It started during spring training when Hideki Matsui, a member of the Los Angeles Angels, stroked a foul ball that sailed into the parking lot and struck the team owner’s car, smashing the windshield. What are the odds? I’ve always been fascinated with foul balls. When I was eleven years old, I had the opportunity to experience the thrill of a foul ball headed right toward me at a Pirates-Braves game in Atlanta. The ball was hit by one of my favorite players, Manny Sanguillen, and I would have given my entire baseball card collection at the time to have that ball. I would love to tell you that someone jumped in front of me and caught it, but that would be a major embellishment. The truth is that I bailed out and ducked for cover, thus wasting a perfectly magnificent opportunity to achieve sports immortality- in my own mind at least. I’ve seen fans catch line drives bare handed while overpaid players on the field miss line drives often, and they’re wearing gloves. I saw at man at the College World Series in Omaha in 2004 catch a line drive with his jacket. I’ve witnessed fans clapping and cheering wildly at high school games when they heard a foul ball smash a car outside of the stadium. For the life of me I can’t figure out why that deserves an ovation but it happens all the time. And not to be outdone, the sound effects people in the press box even press buttons when foul balls leave the park to make it sound like the ball is smashing a windshield. People even clap for that, too. I’m not the first person to ask this question, but why do folks holler “Heads up!” when a foul ball is headed in someone’s direction. It would seem more appropriate to duck instead of raising up, thus exposing the dome within which your brain resides. My youngest son is not a huge baseball fan but he loves to go to his older brother’s games lately. He has caught the fever for catching- or more appropriately retrieving- foul balls. At major league games you keep the ball. At youth league games there’s an even better deal- take it to the concession stand and trade it for a drink or candy. My son hauls in five balls a game on a good night, adequate to supply him with enough Coke and Sour Patch Kids candy to keep him awake until 3 a.m. I’ve retrieved plenty of foul balls at various sorts of games before but I’ve never caught one in the air to the best of my recollection. It has now become a goal of mine. And since I don’t carry a glove around on my person, I will be forced to accomplish the feat barehanded. I am looking forward to hearing the crowd cheer when I make a highlight reel catch. I just hope I don’t bail out again.

Interesting Conversations at the Front Door

Lately it seems that more and more folks are showing up at my front door wanting to talk religion. Most of the time I am in agreement with the door-to-door witnesses and I thank them for being bold in their faith. But regardless of the circumstance, I try to be respectful, cordial, and brief. Recently a gentleman confronted me with an interesting question. He simply asked, “Are you a Christian?” I answered in the affirmative then proceeded to share with him about my church and my position as a deacon. He reminded me that being a deacon doesn’t make one a Christian- a statement I quickly expressed my agreement with. His observation got me to thinking. If you could be a deacon and not be a Christian, perhaps you could be a lot of other things without being a Christian. So I have compiled a list of things people say and do that make them look and feel like Christians, but don’t by themselves guarantee a spot on a page in the Book of Life. Being nice to old dogs, stray cats, and pet hamsters doesn’t make one a Christian. Neither does treating the elderly with respect or being courteous to telemarketers when they call you at suppertime. If I keep my yard mowed, my truck clean, and my room picked up, that doesn’t make me a Christian even though there is some merit to the saying “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” (If that’s the case I stand on shaky ground.) Reading Billy Graham’s column in the paper and forwarding all those inspirational emails without deleting them doesn’t make one a Christian anymore than gluing wings on a frog makes him a bird. Just because I don’t covet my neighbor’s wife, his lawn mower, his fishing boat, and his power tools- doesn’t mean I’m a Christian- though it might be evidence that I’m a fairly decent neighbor. Even though it’s a real good thing to do, giving money to the Red Cross, the Salvation Army bell ringers, the church, and the homeless person on the street doesn’t guarantee anything. Neither does knowing all the words to the National Anthem, the Battle Hymn of the Republic, most Christmas carols, and the latest song by Steven Curtis Chapman. (He’s got some great stuff, by the way.) Maybe we’ve come to believe that obeying the speed limit, tipping waitresses, and crying at sad movies, religious songs, and high school graduations makes us Christians. Sorry, no dice. But what if I’m honest on my tax returns and tell the truth about my kid’s ages when I’m in line at McDonalds or the movie theatre. Doesn’t that count for something? Yes, but it still doesn’t mean I’m a Christian. These thoughts were racing through my mind as my witness friend continued to ask me how I knew I was a Christian. When it came my time to speak, all the Christmas carols, telemarketers, tax returns, and the deacon stuff all vanished from my mind and simplicity reigned. “It’s all about the cross,” I said, “And the amazing grace that I’ve been blessed with because of it.” There was more- but having heard what he wanted to hear- my traveling friend smiled and said, “Blessings to you Brother, I’ll be moving on now.”

Phantom Injuries and Vibrations

Recently a major league manager was accused of instructing his starting pitcher to fake an injury to give his relief pitcher more time to get properly warmed up in the bullpen. What makes it interesting is that the manager didn’t deny it. Anybody who has coached baseball for very long has employed the “phantom injury” strategy to stall. Act like you’re injured to buy some time. Develop a cramp, pretend like you got a crick in your neck, or get a bug in your eye. Football players develop phantom injuries to stop the clock or give a worn out defense a few seconds rest. Boxers fake phantom injuries when they’re getting the mess whooped out of them so someone will stop the fight without them having to quit. Humans have been known to smell phantom odors, coexist in phantom marriages, sleep through phantom dreams, and drive phantom cars. My phantom brain can neither understand nor comprehend any of these but nonetheless, they exist. A few months back, the bus transporting my college baseball team was involved in a sideswipe with a car. So minor was the impact that most of us, including the bus driver, had no idea anything had occurred. Long story short, the police came and made everyone on the bus provide their names and contact information. Within days all of us were getting letters from lawyers willing to represent us in our effort to turn our pain into financial gain. One player called them ambulance chasers. Others joked about suddenly developing whiplash or something- i.e. a phantom injury. It made me wonder how many people have been talked into developing phantom injuries that make all our insurance rates go up. I’ve always considered myself above all these phantoms. The “fake an injury” stall method is my least favorite as a coach. I prefer to send the catcher out to talk to the pitcher or go myself to talk to the umpire about his wife and family to buy some time. But alas, I have recently been stricken with a phantom. It involves a cellphone. For a while I thought I was going crazy. Then I surmised that it was because I was getting old and my aging body parts twitch when I don’t want them to at times. During the past few months, on several occasions, I have felt my cellphone vibrating in my pocket and reached to answer it only to discover that it was either A) not ringing or B) not in my pocket. A quick internet search revealed that I am not crazy, though it didn’t say anything about me not getting older. There’s even a support group for Phantom Vibrations on Facebook, which I will not join because I am in denial. One website claimed that I am experiencing “ringxiety” and that I need professional help to prevent me from obsessing on receiving a call I am secretly dreading. But I don’t think that’s quite it. Instead of getting professional help for my condition, I will continue to write phantom columns and pretend that I have a huge international following of weekly readers. And since I invent words from time to time, I shall henceforth refer to my condition as “Delusionary Phantomic Ramblings”. Weak yes, but it beats getting a bug in my eye.

I LIke the Kid Who Doesn't Like the Cussin'

Recently a colleague of mine spent nine innings in the dugout of the team I coach during a college baseball game. He confessed to me later that his friends had properly warned him that he needed to be prepared for some rough language along the way. He also admitted afterwards that the coaching staff and team members didn’t live up to those expectations. (Thank goodness he didn’t stay for the second game of the doubleheader.) Come to think of it, the opposing team’s players and coaches accounted for the vast majority of the improprieties during that second game, evidenced by the fact that we had no one ejected and they did. I hear bad words occasionally and I’m not a fan of them during a baseball game or anywhere else. I’m convinced a person can make their point or express their frustration without “dropping bombs”. One of my fellow coaching brethren rattled off the most entertaining replacement curse I’ve ever heard during a game a year or two ago while arguing an umpire’s call. His utterance could best be described as “Jimineeeeeeeeeee Cricket!” He masterfully rolled the last syllable of “Jiminy” and placed strong emphasis on the word “Cricket”. It was the cleanest and most artistic expression of frustration I have ever heard. A middle school boy from California is now one of my heroes. His name is McKay Hatch and he started a website called nocussing.com. Sick of hearing curses from his classmates, he has challenged them to use words like barnacles, (borrowed from Spongebob Squarepants) and other words like flip and pickles when they fail a test or strike out with the bases loaded. McKay has been featured on FOX News, Jay Leno, and Dr. Phil among others. But here’s the part that blows my mind. McKay has been the recipient of over 60,000 threatening emails, many claiming intent to kill the teen. You may recall from a previous column that a replacement favorite in the Stroupe household is Crud! We even to try to avoid Crud when possible but every once in a while a pinky toe stumped by a table leg deserves some extra emotion. Our current Vice President forgot to use a replacement word before a recent press conference. In his partial defense, Mr. Biden didn’t realize the microphone would pick up the “F” word he spoke into the President’s ear just after he introduced him. Even so, America’s ears bled and McKay and I were disappointed. Not because we’re perfect but rather because we are looking for leaders to stand up and be good role models. The Vice President should put a dollar in McKay’s “No Cussing Jar”. Some people claim that replacement curse words are just as bad as the originals because people are actually implying the originals when they say the replacements. Okay, I get the point. But by that reasoning, a person could shout out a bad one and then claim they were implying the replacement. Either way, I’m proud of McKay Hatch and I’m proud my baseball players behaved the day my friend joined us in the dugout. But for the life of me, I still can’t understand why the Jiminy Cricket anyone would send death threats to a kid who’s tired of hearing people curse. Hang in there, McKay. You rock.