Foul Ball Redemption

I have attended many baseball games in my life. Though I could speak of winning pitchers, dramatic homeruns, and dazzling catches- I have decided instead to use valuable column space to share with you some experiences I have had with foul balls. And if you're still reading at the end, there will be a point to this column. My first foul ball encounter occurred when I was eleven and my parents took me to see my beloved Pittsburgh Pirates play. At one point during pre-game batting practice, Manny Sanguillen- one of my favorite players- lifted a foul ball near the left field foul line that magically guided itself directly toward my personal space on planet Earth. Every child's dream. The fact I wasn't wearing my glove was irrelevant. I was about to catch my first foul ball. At about the same time my eyes recognized the distinctive red seams of a baseball, the self-preservation area of my brain secreted a message to the rest of my body, causing that body to bail out and duck for cover. A split second later the ball struck the seat behind me and bounced back onto the playing field. I was crushed and embarrassed. Some twenty years later I was attending a jam packed high school state playoff baseball game and decided to place my folding chair on a hill far down the right field line so I could be alone and peacefully evaluate some players I was recruiting. About midway through the game, a player stroked a line drive foul ball in my direction. I calculated the odds of a ball striking a person sitting all by himself to be extremely low and concluded that the best thing to do was not move and play it cool. A millisecond before would-be impact, my brain again secreted survival waves and I moved my head slightly to the right just in time to avoid a natural disaster. Most of the crowd laughed while a few hissed at the “cowardly moron” sitting by himself who didn't have the sense to get up and move when a line drive was headed his way. And so the saga continued. Until a recent high school JV game in which my son was playing. While I was sitting in the bleachers, a foul ball was launched high into the air and appeared to be descending in my vicinity. Again, knowing the odds were against it landing on me, I kept my seat as usual. But the ball, my right hand, and destiny would all meet in one dramatic instant. I reached up at the last moment and the ball stuck like glue in the palm of my hand. I tossed it back onto the field as an impressed crowd observed. A friend a few rows away yelled, “Hey, you can mark that off your list just like catching a (miniature) football from a cheerleader!” Maybe she has a point, I thought. So as soon as possible I checked the “To Do Before I Die (Bucket List)” on my laptop and there it was, bigger than life: “Catch a foul ball in the air at a baseball game.” As I crossed it off the list, I couldn't help but think that Manny Sanguillen would be proud, even if it was almost forty years late.