Thursday, June 15, 2006
It is the goal of every American male to catch at least one foul ball before exiting this earth for the big ballpark in the sky. This act of manhood has eluded me for 57 years. Then, I got my best chance last night.
Michael Young fouled a line drive toward the area above and to the left of us. "Us" is Michael, Brooke, myself, and Blake, sitting in that order. The ball ricocheted off someone's hands and directly toward us. Michael was first in line to catch it, but he claims he didn't see it. Next in line was Brooke, and the ball hit her on the edge of her hand and was deflected downward.
I looked down and saw the ball wedged next to the rear end of the gentleman sitting in front of us and the side of his seat. Lightning-quick, I reached down to grab the horsehide prize, but the man was quicker. It was his first foul ball trophy as well.
All of the above took place in less than two seconds. I'm left with several questions: What if we had sat in a different order? If Michael had caught the ball, would he have given it to me as a Father's Day gift? If I like macaroni and cheese, why don't I like cheese?
Posted by Tim Perkins at 6/15/2006 08:31:00 AM