#3) Progressive Field, Summer 2010. I got some wicked sweet seats right behind home plate. Even though I do not prefer to stare through the screen, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to sit so close. Round about the 7th inning, there was a foul tip. The screen at the Jake does not feature the horizontal cover, just the vertical bit behind the plate. The tip screamed a touch over the top of the screen and headed to my right. The seat to that side was open, so I shuffled and leaned into my closest neighbor. Alas, the ball glanced off of my fingertips (it stung) and rattled away to another. Sorry Dad, touched it, couldn't catch it. The most upsetting part was the ruse perpetrated by the buddy I was at the game with. A wry grin on his face, he convinced me, with the help of another friend that was watching on tv, that I has been front and center on STO's coverage and looked quite the hands of stone. I have to stop believing what that dude says.
#2) Jacobs Field, Summer 2005. I am sitting on the third base side in decent seats, just past the dugout, just under the overhang. With me are the same jackass from above and a second dude, who's just hangin' out, doesn't give a flying fish about baseball. Attendance was sorta sparse and the 3 rows in front of us were completely empty. A foul comes looping towards us, but dies two rows too soon. Jackass and I lunge for it, but we both miss. There's a rattle and a clatter and before I know what's going on dude #3 has plucked the prize from its resting spot within a cup holder. Jeez oh man. Worst of all? He offered it to me. Nice thing for a friend to do, but salt in the cosmic wound.
#1) Canal Park, Summer 2004. This one is bad. Really bad. I'm watching the Aeros with a couple of college buddies and there is a set of pretty girls in the row in front of us. We're just off to the first base side, about 3 or 4 rows behind the plate. This one is pop foul. This time I'm wearing my oversized high school outfielder's mitt. The ball goes up and I turn to the guy on my right, the more athletic of the two, and I box him out. Literally. Just like goin' for a board, I drive my backside into him and push him out of the way. I'm tracking the ball the whole time and my heart is a pumpa-thumpin'. In the last moment, I realize that, like most pop-ups, this thing is coming straight down. Instead the ball is slicing back towards the plate. I make a feeble attempt to swipe it out of the air, but, of course, I miss. The ball ka-thunks right off the middle back of the chick in front of me. Ouch. Not enough beer in the world.
Ob la di. I got mine.
These guys understand. ;-j
Now you know. And knowing is half the battle.
Cheers.
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