Trading carrots for chocolate pudding since 2012.
So this video has been making its rounds across the interweb today and it produced a fairly heated argument between myself and a buddy. According to my friend, if he was sitting at a Major League Baseball game and was lucky enough to catch a foul ball, he’d give it away to a random kid without question.
“You’re letting someone else enjoy the whole reason why the game is played,” he said. “I’m 25. I don’t need a fucking ball.” Friend went on to say that he’d rather buy a beer, enjoy that and make someone else’s day by giving him the ball. “He will never forget that story of generosity.”
I’m calling bullshit on every single count.
Maybe it’s because I’m a diehard baseball fan.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been to more Major League and Minor League games than 95% of the population and know that catching a foul ball is practically a once-in-a-lifetime occurance (unless you’re extremely lucky).
Maybe it’s because my father, who has been to more games than 99.9999% of the population, had the wherewithal to bring a foul ball home to his son rather than give it to a random kid.
If I’m catching a foul ball, you can bet your sweet ass that I’m keeping it. I’m not giving it to some whiny little bastard who will forget where it came from 20 minutes later. If anything, I’ll hold onto it and give it to my kid along with the story of how I ended up with the ball, who hit it and where it happened. Just like I still have the ball that my dad gave me – the ball Craig Shipley fouled into the stands during a Padres game at old Jack Murphy Stadium.
That random little kid has a lifetime of games to go to – a lifetime of chances to catch his own foul ball and share that story with someone he loves.
This is my ball, and it’s my story. You can’t have it.