The One in a Million

I don’t even know where to begin. I attended the Phillies-Cardinals game this past Saturday along with ozziecanseco, and our west coast contact, Bob Lucero. He’d flown in from Seattle for the weekend, and had a hankering to see what a real baseball experience was like. On top of all the awesomeness of which going to baseball games is, it was also picture day, so the chances of my head exploding were comparable to the chances of Michael Vick being called a douchebag by any dog lover.

We arrived at the parking lot around 12:40pm for a 4 o’clock start. Soon after, the Yuengling was flowing like water. Bob, ozziecanseco, and I saddled up around the flamingbat mobile and began the process of getting inebriated. It had to be fast; the players were coming on the field at 2 o’clock for pics.

A half hour or so goes by and MoonlightGraham emerges from some cornstalks I had strategically placed a few parking spots away. He joins in on the fun, and before we know it, it’s 2 o’clock. We finish up, and begin our journey to the game.

We arrives in the stadium and to no surprise, the field is packed with fans trying to get pictures with all the players (or as I liked to think of it, holding our spots). As fate would have it…the first Phillie coming around was none other than Chris Coste. Keep in mind, my Coste shirt jersey had arrived from mlb.com the day earlier and there wasn’t a single soul in the stadium rocking the duds I had. So we push to the front, yell out “Chris how bout a picture!” Of course he graciously accepts, and we get this sweet effin pick of me, ozzie, and Coste. Picutre day continues and we get cash/money shots of a ton of players including Michael Bourn, Mike Zagurski, El Pulpo, among many others. Highlight other than the Coste pic? ozziecanseco negotiating with Carlos Ruiz for a pic…en espangol…and wishing him good luck in the game, to which he simply replied with a confused look, “Gracias.”

So time was up, with all of our asses kicked by how awesome picture day was. We head to the gift shop where Bob smartly purchases a Victorino shirt. Get some beers, and head to our great seats, 4th row in left field.

The game is going swimmingly–Phillies killing, dingers for Rowand, ManChild, and Rollins, a grizzled USMC vet heckling us about anything possible, me riding Chris Duncan like Barbaro. And then right before the 6th inning…it happened.

Leftfielder and resident thief Pat Burrell was about 20 feet in front of us, warming up before the inning, as per the norm. As the batter is about to come to the plate, he turns and throws the ball into the stands. He throws…I see it…holy shit it’s coming towards me…bounces off Bob and I catch it.

Let me repeat that. I CAUGHT A BALL AT A BASEBALL GAME.

From the picture you can tell that A) I have a totally dumbfounded look on my face because I can’t believe that just happened and B) I didn’t spill a drop of my beer, because its Sam’s Summer Ale and my skills are on point. Now, not 10 seconds after I catch it, 3 little mongrel kids run up to me with their hands out stretched like its some type of charity event. First of all, how can I chose which kid to give the ball to, and second of all, how can I give a ball to a grubbing little weiner of a kid? It made sense to me.

So I sit down with the ball, and the entire section starts booing me! (I love Philly). I’d give the ball to a kid, but not one of those little leeches…so I turn around, and 2 rows behind me I see a kid not a day older than five, with a big Phillies hat on and his glove. Sitting with his dad, enjoying the game…so I flip him the ball. Immediately as I saw the kids reaction I knew I’d done the right thing. But damn…doing the right thing sometimes is hard. So little Dylan, you’d better not forget that day, because I know I sure won’t.

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One Response

  1. Carlos Ruiz has the same dumbfounded look on his face whenever anyone is talking in ANY language. His universal motto should be “Que.”

    Nice reaction to the game. My friend went on that day, too, but I doubt he had anything close to an experience like that. Catching a ball. Getting booed by a whole section. (You should have said, “Oh, like you want a ball from Burell anyway! That’s what I thought. Shuttt up.”) Being the kind guy and giving a little kid the ball. That’s storybook stuff. Now, if only ya boy Coste threw you the ball and not that piece of shit Burell. That would have been the caper.

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