First off, great comeback win for the Giants today, Pagan has certainly shut some mouths over the last week or so. But on another note…
For the most part I try to avoid going on too many rants. The whole point of this blog was to give us an open place to talk Giants and the posts are really only there to push along the conversation every couple of days. But in this case I felt the need to have a bit of a rant on the subject of foul balls. In case you missed it, there was an incident in Texas last night, and it has sparked a bit of a debate over how to deal with foul balls.
So I felt the need to vent a bit on the subject. Ready? Okay, here goes…
If you’re over the age of 18, shut the fuck up and give the ball to a kid. You are a grown goddamn adult, act like it.
I did get a foul ball once at a Giants/Rockies game in Denver when I was a kid. The Giants 3rd base coach saw that I was the only kid in the area wearing a Giants hat and he tossed me the ball.
It was a great memory, and I cherished the ball. Right up until the time I got into high school, got a paying job and touched my first real live boob. Oh, I still did (and do) love the Giants and the experience of going to a game, but now a foul ball is a piece of leather wrapped around some twine and an autograph is just some guy writing his name on a piece of paper. Baseballs are okay, but boobs are AWESOME!
This is called growing up. You learn that certain things which held wonder and value as a child really don’t matter all that much as an adult. It has nothing to do with becoming a hardened cynic or losing your sense of whimsy, it’s the common fucking sense that comes with sprouting pubes and becoming self-aware.
Don’t get me wrong, if Ryan Theriot pops one over the screen and it manages to land in my hand I’m still going to hold it in the air and jump around like I just won the Showcase Showdown, but then my better judgement is going to kick in and that ball is going to the nearest kid in a Giants shirt.
There’s celebrating your inner child and then there’s letting him take control over your better judgement. Catching a foul ball is nice and all, but in the end it’s just a goddam baseball, and indulging the little kid in your mind is a hell of a lot less important than making the real kid next to you a baseball fan for life.