For me, it’s the Holy Grail.  Having been raised on baseball, breathing baseball as a kid, getting a baseball at a major league game has been the elusive goal I have yet to accomplish in the 34 years I’ve been on this green earth.  I will, within reason, knock someone over in order to get my first ball.  My close friends know that if a ball comes close to us, everyone is fair game in pursuit of the ball and not to take it personally if I punch them in the side of the head to get a ball.  Even more frustrating is the high percentage of close friends who have gotten a ball while at a game.

I was reminded of my futility this week when a cousin told me that she got a baseball while at Fenway Park from Joel Zumaya, the Tigers relief pitcher who has had pitches clocked at 103 mph this year.  She’s preggers so she played the “Can I have a ball for the baby” angle.  Kudos to her, and since she got it from a Tiger I’m even more jealous.  Now, while I do consider a baseball retrieved from a major leaguer, I rank the order of importance of an acquired ball in the following order:

1 – Homerun ball

2 – Foul ball

3 – Batting practice ball – homerun or foul

4 – Ball tossed to a fan during the game (i.e. an outfielder flips the 3^rd out into the stands)

5 – Ball tossed to a fan before the game starts

The bottom line is I haven’t gotten a ball under any of these circumstances.  Would I throw a ball back at Wrigley if it was a homer hit by the opposing player?  Yes, because I value my life although I would make an exception for a milestone baseball such as the 74^th homer by someone in a season or anything else that would bring me riches on eBay.

I have come close a few times.  Agonizingly close.  In fact, and friend and I came close twice in 2 weeks at Tiger Stadium while still in high school.  We were in the upper deck orange seats in left field (the orange seats were like the first 5 or 7 rows of the upper deck) and Carlos Baerga of the Indians hits a homer that lands in the row in front of us.  My friend actually touched the ball on the way down and it partially pulled his fingernail back.  So for him, not getting that ball was even more painful.  Then at a game the next week where we were down the left field line in foul territory, a high popup falls maybe 50 feet from us onto the concrete.  We turn to our left, anticipating the bounce to be over our heads.  Instead, the ball hit a seat and wound up hitting my friend (he was closest to home plate) in his right arm as we both were looking the other way.  The guy next to him got the damn ball.

 I’ve never come close to getting a ball anywhere else although I paid the price for leaving a game at Comiskey early, something I’ve only done twice in my life.  A friend had 4^th row tickets jest to the left of the 3^rd base dugout and the only way for me to make the game was drive to the park right after work.  The gas tank was really low so I decided to leave in the 9^th inning so as to avoid the chance of running out of gas on the south side of Chicago.  The next day I found out Mike Caruso of the Sox had hit a foul ball that was right at my seat.  Damn damn damn damn damn.  I don’t leave games specifically for that reason and was quite miffed at myself for a long time after that since I broke my own cardinal rule – Never ever leave a sporting event early.