Not only did he send a foul ball my way….
28 Thursday Aug 2014
Posted Uncategorized
in28 Thursday Aug 2014
Posted Uncategorized
in25 Monday Aug 2014
Posted Baseball
inOr, one could say, I almost saw a no-hitter in Cincinnati on Friday Night.
The scene: Late August. Braves vs. The Reds. Great American Ballpark. Mild expectations for the Braves, none for the Reds.
One thing I wasn’t prepared for was any display of tangible pitching feats, having already told my wife I was a bit bummed that so-so Mike Minor was up next in the Braves pitching rotation. You’d think since we drove all the way from Knoxville, at least we could get Santana or Harang.
But heck, it’s baseball, it’s not raining, great seats, Minor will do.
Perhaps because of our fabulous seats and low expectations, I don’t think I even noticed Minor was working his way on a no-no until later in the game when I started getting texts from friends who were trying not to jinx him by refusing to cut through time and space and talk directly to him in the dugout. Once I did notice the fact THERE WERE NO HITS, I became as tense as a jittery unprepared teen taking the SAT. I just wasn’t ready to witness my secret dream: to be at no-hitter in person.
And yet, only the night before I managed to check another secret dream off the secret dream list. I caught a foul ball (from Simmons) in a regular MLB game. OK, I DROPPED it first, then I caught on the bounce. That counts. For something. My wife instructed me to hand over the holy grail to the pre-teen in the next row. Thank the Gods of Fate that the kid already had one tossed to him earlier in the game via the dugout- and that I noticed it happening. He was hiding it in his glove. Clever. I kept the ball. Come visit it in my office sometime.
Anyway- the eight inning came around which I was sure was the 9th because impatience. I couldn’t take it- I got up and paced around until it was all sadly destroyed in a single second by a simple bloop single with just four outs standing between Minor and fame.
Bloop.
Fame goes poop.
Billy Hamilton, expressionless destroyer of dreams, I have no words for you. Elderly Reds usher using his voice box to comfort me: Thank you.
I kind of think I know what a no-hitter might feel like in person, just from being that close to one. Like quickly glancing at the Grand Canyon but being refused a second look.
I definitely know what the heartbreak of getting that close to a real no-hitter feels like in person. It feels like eating 8 consecutive bowls of slightly undercooked Skyline Chili. And yet, my friends, it was the very heartbreak itself that still made for a hell of an evening- including a bonus lesson on profound loss. Even though my team won. See what the baseball does?