If you mention to any random baseball fan that you caught a foul ball at MLB game, expect the following response from 599 out of 600 people:

I have been going to games all my LIFE and I have NEVER caught a foul ball.

You might remind 32 of those 600 that sitting behind the net will tend to continue said results. For the rest, just standard issue pity will do. If someone tells you that they got one in Batting Practice or that a player coming off the field threw them one, remind them they have not had the full monty yet. They are still in the minors. AA, at best.

So it happens, I caught my first one (on a bounce, but it still counts) at a Braves/Reds game last year.  Thank you, Andrelton Simmons.  I should probably thank the pitcher, actually.  Anybody remember his name?

And that was it. I was satisfied. I put the ball in my office where it sits among some jazz CD’s waiting for someone to come in and stare in awe. But yeah, I’m done. Cross it off the list.

But one baseball season later there I was happily sitting in row X, 117, enjoying Angel Pagan of the Giants taking yet another intense at bat- and before I knew it a foul ball was headed directly…to the guy in the next seat across the aisle. And he dropped it. And I grabbed it. Actually, I snagged it with a focused speed that I didn’t really believe I possessed.

And it was good. My first Rob Manfred signed ball. Thank you, 10th commissioner of Baseball. The jumbotron watchers cheered in delight. I also believe I heard them commence with the obligatory unison SIGH when the guy dropped it. The first thing I knew was that I heard some loud pre-teen Reds fan behind me say:

HEY- why don’t you toss that thing back here?

So, I did, resulting in a chaotic mass elementary school scramble for the ball that resulted in $30+ of popcorn and soda (when above the Mason-Dixon line, you can call it that) being destroyed and spilled all over the dang place. It was worth giving up the ball just for that. The kid being forced by his mom to come thank me was nice, but it was the snack disaster that was the true thrill.

A moment later, an official looking woman, far removed from elementary school, came down to make sure I wasn’t injured by a line drive that smacked a faster hand than mine causing a hard ball to be dropped and basically roll into my own hand. Sure, lady, I’m fine. I should recover nicely. Would I like a certificate? REALLY? Heck yes, lay it on me!

Never making eye contact with the dude that stopped the ball on my behalf, I enjoyed the next inning and the Giants lead- and sure enough, the incredibly thoughtful certificate was delivered.

By the 5th inning, my wife stood up and declared she needed some ice cream. I think the real reason was she couldn’t stand seeing pitcher Tim Lincecum blow the lead.

She returned with said ice cream, a pretzel with GLORIOUS DARK MUSTARD, a curious smile, ……and….. her own foul ball and certificate.

That’s right, Jay Bruce of the Reds knocked one back into the area near the LAND OF DARK MUSTARD AND ALL THAT IS GOOD and it basically rolled up to her. She was shocked, but alert, and snatched it from the ground all the while not dropping the tray of sugar and salty sustenance.

So there we sat with our certificates, smiles, salt and sugar sustenance, waiting for other people to join the exclusive club, perhaps thinking:

Yep, folks, life behind the net is safer, but think of what you might miss.

I’m not yet 100% sure about that, but I do know a double foul ball fiesta helps a lot when the Giants lose to the Reds.  And dark mustard helps most things as well.