Here's a story about Wednesday.
This story actually begins the night before, with me emailing my friend Zack to see if he would be attending the Mets game on Wednesday. They were going to be playing my favorite team, the Los Angeles Dodgers. This would be the only time all year that I would be able to see them. When I woke up, I had a voice mail from him waiting for me. Zack is a very serious baseball collector ("ballhawk" if you will) and his terms for attending the game were as follows: if the sky stayed clear so that there was batting practice, he would be there. If there was a hint of rain, no go. We spent most of the morning monitoring weather reports and emailing each other back and forth about them. The forecast kept changing, teasing us with a 50% chance of rain. The symbols kept swapping from "partly sunny" to "thunderstorms." Suspense!
We agreed that Zack would buy the tickets and I would meet him at the park. Zack doesn't show up to games at regular game time though. Batting practice is his game, so instead of a 7pm start time, he's looking at a 4:40pm start time, with a little padding to make sure he's the first one through the gates. This means that I needed to be there just as early.
Meanwhile, I had a job to attend to. If you missed the memo, I am working again; for the company that originally fired me, no less. Obviously, my game plans conflicted with my 9-6 work schedule, so I had to think of something. As it so happened, I had been working on a very important specification document that was considered my #1 priority for a week. I had been close to finished with it, but I insisted on having a comfortable due date, so it was not expected for another week. I asked the operations manager if I could leave early if I completed the spec early; he agreed. Score.
With my work finished and turned in early, and the weather confirmed to be clear, I skipped out of work and headed to the ballpark. I actually misjudged the time it would take to get there and found myself wandering around the entrance 50 minutes early. That wasn't too bad because 10 minutes later, I spotted my friend. Zack was bristling at a writeup in the Wall Street Journal that had come out that day that labeled ballhawks as greedy bullies who did what they did for profit, not fun. He filled me in on a few customs of his, letting me know what he would be doing from the outset. A dash up the rotunda stairs. A sprint through the concourse to left field. Down the stairs to the railing overlooking the field.
Before I knew it, Zack had caught 3 balls - home runs hit from practicing batters. I hadn't brought a glove or anything, so I was fairly intimidated by the heavy, hard balls flying in from 350 feet away. I figured that the only chance I had of getting a ball was if one just happened to bounce my way after everyone else had missed with their gloves. Resolved to this, I leaned over railing and just took the scene in. Zack let me know when he was going to move to center or right field, so I followed him, sometimes sprinting through the concourse, holding my bag steady against my waist and weaving through the crowd.
As with hawks of all types, a ballhawk's vision is attuned to the movements of its prey. Zack spotted a lone ball resting on the warning track, a mere foot away from the 10-foot wall that separates the stands from center field. None of the players hanging about the field seem to notice this ball, so Zack moved in for the kill. He measured his surroundings, waiting for a security guard to look away so he could lower his glove on a string and pick the ball up from the field below. I hung back, taking a picture, then figured to mind my own business while I took in this new experience.
On the field before me were three pitchers from the Mets. One I recognized as Livan Hernandez, a season veteran who defected from Cuba in the mid-90's to join the expansion Florida Marlins. He helped them win a World Series. He has since been on a number of teams, including a couple of the Dodgers' rivals; the Arizona Diamondbacks and the San Francisco Giants. That is to say I knew the man and respected him. When he happened to field a ball that was hit toward the wall in center field, I called out to him, "Can I have a ball, please?" It took a few tries, but eventually, he threw a ball that he had picked up to me. I was thankful to feel my hands close around it.
When I looked down to see the first real MLB ball that I had ever caught, I had a huge grin on my face. I got high-fives. Zack acknowledged from further down the wall. A minute later, Livan threw another, but it was meant for the lady next to me. I caught it though. I heard a few complaints from the people around me. I wanted to keep it. However, I relented and handed it to the lady. Oh well. One was enough though; I was happy.
The rest of batting practice was spent running from field to field. Zack managed to catch a couple more home run balls while battling with a crowd of people. He is good. Real good. As batting practice wound down, we rushed to the 3rd base dugout to interact with the Dodgers players. Interestingly enough, Donald Trump was down on the field and throwing baseballs to fans. Zack wasn't interested in Trump, though. He was hounding the equipment manager who was sorting out the baseballs that had just been used. When the manager found a ball that was too scuffed to use anymore, he would toss it into the stands. Zack got a ball this way.
Meanwhile, I was a little transfixed by Donald Trump; not because I respect him or anything, but I am always interested in the mannerisms of celebrities and how they interact with people of equal and lesser fame. He shook hands and exchanged a conversation with Dodgers manager Joe Torre. He turned to the fans again and began asking for balls to sign. Then he asked for a pen. When a fan threw him a ballpoint pen, he let it fall to the ground and called out for a Sharpie. Zack overheard this and yelled back that Sharpie bleeds over time; the best pen to sign a ball with is a ballpoint.
I considered my only ball. I probably wasn't going to get another for the rest of the day, considering the competition. I decided to wave it around and get Donald's attention while he was scanning the crowd for more fans withs balls to sign. He chose several kids around me before pointing at me and nodding. I tossed him the ball and he caught it, scribbled his signature, and threw it back. And there you have it. I got my ball signed by Donald Trump. Upon my mentioning this, Zack blurted out that he would never have that guy defile any of his baseballs. Expected. He isn't interested in anything but baseball people signing his baseballs.
Still, regardless of my ambivalence toward Donald Trump, you can't argue how cool my day had been to that point. Pretty fuckin' cool.
As the game was about to begin and players warmed up by tossing balls to each other, Zack swooped in to grab a couple balls that they tossed into the stands after using. One he grabbed as a security guard was ushering him back to his seat. We sat a few rows behind the dugout all game, managing to get into the section with a little trickery. Don't ask how we got those seats. Just don't.
As a fan, I always hoped for a Mets strikeout to end an inning, but Zack despised strikeouts. This is because the catcher often rolls the ball back to the pitcher's mound after a strikeout to end an inning. However, if the out had been made by a fielder, they were likely to carry the ball with them back to the dugout, where they would often throw it into the stands. Zack banked on this and rushed down to the dugout after every 3rd out made by the Dodgers. He did not rest on every minute opportunity to catch a ball. Throughout the game, we kept getting uprooted by people whose seats we happened to be sitting in, but by the 5th inning we managed to find pair of vacated seats along the aisle only 10 rows back.
I rested and watched the game play out while Zack kept alert. He lamented not being one section over, where Dodger's first base coach Mariano Duncan would toss balls into the crowd during the bottom half of every inning. I lamented the Dodgers trailing for most of the game.
By the end of the night, Zack had 10 balls in total. One shy of 300 for the season. You might think, "Geez, what a greedy asshole! Leave some balls for the rest of us." Well, that would be wrong. Zack does what he does because he loves it, and he finds ways to give back. This season, he is letting people pledge money for each ball he catches. The money will be donated to charity at the end of the season. He has raised about $8000 so far. Not only that, but he also gives away a ball at each game. At this game, as the fans were headed for the parking lot, we searched the crowd for a kid. According to Zack, the kid must be young (below 11), must have a glove with him, and must not have caught a ball yet. When I spotted a kid with a glove, Zack moved in and asked the kid if he had caught anything. The kid shook his head, so Zack handed him a ball of his. Instant good day for that kid.
The Dodgers ended up losing the game, 4-5, but it didn't really hurt that much.
We rode back to the city on the subway with some friends who also happened to be at the game. It was a good ending to a great day. When I got home, I couldn't wait to tell anyone who would listen. I got a ball!
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