Jerome had two tickets to a Giant’s game last Thursday night. Neither of us are big fans of organized sports but the seats were good- and, hey, it’s a spectacle. Some exposure to the human element is good every so often too. In case you can’t read the comic on the page below- the basic story goes: Jerome’s sat in these same seats multiple times as a guest of a season-ticket-holder-friend-of-his. I asked him if he’s “ever caught any foul balls from these seats?” He pointed up field and back behind home, “Nah, they usually land over there- I’ve never caught one here.”
That said, the pitch- the hit: the batter slices a, now, careening projectile in a more-than-accurate trajectory towards my head. The ball is a brilliant clear hole in the night sky as it approaches light speed on it’s final approach towards my head. I’m holding my sketch book. I don’t want to put it down on the ground- there’s no time and the guy seated behind me is using the immediate area as a spittoon. I freeze up. Immediately I’m transported to a little league game 25 years ago standing in right field. In the parallel universes of the moment- the ball drops to the ground within easy inches of me. Both crowds moan. In present-tension, the spitting guy lunges over the seats and snags the ball spinning at my feet. People in the vicinity look at me like I’d dropped a baby.
I became angry and confused. I took my cup of roasted, not-shelled peanuts and started chucking them at people around me and yelling, “Why didn’t you catch that? HEY! Why didn’t you CATCH THAT?!!”
That last part is not true.