When I was a kid, my dream was to catch a a baseball at a Tiger game. It started at old Briggs Stadium on Trumbull and Michigan Avenue sometime around 1946 or '47 when I saw my first game there with my dad. It didn't matter whether it was a foul ball or a long home run hit anywhere in the park. Admittedly, a home run would have been much more exciting. I thought I might improve my chances if I brought my glove, so I often did when I went to old Tiger stadium back in the 50s.
Catching an official big league baseball was every kid's dream. It never happened to me. Even when I tired of bringing my mitt in the 60s and through the 70s after I hit my 30s. I held out hope that a miracle would happen and a ball would land at my feet. I guess I did have a few close calls after that, but they never came to be. That was and still is one of the biggest disappointments in my life. A close second in the disappointment category was to never come home with a puck that my face had stopped at old Olympias Stadium.
I almost forgot this: One sunny afternoon when I had about given up hope, while seated in my handicap scooter in foul territory on the third base side of the field something very strange happened. My back was to the playing field. The crowd yelled out the traditional foul ball warning cry in my general direction. Heads Up, Heads up. I covered my head with my left hand, raised my right arm instinctively, then guess what? the ball landed in my backhand position, without me even taking a peek at it's trajectory. This may have been the best catch of my career. The crowd roared and my catch would have made the featured catch of the day prize on National TV. The only problem was that the catch happened at one of Erik's practice games at a field in Walled Lake. The worst part of the incident was that I couldn't even keep the baseball.
There was actually an incident in Florida that took place after Georgie and I had left a Spring training game ... Tampa vs somebody. Anyhow, we left in the bottom of the 8th. As we were walking to our car, someone fouled a ball over the back side of the stadium and we were able to retrieve it.
One day while at Mike and Angie's house, I stopped by Jack and Benny's room. They had a dozen or so major league balls laying all about the room. Balls given to them while they sat in the prime seats Michael was able to get gratis from a friend. The boys had become so accustomed to primo seats, they didn't love sitting in the seats commoners sat in.
Like people say, old folks live through the accomplishments of our kids and grandkids. They have assembled many balls that would easily make them better equipped than a queen, at least in the ball department. I am happy and like the queen, jealous of them and their balls.
Furthermore this generation of ball players never learned to tape a ball with white adhesive tape when the cover wore out, nor did they ever learn to repair a baseball bat that had been split by utilizing little nails and tape to hold the bat parts together.( it really didn't work too well).
I'm jealous.
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