Put Me in Coach, I'm Ready to Play

Had a dream that we were stuck in traffic headed north on 71, just south of the 70/71 split by the Greenlawn Avenue exit. The windows were open and we could hear Bill Campana reading poetry at the Berliner Park softball fields.

What was not a dream was going to the Clippers game last night. It was game two of the Governor's Cup playoffs and the hometown heroes had won Tuesday night 18-5. The Clippers had very solid starting pitching and timely home runs and shut out Durham 4-0.

Even with my dollar scorecard and lineup I had no idea who any of the players are. Usually there have been a couple of names I recognized from a roster. A player that's hanging on to his career by playing in the minors. I'm simply not following the game the way I used to.

We sat in the second row, third base side. The great thing about the minors is that the players will have some fan interaction. Major leaguers will simply ignore you while they collect a paycheck to hit .228. Here they'll nod their head at you, put a smirk on their face after a good heckle. Between innings, the left fielder overthrew a ball while having a bit of a tiff with the guy warming him up. The ball flew into the stands, nearly hitting a woman in the head. Both players came over to them and apologized.

I have a streak going that has reached 39 years now. At the first game I attended, on my seventh birthday, a foul ball came toward me, fast. The man in front of me stuck out his hand caught the ball on the fly. I can still hear the sizzle of the ball and the slap the ball made on his hand. It would have caused some damage to me if I'd made an attempt to catch the ball.

Years go by, lots of Clippers games go by until, at a game in Cleveland there's a pop foul into the stands, and it lands in the tote bag my wife was using as a glove.

Last night, a foul ball flies into the stands behind us. The ball bounces off the brick wall of the concourse and richocets towards the field. It goes over my head and slips over the rail in front of a man, sitting in front of my wife, in a Derek Jeter jersey and goes onto the field. Third base umpire gives him the ball.

Still counting.