My Foul Ball Story

Note: I tell this story periodically, but I don't believe I have shared it here. If I have, I apologize for being redundant. I'm getting old, so I expect that to happen more often as the years pass by.

Like nearly every baseball fan, I had always wanted to catch a foul ball. Who am I kidding? Catching one would have been great, but just tracking down one after rolling to a complete stop would have been sufficient. I had a few baseball head in my general vicinity over the years, but not one so close that I lamented a misplay on my part. However, one day my little dream came true.

Now, my foul ball story is a bit different than everyone else's. I did not make a tremendous catch. The ball I snagged had no historical significance. Not only did my retrieval not get any television coverage, it didn't even happen inside the park.

The Tigers were playing the Chicago White Sox as I recall. (Yeah, I know. When are they not playing someone in the A.L. Central?) I believe it was a Saturday afternoon. At the time, my friend, Kim, and I had the twenty game season ticket package.

On that day, Kim had to attend a wedding, so we got up and headed for the gate around the fifth or sixth inning. We left via the famous Michigan and Trumbull exit and headed west. We were discussing nothing in particular as we drew near the street named after Tiger legend Mickey Cochrane.

We were pondering when to cross Michigan Avenue when-BAM!- something drops from the sky right in front of us. The object hit the sidewalk and headed towards the heavens. This is where my instincts kicked in. See the ball, catch the ball. I looked into the sunny afternoon sky to find a baseball veering to my left. Without hesitation, I pursued the baseball.

Now, for those of you without a sense of the area, for me to starting heading to my left while walking west bound on Michigan Avenue meant I was heading onto one of the busiest streets in Detroit. This was never more true than on a Tigers game day. The visiting team always entered/exited Tiger Stadium on the Michigan Avenue side of the park. Buses, cabs, limos, city officials all zipped in and out of the parking areas near the curb. However, that never even entered my mind.

After a lifetime of chasing baseballs, I never gave a second of thought to potential danger. I did as I had always done. I went after the ball. Pavlov would have been proud. (My family not so much. They seem to worry about adults who chase baseballs into busy streets in major cities.)

Anyway, I tracked the ball and as gravity took charge, it descended right into my hands. I stood about a car length from the sidewalk. Kim was still checking for traffic on Michigan Avenue before venturing out. I was checking out my souvenir.

A Detroit police officer stood at the Cochrane/Michigan exit had told me two things. First, he had that shift for years and never came close to a ball. Second, he told me that the ball was courtesy of Cecil Fielder fouling one back out of play.

My play didn't get on SportsCenter. Ernie Harwell didn't reveal my hometown to those listening on radio. Of course, I didn't get run-over by a Detroit cabbie or the White Sox team bus, either. My loved ones are most happy about the latter of those things. Me, too.

I had never caught a Major League baseball before and have not since. While crossing off one of those little things on every baseball fan's checklist didn't occur as most would have dreamed of, I treasure the baseball just the same. I treasure the story just as much.