Pitches Be Crazy

I got a ball. Finally. My very own Major League Baseball. I've been to so many games and never had one for my very own, until now.

 After what can only be categorized as 'Immature/PG-13" heckling, Red Sox reliever Tommy Layne, couldn't take it anymore, and finally broke free from his stoic game-face, and handed me the game ball he was warming up with in the bullpen, where I was joyfully chugging $9 Rainier cans (no lube included).  His smile and nod at me, was as if he just lost a 20 min game of "who laughs first, loses". As happy as I was, I noticed the 11 yr old super-fan next to me who was more than a little jealous. The pint-sized, obnoxious fan, had been yelling "throw me a ball" and "let's go Ms" for most of the game. When Mariner players would come to bat he would mumble their nicknames, and recite their current stats under his breath, as he repeatedly tapped the pocket of his Rawlings mitt with a clenched fist. The little squirt eerily reminded me of a younger "me" right down to the bad bowl-cut creeping from his cap. As much as I hated his choice in teams, and his teal and silver windbreaker, I respected his efforts.

 So now I'm faced with a decision. Give up the ball that I "earned" and feel good about myself? Or keep it?

 He obviously would appreciate the ball more than I would, right? After all, I've played baseball my entire life, and I have buckets of random balls residing in my basement where only spiders and boogie-men dwell. But he could have his mantel piece.  A show-and-tell. A lucky ball to brag about at little league. For 2 innings I debated with mixed feelings of conscience, karma, and self benevolence that tugged at my stomach. Like when someone asks you for gum, but you know you only have one piece left, so for a millisecond you think of saying "it's all gone". I could make this kids day. Even his summer. You know on the first day of school, when you get to go around the room, and tell the class something you did that summer? This could be that story. This could be the gift that only a winning bid of $7.25 on eBay could buy. This little baseball dork would be waaaayyy more excited about this ball than the big baseball dork, currently in its possession, hiding his "sports-boner" from his friends, just to be cool.

 So I came up with a decision around the bottom of the 8th. I'll spin and toss the ball in front of him, and go through my different grips for various pitches, and just wait for him to ask if he can hold it. When he does, I'll say something really distinguished and memorable like "when I was a kid, I always wanted a real game ball, but never got one. Here you go slugger. Take care of it for me, and don't play homerun derby with it." His face is going to light up like he just pulled a 'Griffey Jr' rookie out of a single pack of 89 Upper Deck baseball cards. So I flipped it. I spun it. I taunted him secretly, angling the logo at his eager eyes. And I waited....

 Then in the 9th inning he finally said what I was hoping for.  Finally I could get this obese conscience off my back. "Can I see your ball" he politely asked. I gripped the ball tightly, held it in front of him so he could see it up close, and I said those magical words I've been waiting to say.....

"WIN TWINS" I answered. I put the ball in my pocket, and walked away to the bathroom with a substantially sized grin.  This is my goddam ball, kid. No chance you're getting it.