It happened again in a tense baseball game last night. Well, almost. A fan near a foul-line reached out for a ball coming towards him and probably cost a player a chance to catch that ball for an out.
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The Fateful Event |
In last night’s game there was another near “Bartman moment,” as the Fox announcers called it. Texas Ranger slugger Josh Hamilton was up in the top of the 5th with the Yankees leading 3-2. Two on, two out. A foul ball sailed down the left field line (again) and a fan reached out and deflected the ball away from Yankee left fielder Brett Gardner. This moment turned innocuous—Hamilton was retired, no one score, the game wasn’t affected. (The Yankees ended up on the losing end of a 10-3 score).
What happened in both of those moments, and in countless other fan/foul ball encounters, was entirely natural, and very much a reflex action. When a ball is coming towards someone—anyone—it is the totally natural thing to reach out to try to catch it. It looks fun and lighthearted, and in most cases it is. But it is also a defensive action. This is a dense, rock-like projectile (not a snowflake, not a marshmallow, not a butterfly) hurtling towards you after being smashed off a wooden bat by a professionally-trained (possibly steroid-enhanced) athlete. You see it coming, you reach out to catch it. It would be an incredibly self-disciplined moment for a fan, any fan, to lean back, put both hands at his (or her side) and hope the galloping left fielder actually makes the catch.
So, left’s give Bartman, and every other fan in those spots, a break. It actually happened earlier in this same game down the right field foul line. It is what happens when a ball comes into the stands. It is a natural, again I say, a reflex action. If the game is to be played scientifically-intact, with no threat of this “fan interference,” then play that game in an empty stadium with no fans in attendance and just put it on TV. Baseball can be messy. That’s part of the charm.
I want to add a personal memory to this non-debate. I was sitting in Candlestick Park watching a Giants game with my dad decades ago. We were sitting in the stands near third base. Suddenly, with the crack of a bat, a line-drive foul ball was heading straight for us. My dad, again with the reflex, reached out to grab it. At the last moment, realizing perhaps that the bones in his hand were going to be no match for this screaming line drive, he jerked his hand away. I have a faint memory that it actually hit the guy behind us right in the knee. Ouch. Where was Steve Bartman when we needed him? ◙
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