Tragedy in Arlington

"You see, you spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball, and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time" - Jim Bouton

By now, I'm sure you have all heard about the fan who fell over the railing while reaching for a ball thrown by Josh Hamilton at the Rangers game last night.  Sadly, the fan who was attending the game with his son passed away shortly after being taken from the stadium on a stretcher.

I don't know if it's because it happened in baseball or because the man was with his son or some other reason, but news of this has really stopped me in my tracks both last night and today.  Unfortunately, there is no good explanation for why things like this happen and to try to come up with one just leaves you even more confused.

The thing that bothers me the most of all is that this man was just trying to get a ball for his son.  That's it.  The very same thing that fathers have done for their sons for years and years.

I can't help but think back to the time that my dad came home from a Cincinnati Reds game and handed me a foul ball off the bat of Hal Morris.  It didn't matter that I wasn't at the game, and it didn't matter that it was actually someone with my dad that caught it and handed it over to him to give to me.  MY DAD JUST HANDED ME A HAL MORRIS FOUL BALL!  As a kid, it does not get any cooler than that.

I also think back to early 2009 when I was in the radio booth at West Michigan.  A foul ball off the bat of Chao Ting Tang came screaming into the radio booth, ricocheting off my hands and bouncing around behind me.  I gathered the loose ball, leaned out the window, and tossed it to a young kid below me in the stands.  The look on his face was one of pure joy, despite the fact that he has no idea who I am and the fact that Chao-Ting Tang is a largely forgettable ballplayer (other than his name).

That is what baseball is all about.  The chance that you might go home not only with a stomach full of hot dogs and peanuts, but also the chance to take a souvenir home.  A foul ball.  A piece of the game itself that will sit on your bookshelf and become a source of increasingly fishy tales of just how dramatic your catch was on that momentous day at the stadium. 

Last night, a father and son had that chance -- a moment that will unite them and the game of baseball for all eternity.  And now, in the simple act of losing one's balance, that same family will be united forever with the game of baseball in a way that is horribly tragic. 

Baseball is not supposed to feel like this.