MIKE RICCETTI
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  • The best of Houston dining
    • Guinness pours
    • Banh mi
    • Breakfast tacos
    • Chicken Fried Steak
    • French
    • French Fries
    • Fried Chicken
    • Greek
    • Italian
    • Italian-American
    • Mexican
    • Midtown Dining
    • Pizzerias
    • Pizza at Non-Pizzerias
    • Rice Village Dining
    • Sandwiches
    • To Take Visitors
    • Wine Bars
    • Wine Lists
  • The margherita pizza project
  • The martini project
  • Musings on Houston Dining
    • The top 10 new restaurants of 2022
    • The top 10 new restaurants of 2021
    • The top 10 new restaurants of 2019
    • The top 10 new restaurants of 2018
    • The top 10 new restaurants of 2017
    • The top 10 new restaurants of 2016
    • The dozen best Inner Loop values
    • Dining recommendations for visitors to Houston
  • Italian restaurant history
  • Italian & Italian-American
  • Entertaining tips
    • Booze basics
    • Styles of Cheeses
    • Handling Those Disruptive Guests
  • Wine
  • Beer
  • Cocktails and Spirits
  • Miscellaneous
  • Blog
MIKE RICCETTI

Fun at the ballpark

One problem with good seats, is that you have to pay attention

Kaz Matsui, a foul ball and an obnoxious kid

Some years ago, during the recent long stretch of Astros futility, I caught my first foul ball.  It came after at least 600 major league games over the many years.  I usually sit far enough away from home plate that a ball reaching me is a near impossibility, so the odds were much better last night.
 
Once before, I picked up a foul ball at my feet at Fenway Park a decade or so earlier; it wasn't a catch.  It came from a screaming line drive in a blowout game that had hit the head of a unsuspecting, shirtless and drunken buffoon a few empty seats away ricocheting to the side of my hip, and the ball dropped to my feet.  Even though we were about 200 feet from homeplate, a good distance up the third base line and about fifteen rows from the field, the ball was hit with such force, even after deflecting off the melon of said idiot, I had noticeable marks from the stitches from the ball for several days and a black-and-blue mark for six weeks.  Needless to say, my helper in obtaining this ball was not only a bit dazed, but also bleeding profusely, which he discovered after staggering back to his feet.  Acceding to the wishes of the crowd, in a moment of weakness, I surrendered the ball, which had been destined to my friend's young son, to this guy as he was being assisted out by paramedics.
 
Somewhat paying attention to the game at the time, with Kaz Matsui at the plate hitting from the left side, the ball came directly to my seat on the third base side of home.  It was an easy chest-level catch; I didn't even have to break stride in the conversation.  The fact that only several beers preceded it certainly helped make it routine.
 
Coincidentally, I had another friend and an acquaintance sitting several rows directly in front of me on the second row.  I went down to show them the ball.  My friend had not even bothered to turn around to see the catch, and had to be convinced.  While kneeling in the row next to their seats a kid, maybe eleven or twelve, had walked down and interrupted us and said something to the effect of, "What would it take to get the foul ball.  He is my favorite player."  A bit taken about by the audacity, I retorted, "Go to about 500 more games and maybe you'll catch one, too."  It drew a big laugh from the guys I was talking with and the several older gentlemen seated behind them.  What a spoiled kid.  And, whose favorite player is Kazuo Matsui, anyway?
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