It's only a baseball?!

Years ago at Yankee Stadium, I was sitting in the first row of the upper deck along the 3rd base line when a left-handed batter sliced a foul ball over my head and into a section of empty seats on my left. It was Fleet Week; sitting 20 rows up, above the main aisle in the "Tier Reserved" seats, were dozens of guys from the navy, all dressed in white suits and white hats.

I was already sprinting through my row of seats before the ball landed; the guys from the navy, of course, reacted much slower--but it was hit closer to their section.

They started climbing over railings, pouring down the stairs, and combing through the empty rows of seats. I was still running and climbing up, hoping to reach the spot and find the ball before they did.

It was a magnificent race, one that is unfortunately no longer possible in today's overcrowded Yankee Stadium, and I won. I didn't win all my races of the early-90s, but I found this ball first and, perhaps unpatriotically, did a series of obnoxious dance moves (i.e. John Travolta in "Pulp Fiction," the end-of-the-level dancers in Tetris, etc.) to celebrate my triumph.

I carried on for at least 30 seconds, parading through the aisles as if I'd just caught a record-breaking home run ball.

I was happy.
What can I say.

The next day in school, my baseball-loving classmates informed me that the cameras showed a clip of my dance routine, and that when it dragged on, Yankees announcer (and Hall of Fame shortstop) Phil Rizzuto said, "Okay, son, take your seat, it's only a baseball."