Last week at Shea, I caught a practice ball with "NY" written on the sweet spot and called it ugly.

I take it back.

After combing through 1,600 of my balls the other day and finding a dozen different markings, I've decided that these balls actually look kinda pretty.

Don't get me wrong. I still think it's silly that the Mets and other franchises worth hundreds of millions of dollars mark their ball$ in order to keep track of them...but as I kept looking at them, they seemed more authentic--and triggered more adolescent memories--than all the rest. I studied their evolving logos and tried to figure out when I caught them. I thought about the players and teams and stadiums that unintentionally provided them. I tried to imagine who wrote on them and who stamped them.

THE GRAFFITI KEY:
SF...................San Francisco
C....................Cubs
H....................The incredibly stingy Houston Astros
BREWERS.......hmm
LA...................Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles
NY...................Straight from Flushing; Steinbrenner is too classy to deface his balls
F.....................Florida
KCR.................Kansas City Royals
------................Brewers' leftover 2002 All-Star Game ball
P....................Pirates
SD..................San Diego
X....................Can you guess?

The official Cincinnati countdown is at 15 days.

Check this out...it's the dirtiest ball I've ever caught at a major league game:

I once called Rawlings and asked them how much teams spend on balls. They wouldn't tell me ("Don't you know who I AM?!"), but I've heard from other sources that it's in the neighborhood of $5 apiece. That's not cheap. And that's why some teams (like the Astros) are incredibly stingy with their balls, while many others are careful not to give away new ones.

With this in mind, one of my recent strategies has been to ask for dirty balls. That's how I got this one (ball #2,034) back on June 11, 2003 when Marlins coach Bill Robinson tossed it to me at the 3rd base dugout after batting practice at Miller Park. It was my 11th of 17 balls that day which, at the time, was a new one-day record for me. (The following season, I got 19 balls at an Expos-Mets game at Shea.)

It's fun to pick up a ball and study its markings and try to figure out how they got there. I'm guessing that this one rolled onto the warning track on a damp day in Miami and got caked with mud. Another thing about this ball...it's hard to see but the "Rawlings" logo is skewed slightly diagonally, and so is the rest of the text. What a beauty.

The reason why I'm talking about this ball is that when I was over at my parents' place the other day with a little time to spare, I dumped out each of my four barrels and sifted through 1,600 balls and photographed the most interesting ones. Over the next few days, I'll show others. I actually made a few discoveries.

16 days until I arrive in Cincinnati.
18 days until I arrive in Houston.
Good thing the Mets are at Minute Maid this weekend. I'm getting a great look at the ballpark. Now if only the 'stros would start losing again...

In my entry from July 18th, I posted a pic of the balls I've collected this year. Yesterday, I went over to my parents' place and took a pic of all the rest:

This used to be my bedroom. Now it's a guest room. That's why the shelves are empty. Anyway, each drawer holds 144 balls--four layers of 36--and as you can see, I removed a couple layers from the second drawer. Each 32-gallon barrel holds 400 balls, and the bag has an additional 100 or so. There's actually a fifth drawer on the opposite side of the room, but I was too lazy to move it, so you're looking at about 2,285 of my 2,574 balls. (Normally, there's not a single ball showing; I only opened the drawers and unzipped the bag and uncovered the barrels for the photograph.)

The drawer on the left is filled with old National League balls. The drawer on the right is American League only. The middle two are mixed, with commemorative balls on top and some gamers on the bottom. I know it's not precise, but this is what I came up with when I started doing this as a 14-year-old. Now, 13 years later, I'm running out of space and ideas. Drawers, barrels, bags...what's next?

Cincinnati.
That's what's next.
Only 17 days to go.

I decided not to go to Camden Yards today for two reasons:

1) Last night, the Orioles played an 11-inning game that lasted four hours and 13 minutes. They also waited out a one-hour and 37-minute rain delay. Let's do the math...four-thirteen...one-thirty-seven...five hours and 50 minutes! That means the game didn't end until 12:55am. And THAT means the managers might cancel batting practice in order to give their players a little extra sleep. (Do the O's and Rangers really need BP after combining for 19 runs and 33 hits?)

2) Weather.com said there's a 30% chance of thunderstorms.

I'm getting tired of writing about all the games I'm not going to, and you're probably getting tired of reading about it, but this is my life during baseball season. It's a constant struggle to find free time that overlaps with favorable conditions.

At least it's only 18 days until I leave for Cincinnati--and 20 days until Houston.

No work yesterday.

Nothing but a ballgame at Yankee Stadium...at least that was my plan.

I slept until 1pm, rushed through a bunch of e-mails, devoured a peach and a day-old slice of pizza, cranked out my blog entry, gathered my things for the game, and ran to the subway. Two trains and a brisk five-minute walk later, I was standing at the ticket window. It was nearly three hours before the first pitch.

The game, I was told, was nearly sold out and the cheapest remaining ticket was $42.

No way I was paying that much.

I had a little time to spare, so I hung around and approached the window half an hour later to see if anything cheaper had been released in the system.

"Sorry," said the woman. "Everything's still at least forty-two, but you can check back in around gametime. You never know."

Oh thanks. Gametime. That's helpful.

For whatever reason, I have no problem spending $1,000 to see a few games in Cincinnati and Houston, but I refuse to pay $42 for an evening at Yankee Stadium.

So I left.
Another U-turn.
Very frustrating.

The game ended up being the Yankees' 10th consecutive sellout and 21st of the season. What a disaster.

Today's game will probably extend the sellout streak because it's "Thurman Munson Bronze Statuette Night" for the first 18,000 fans 21 and over. I really don't understand why people go crazy for these things...and for giveaways in general. I prefer to earn my souvenirs. Some might argue that the way to "earn" a ball would be to catch it at a sold out game. Whatever. Good for them. Let them do it. I want no part of these sellouts. If that means I don't go to another Yankee game all year, so be it. There's always Shea...and there's Baltimore. I'm free on Thursday, and the Orioles are hosting the Rangers. Should I go? I don't know. It might be worth it just to get to boo Kenny Rogers. (Of course, if he throws me a ball, I'll love him forever.)

The official Cincinnati countdown is at 19 days. Oh baby.

Last night, a fan in the left field bleachers at Wrigley Field snagged a Pedro Feliz home run ball and refused to throw it back. The other Bleacher Creatures immediately started yelling at him to throw it back, but he was already sitting down, earphones on, prized souvenir cupped securely between clasped palms when he mumbled a few words to no one in particular. I read his lips: "I'm sorry. I can't."

Amen, brother.

What happened next? The cameras caught a woman (wearing a "Throw it back!" tee-shirt) handing another ball to this guy and encouraging him to throw that one back on the field. He did, and the crowd went nuts.

Yeah, nice tradition.

I would NEVER throw a ball back...and I did once have the chance after catching a Mike Bordick homer a few years ago at Yankee Stadium. Bordick was then a member of the Orioles, so naturally the Bronx faithful weren't too pleased when I decided to keep it. The entire left side of the stadium began chanting a seven-letter word in unison, a word unsuitable for print, but let's just say that it begins with an 'A' and everyone has one. Shortly thereafter, a beer-guzzling monster got right up in my face and screamed, "THROW IT BACK RIGHT NOW, MOTHER[EXPLETIVE DELETED]!!!"

I looked up at the guy and said, "YOU catch a home run, and YOU throw it back." And that was the end of it.

Ahh, I miss Yankee Stadium. It's been nearly six weeks since I've had the pleasure of overpaying to be abused there. And tonight, I'm going back. I wish the attendance would be under 40,000, but that's unlikely. All this home run talk--and lingering nightmares of Rob Marchese--is making me want to sit in the short porch in right. If, by some miracle, there's an empty seat, I will. Look for me on TV. I'll be wearing a black tee-shirt to go with my very shaved, very white head.

20 days 'til Cincinnati.

Last night, my friend Eric suggested that I design the ultimate stadium for collecting balls.
I'm not an architect, so forget the blueprints.

Instead, here's my list of the greatest stadium features throughout the majors. If they could magically be combined into one ballpark, it would make one helluva ball-snagging experience...

--Wrigley Field's Waveland Avenue beyond the left field wall
--SBC Park's promenade and McCovey Cove in right
--Citizen Bank Park's shallow outfield walls
--Coors Field's thin air
--Fenway Park's lax security
--PNC Park's low railings and corner seats down the foul lines
--Jacobs Field's "Standing Room Only" section down the LF line
--Camden Yard's "Standing Room Only" section down the RF line
--Turner Field's outfield seats and gap behind the wall
--Ameriquest Field's grassy area in center field (for running after HR balls)
--Miller Park's wide aisle in front of the press box (for foul balls)
--Shea Stadium's protective screen (in which foul balls sometimes get stuck)
--Bank One Ballpark's bullpens (for fishing out balls with the glove trick)
--Safeco Field's retractable roof (so BP doesn't get rained out)
--Dolphin Stadium's rain (during the game to send wimpy fans running for cover)
--Tropicana Field's attendance
--Rogers Centre's apathetic fans
--Busch Stadium's former AstroTurf
--Municipal Stadium's seating capacity

Oh what fun that would be. I'd probably average 40 balls per game.

Last month, a writer with the Des Moines Register interviewed me for an article about how to get baseballs at Principal Park, home of the Triple-A Iowa Cubs.
We e-mailed back and forth for weeks...
I sent him the link to my web site...
I sent him the link to this blog...
We talked on the phone...

And the guy STILL somehow managed to spell my name wrong.

Not surprisingly, he messed up a few other things. He wrote that I've caught over 2,500 "foul balls" and he mangled one of my explanations about where to sit.

If you want to see these mess-ups and more, here are the links (which I just found for the first time last night):

Part One
Part Two

These types of mistakes are nothing new. In fact, when there's a story written about me that does NOT have any mistakes, I'm always surprised.

In May, FHM made such a dumb mistake that I had to laugh about it. Take a look at the piece and see if you can spot it.

Yesterday, when I got to Shea at 4:20pm, there were already so many fans (because of Merengue Night) that I was still on line at the ticket window when the gates opened 20 minutes later...so I stepped out of line and got back on the #7 train and went home and watched the game on TV and ate a mango and caught up on a week's worth of e-mails.
It felt great.

Would I have caught a few balls if I'd stayed? Absolutely, but that's not the point. The point is that I hate big crowds—and I mean HATE. The attendance was 50,273. That's absurd for Shea. I made the right decision. Baseball is important, but so is sanity.

It's Friday afternoon. The weather is perfect. The Dodgers are in town. It's "Merengue Night" at Shea Stadium. There's going to be a huge crowd and a post-game concert. I heard that security will be checking tickets outside the Field AND Loge levels. What fun. (Yes, I'm still going.)

And now, the random portion of the program...

Is it true that a fan in Arlington fell into the bullpen while trying to catch a home run the other night? I didn't see the highlight. What happened?

Funny news from the Mexican League: Los Langosteros de Cancun had to forfeit Wednesday's doubleheader against Los Pericos de Puebla because there were no baseballs...because their entire supply was ruined when they left it outside during the hurricane. The teams should have called me and asked for some balls. I would've been delighted to say no.

My friend Adam (a.k.a. "groceryman" for those of you who read the comments on this blog) just left for 10 days in California. He called me last night at 2am, and we spent an hour discussing ball-snagging strategies for SBC Park, McAfee Coliseum, and Dodger Stadium. He's also going to Petco Park, but that's one of three stadiums I haven't been to, so he'll be giving ME some tips (and hopefully a few ticket stubs) upon his return. If he finds a computer while he's gone, he'll give us some updates.

I finally booked myself a room at the Cincinnati Ramada even though their "system is still down." How? Because it finally occurred to the genius who's been answering the phone to direct me to the company's 1-800 number. They're lucky. I was about to settle for Travelodge. (I guess that makes me lucky, too.) Twenty-four more days and I'm there.

I did something yesterday that I've never done before at a major league game: make a behind-the-back catch. The Mets had just started taking batting practice, and the right field seats were still empty. Juan Padilla turned to throw me a ball from about 80 feet away, and that's when I decided to attempt the circus catch. I knew I'd still end up with the ball even if I dropped it, but this was a catch I'd made hundreds of times with friends in the park. There was no reason why I wouldn't be able to do it at Shea--and I nailed it. Moments later, just as four big guys were making their way down the steps to my section, the batter (I think it was Marlon Anderson) ripped a one-hopper into the seats ten feet to my right. The ball rattled around in the first row, trickled through a little hole in the fence, and plopped into that little gap between the field and seats, several feet out of reach. I hurried over and started setting up my glove trick. "You wanna try to get that ball?" asked one of the guys. "Here, lemme hold your ankles." "Thanks, but I can get it on my own." He didn't believe me and repeated his offer. "No, really, I got it," I said and lowered my glove over the ball. "I guess you've been here a few times," he chuckled as I lifted the glove with the ball tucked snugly inside. "Just a few," I said, noticing the "NY" and worrying that a new era of ugly balls was beginning. Before I had time to write "2567" on it, Cliff Floyd yanked a home run into the empty Loge level, so I raced up there and spent two minutes looking for it. No luck. I think the ball landed in a runway and bounced off into the sunset. The bad luck continuted. As I was heading back to my spot on the field level, some righty sliced a lazy fly ball that landed RIGHT where I'd been standing. I was only 10 feet away, but with all the railings, I was trapped and had to watch as one of the guys walked over to the ball and picked it up off the concrete. I was too mad to stick around, so I headed to the left side. I hoped to get a ball from Chris Woodward who was taking fungos at 3rd. Nothing. I moved to the left field foul line. Nothing. Gerald Williams threw three balls to other people, and Jose Offerman ignored me. At 5:25pm, I gave up on left field and headed to the Mets dugout on the 1st base side. I'd gotten two balls there the day before as the Mets came off the field after BP...no harm in trying again. Luckily, I was able to squeeze into the first row, and I ended up getting THREE balls tossed to me within 90 seconds, first from coach Jerry Manuel, then from Offerman (who hadn't seen me get the first one), and finally from coach Manny Acta (who'd been distracted by talking to some random people on the field). I'd gotten the balls faster than I could label them, so I stuffed them into specially designated jeans pockets...the one on the front-right is always for the first ball, the front-left for the second, and the back-right for the third. Since I started labeling my balls in 2003, I've never used all four pockets. The Padres took the field, and I headed to the left field corner. Trevor Hoffman was jogging along the warning track from foul pole to foul pole--and holding a ball. I asked him for it when he got close. He put up an index finger as if to say "hold on" and turned back around to jog toward the right field corner. One minute later, I got my 6th ball by asking Akinori Otsuka in Japanese as soon as he finished playing catch, and two minutes after that, I saw Hoffman jogging back along the base of the bleachers. He no longer had the ball, but he got another one from a teammate on his way to the left field corner, and when he got close, he tossed it to me. Whatta guy. (On May 8th, I wrote an entire entry about him. Click here if you'd like to take a look.) Ten minutes later, I got ball #8 from Jake Peavy in the same spot. Nothing fancy about it. I simply asked for it when he finished playing catch. By this point, it seemed like every Padre had either thrown me a ball or seen someone throw me a ball, so I left for the 3rd base dugout. On the way, I witnessed the most brazen attempt for a ball that I have ever seen. A shirtless fan climbed over the railing of the bleachers and onto the edge of the outfield wall, jumped all the way down onto the warning track, scurried six feet feet out onto the field, grabbed a ball, clawed his way back up the outfield wall, and got hoisted back into the bleachers by one of his friends. The whole thing lasted less than ten seconds. Maybe five. It happened so fast that security was helpless. Dozens of guards and supervisors swarmed the area after the fact--it turned into an all-out manhunt--but I'd be surprised if they caught the guy because he disappeared into a very thick crowd. Anyway, I got coach Davey Lopes to toss me a ball at the dugout before BP was over. When practice did end, I was really hoping to get one more ball and reach double digits...but that ball never came. Nothing after BP. Nothing before the game. Nothing during the game. Nothing after the game. But I did get two autographs: Eric Young and Mister Peavy. During the game, I came as close as one can come to a ball without getting it. Doug Mientkiewicz foul tipped a bullet right to me. I mean RIGHT to me. I was standing in a runway on the 3rd base side of home plate, so I took a couple steps forward and reached out to make the easy catch, when all of a sudden, the man sitting right in front of the aisle reached up and bare-handed the damn thing, inches in front of my glove. I shall not repeat the words that came out of my mouth. The Mets won 7-3, and there were some good moments/accomplishments. Tom Glavine picked up his 269th career win. Padilla stranded all three of his inherited runners en route to earning his 1st career save. Clay Hensley made his major league debut, tossing two scoreless innings in relief of Woody Williams. Jose Reyes stole two bases to make it 30 this season. Mike Piazza and Carlos Beltran hit home runs. I definitely got my twelve dollars' worth, but I was frustrated to leave with just nine balls. With a little more luck and little more generosity from the players, it could've easily been a 15-ball day. But you know, I shouldn't complain. Nine is a good number. I'll take it.

You want stats? You got stats:

405 consecutive games with at least one ball.
31 consecutive games with at least four balls.
143 balls in 21 games this season = 6.8 balls per game.
2,574 total balls (ties me with Richie Ashburn for 74th place on the all-time hits list).
25 days until I catch a ball at Great American Ballpark (and 27 days until I get one at Minute Maid).

I was the only fan in left field for the first five minutes of batting practice, and guess what: nothing was hit into the seats. Shea was officially dead, and I had to start begging, so when Mets coach Jerry Manuel grabbed a ball off the warning track, I called out to him. What did he do? He waved to me, then fired it toward the infield. Aaron Heilman came out to shag some balls. I asked him five different times. He ignored me five different times. A bunch of fans eventually wandered out to my section, including three young boys and a girl. Heilman ignored all of them, too.

After ten minutes, I gave up on left field and ran around to right, where a few Mets pitchers were standing around. After ten more minutes of getting dissed (mostly by Danny Graves and his 7.85 ERA), I asked Dae-Sung Koo for a ball--in Korean--and he tossed it to me without hesitating. It might be the dirtiest ball I've caught all season.

It was 5pm. I'd been inside the ballpark for 20 minutes. I don't like it when it takes that long to get the first ball of the day.

Right field was already filling up, so I ran back to the left side and went down to the first row behind 3rd base. Chris Woodward and Jose Reyes were taking fungos, and I was about to ask them for a ball when Gerald Williams strolled past 2nd base with one in his glove.

"Gerald!!!" I shouted. He looked up and several other fans started calling for the ball. He wasn't sure who to throw it to, so I yelled his nickname ("Ice"). It worked. He gave me a perfect lob from about 100 feet away, and I caught it with two hands. (My glove is old and floppy and has duck-tape and rubber bands and twist-ties holding it together.) That was my second ball of the day, and as you can see in the pic, its logo is smudged and blurred.

I didn't get anything else for half an hour. The first row in every section was packed, the Mets were being stingy, and the hitters were hitting everything in fair territory--the nerve!--so I ditched the foul line for the last ten minutes of the Mets' BP and used the time to work my way into the front row behind their dugout on the 1st base side. When all the players and coaches came off the field at 5:30pm, Carlos Beltran tossed me a ball and Manuel threw me another within 30 seconds.

"That's TWO!!!" someone protested.
I resisted the urge to say, "Actually, that's four."

Ever since the Mets signed Beltran in January, I'd been hoping that I'd get to add his name to my list, but center fielders are tough, especially at Shea where there aren't any outfield seats. (The bleachers don't count.) I never had a chance to get close to Beltran. That's why it took this long. Rigo finally has some company.

The Manuel ball has a streak of magic marker across the sweet spot. I didn't draw it. The Mets did, and I was surprised. Some teams stamp or mark their practice balls in order to keep track of them. The Astros write a big ugly "H" on every ball. Back in the 90s, the Mets used to write a small "NY" but they haven't written anything on their balls since. (I wrote the "2562" because it's my 2,562nd ball.)

I managed just one ball during the 40 minutes that the Padres took BP. Clay Hensley tossed it to me in the left field corner. Because I'd printed the Padres roster the night before, I was the only fan out there who knew his first name.

Davey Lopes, the former Dodgers All-Star and current Padres' 1st base coach, started signing by the corner of the 3rd base dugout. I raced over and tried unsuccessfully to reach through a cluster of hardcore autograph collectors with my ticket and Sharpie.

"Last one, guys, I gotta go," said Lopes as he scribbled his name for a kid dressed head-to-toe in Mets gear.

"You're gonna sign the last one for a Mets fan?!" I asked.

Lopes looked up and saw my Padres cap. "I don't give a damn baseball is baseball," he said before signing my ticket and disappearing into the runway.

Right before the national anthem, Robert Fick started throwing with some bullpen-catcher-type-guy near the left field corner. I jogged over and settled into a front-row seat. (The seats out there were now mostly empty since BP was done.) I looked around. No competition. Not a single kid or Padres fan or person with a glove. It was pretty much a guaranteed ball, but I made my request early just to be safe: "Hey, Robert, is there any chance you could toss the ball over here when you're done, please?" He didn't respond, but I knew he heard me, and I waited patiently for a couple minutes until he was about to finish. I stood up and called his name. As he looked my way and lobbed the ball, several kids charged down the steps out of nowhere. I reached a little higher at the last second, and as the ball kissed the pocket of my glove, one of the kids whacked me in the back of the head and knocked my hat off. I had to lunge over the railing to catch it. As I headed up the stairs, some guy shouted, "Give it to the kid!" He was actually serious.

I headed up to the Loge with six balls in my bag. No empty seats, at least not anywhere worth sitting, so I was faced with another game on my feet. It's exhausting, but the one good thing about standing is that I get to double my chances by playing righties and lefties differently on the 1st and 3rd base sides of home plate. I didn't come close to anything for the first two innings. Then, on a 3-2 pitch with two outs in the top of the 3rd, Brian Giles tipped one in my direction. I knew right away that it had the perfect height and distance, but I was standing in the slanted runway between Sections 4 and 6, and the ball was heading ten feet to my left. I bolted up the concrete ramp and hung a sharp left through the narrow aisle as the ball whistled toward a man standing up with a glove. I didn't know if I'd be able to reach it, so I took one final step and lunged to my left and felt the ball smack the pocket of my glove. I ran back through the aisle down the runway as fast as I'd crashed the scene. I had a feeling that the fans of Section 6 weren't too happy, and I never went back. Didn't matter. There were more righties in the starting lineups. Unfortunately, none of them hit a foul ball anywhere near me for the rest of the night.

Do I feel bad about reaching in front of that guy? Hmm, let me think about that. No. Just because he happened to have a seat there does NOT give him the exclusive right to (try to) catch the ball. More importantly, the ball was hit, so it obviously wasn't meant for him...and anyway, this is New York City.

Final score in 11 innings: Mets 3, Padres 1 on a walk-off job by Chris Woodward.

And now, some ZackStats:

--The ball from Koo made it 404 consecutive games with at least one ball.
--The ball from Manuel made it 30 straight with at least four, and it moved me ahead of Willie Davis into 75th place on the all-time hits list. Next up is Richie Ashburn with 2,574. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, read my entry called "Chasing Rickey and Rose and...Willie Davis?" and then come back.)
--The Giles ball is my 83rd lifetime game ball and 4th of 2005, giving me seven straight seasons with at least four gamers.
--This season, I've caught 134 balls in 20 games for an average of 6.7 balls per game...the same numbers I ended with in 2001.
--My grand total is 2,565, which means I've collected exactly 2,000 balls since creating a certain e-mail address with the number '565' in it.
--Finally...it's only 26 days 'til I arrive in Cincinnati.

27 days.

That's the current countdown until I fly to Cincinnati for two games at Great American Ballpark. Yesterday, I spent an hour online and on the phone, trying to find the cheapest and closest hotel to the ballpark. (All these new stadiums are built downtown. Hotels in the heart of any city are always fancy. I don't need fancy. All I need is a bed, a shower, a door that locks, and an Internet connection.) So I shopped and compared and did a little math in my head. Travelodge, for example, costs just $49 per night, but it's a 15-minute drive to the ballpark; the Millennium Hotel, meanwhile, is only four blocks away but costs $99.

Choices, choices.

I'm not going to have a car, and I refuse to rely on Cincinnati's public transportation. That means taxis. How much will two 15-minute cab rides cost? More than the fifty-dollar difference between rooms? Probably not. But taxies are a hassle. In places like Cincinnati, you have to call ahead. You can't just walk outside and flag one down. Even at the ballpark, there's no guarantee. It almost makes more sense to go for the nicer hotel that's within walking distance.

That brings me to the Ramada. They say they're a five-minute drive or a 20-minute walk away, and the room is $81.08 including tax. That's the best deal by far, but of course their "system" has been down for two days now, so I can't book the room. What irks me is that when I called yesterday, they said it'd be up and running in an hour. Anyway, this is what I go through when I plan a baseball trip.

In 29 days, I'll be arriving in Houston, and I'm all set for the Holiday Inn Express...kinda pricey at $120 per night, but it's right next to the ballpark.

And in 29 minutes (or so), I'll be leaving for Shea Stadium...

Here's a pic of the 127 balls I've caught this season...

Ooh yes, how artsy...sunlight beaming through half-opened shades onto a hardwood floor...yeah whatever. My apartment is small, and that's an understatement. I don't have room for a fancy display, so I'm keeping this year's balls in a duffel bag, which is normally zipped up and tucked away in my cluttered closet. I don't have to see the balls every day; just knowing that I own them makes me happy.

The other 2,431 balls are in 32-gallon recycling barrels, filing drawers, boxes, and bags--at my parents' place. Next time I've over there, I'll take a pic (and do some laundry and order some beef & broccoli from China Fun).

I decided to skip yesterday's Mets game because I figured there'd be 50,000 people there. Was I crazy? Here's what I was thinking:

--Saturday night
--Beautiful weather
--NL East rival Atlanta Braves
--Tim Hudson's return from the DL
--"Take HER out to the Ballgame" promotion

So much for my prediction. The attendance was only 36,078, which is still a lot for Shea, but that makes me an idiot. I passed up a perfectly good game so I could stay home and catch up on e-mails.

Whatever. Three games in three days would've been a lot. Back in high school, I used to go to EVERY game, day after day, week after week, but I can't do that anymore. I have too much other stuff going on, and even if I didn't, I'd still attend just two or three games per week. My obsession isn't what it used to be. Twelve years ago, I got so upset whenever I missed a game at Shea or Yankee that I couldn't bear to watch it on TV. Now, I enjoy staying home and watching. In fact, I recently rearranged my furniture so I can watch AND answer e-mails at the same time.

Right now, it's 6:16am. I'd like to go to sleep, but I'm not really that tired. Regardless of when I get into bed, I'm setting my alarm for 1:09pm so I have a minute to yawn and wipe the crust out of my eyes before Pedro throws his first pitch. Twelve years ago, I would've been there for it. Day game after a night game? Why not. No batting practice? No problem. I would've found a way to get a couple of balls, and that would've been fine. Nowadays, I won't settle for anything less than four--and even that isn't great. I choose my games wisely. No weekends. No afternoons. No subway series. No Red Sox-Yankees. No Cap Night. No oldtimers day.

This, in part, is why I'm averaging 6.7 balls per game.

I wanted to start the day in right field so I could try once again to get a ball from Pedro, but there was such a large crowd outside GATE C that I went straight to left instead. (Fans generally flock to the home team's side, which is 1st base/right field at Shea.)
Left field stayed empty for a few minutes, and I roamed the seats in case there happened to be a loose ball sitting on the ground. There was. It was tucked under a chair, and I'd actually walked past it a few times before spotting it. Moments later, before I had a chance to label it and stick it in my backpack, the mean usher appeared out of nowhere. Apparently, he knew there was a ball in the seats because he said, "If you find one, I want it."

He was serious--this is the usher who stands right in front of me during batting practice and tells the players NOT to give me anything--so I hid the ball in the palm of my glove, took a few perfunctory glances around the seats, and left him there to look for it.

I headed to the left field corner in case there was a ball sitting in slopped grassy area.
Lucky me: there were two.
Unlucky me: one was 15 feet out from the wall.
Unlucky me: there was a security guard standing right behind me in the concourse.
Lucky me: she was curious to see what the glove and string could do.
It took a minute or two to get the first one because it was about eight feet away. I had to lower my glove a few feet, swing it out, let it drop the rest of the way, and jerk it back exactly when it landed on the ball. The grass was thick, and I had to move the ball uphill. Not easy. I was sweating. The guard was intrigued. A small audience of fans had gathered along the front row. It took me several attempts to knock the ball closer...closer...closer...until it was right below me. Then I pulled the glove back into the seats, rigged it with the rubber band and magic marker, lowered it over the ball, and reeled it in. (For an explanation of the "glove trick," read my entry about April 25th.)

Two minutes later, Gerald Williams threw me a ball.

You can imagine how hard I worked for the other ball in the grassy area (pictured on the right). First, I let out all the string and made sure it wasn't knotted or tangled. (It actually was knotted and tangled.) Then I stood on the end of it so I wouldn't lose the glove when I flung it waaay out there; I wouldn't be holding the string for a second or two, so by stepping on it, I knew that that it wouldn't completely run out. And finally, I started the flinging...and kept going...and going...and going...and going and going and going and going...and going...for like ten minutes. I touched the ball a few times, but I couldn't move it. Now I was really sweating--but I hadn't gotten anywhere. In fact, I might have missed a ball or two because I was ignoring the action on the field, but I didn't care. I was enjoying the challenge. There came a time, however, when I realized it just wasn't worth it, and I gave up. I would've gotten it eventually, I swear, but I couldn't give up all of BP and keep making a scene and risk getting yelled at by security.

Or could I?

I didn't know if my string was long enough, but it occurred to me that I might be able to get the ball from above--as in, from the first row of the Loge level--so I ran up there and gave it a shot. Once again, I let out all the string before I lowered the glove to make sure it was good to go, and then I went for it. Turns out I DID have enough string and security did NOT yell at me, but I faced the same problem: long grass. The ball was about six feet out from the wall, and I wasn't able to knock it closer. Even without long grass, it's hard to use the trick and maneuver the glove from that high up. (That said, I'm proud to report that I once plucked a ball off the warning track from the upper deck at Tiger Stadium...a feat which belongs in the "What was I thinking" category.) Anyway, I couldn't get the ball from the Loge, but I had fun trying and put on quite a show.

I returned to the field level, and Gerald Williams threw me another ball. I can't explain it. It's happened a few times before: two balls from the same player in one day. This one, however, fell short and tipped off my glove into the grassy area. It stayed right below me at the base of the wall, and I got it easily with the trick. That was ball #4, giving me 29 consecutive games with at least that many. It felt good. (The one-ball-per-game streak, by the way, is now at 403.)

The Braves took the field for batting practice. The pitchers played catch in the left field corner. When John Thomson finished and started walking off, I shouted, "Hey, John! Can you please toss up a ball?"

He tossed the ball straight up and caught it.

"No! Over HERE!!!" I yelled, and he threw it to me. That was #5, and that was it for BP.

I made it to the Braves' dugout as everyone was coming off the field. The seats were packed, and I couldn't get into the first two rows, so I stood on a seat in the third row and got Andruw Jones to throw me a ball. Unfortunately, it fell short and the guy in front of me reached up and bare-handed it. Thirty seconds later, I got Terry Pendleton's attention as he was dumping dozens of balls from the basket to the equipment bag, and he tossed one to me. Unfortunately, it sailed four feet to my left, and someone else (without a glove, of course) snatched it.

What I learned: It's impossible to move for the ball when standing on a chair.
My advice to you: Don't stand on a chair if the player has lousy aim.

Ten minutes before gametime, Julio Franco started signing autographs along the left field foul line. I ran over and reached around several people with my ticket and blue Sharpie. He took the ticket and was about to sign it with some kid's black ball-point pen. "No wait!" I said, handing him the marker. "Could you please sign it with this instead?"

"Picky, picky, picky," he replied, getting a laugh from the fans as he took the Sharpie and signed. Nice guy. Very talkative and friendly. That was my first contact with him ever.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE RISE AND REMOVE YOUR HATS AS WE HONOR AMERICA WITH THE SINGING OF OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM."

I took off my Braves cap and saw Rafael Furcal finish playing catch, so I put the cap back on and called out for the ball. (Sorry if this makes me unpatriotic.) He looked up at me and then quickly scanned the seats, presumably to see if there was someone younger and/or prettier. There wasn't so he settled on tossing it my way. (Makes me wonder if I should ditch the visiting teams' caps and just start wearing a dress.)

I went to the Loge in the top of the first inning and moved back and forth, to the 1st and 3rd base side of home plate, for righties and lefties. In the bottom of the frame, Cliff Floyd hit a foul tip that got caught in the netting just below the first row. I sprinted 60 feet through the aisle, scurried down the steps, leaned over, saw the ball, reached for it, and was too late. The guy who'd been sitting right there grabbed it half a second before I would've had it--and if that's not bad enough, the guy happens to be one of my few co-workers...a recap writer named Eric...the one guy in the office who constantly harasses me about my baseball collection. (He says it's "all ego.") Worse than not getting the damn ball will be having to hear him blab about it for the next three months.

That was the only gamer that came anywhere near me. The Mets lost 2-1. It was a nice crisp National League game. Four sacrifice bunts. Good pitching. Smoltz and Glavine each threw seven innings and allowed one run. Smoltz won it. Reitsma saved it. Roberto Hernandez lost it. David Wright hit his third solo homer in 24 hours.

I went to the Braves' dugout after the game and Eddie Perez tossed me a ball--a nice end to a somewhat frustrating evening. Then he said, "That's for her," pointing to the pretty woman on my left. I couldn't run. I couldn't hide. I couldn't yell, "Screw you!!!" So I handed it over.

Yeah, nice end.
I got six balls but should've had ten.
Am I allowed to complain?
Yes. And I'm quite good at it.

It was a good baseball night:-Kris Benson retired the first ten batters.
-David Wright hit two solo home runs in his first two at bats.
-Cliff Floyd made a running catch in foul territory and flipped over the wall.
-Wright ran and dove and caught a popped up bunt on a suicide squeeze and turned it into an unassisted double play.
-Carlos Beltran went 4-for-4.
-Mike Piazza hit a three-run, opposite field homer to break a 3-3 tie in the bottom of the eighth.
-Braden Looper didn't screw up.

But it was a bad baseballs night:
-When Shea opened at 4:40pm, there were already a hundred kids in the seats because of some afternoon baseball clinic.
-The Mets ended batting practice 20 minutes early.
-The Braves ended batting practice 14 minutes early.
-There was a claustrophobically high attendance of 43,319.
-I was forced to stand for the entire game because the few seats I wanted were taken.
-I didn't come within 30 feet of a single foul ball all night.

There were, however, some HappyZack moments:
-I got two balls thrown to me by future Hall of Famers (Tom Glavine and Andruw Jones).
-I got two more balls thrown to me by rookies (Andy Marte and Brian McCann) without even asking for them. These guys (who are top prospects...not scrubs...see comments below) just walked toward me and tossed them. Very weird.
-I extended both of my streaks (402 consecutive games with at least one ball...28 consecutive games with at least four).
-Not once did I get yelled at by security.
-I got Jeff Francoeur's autograph and told him that I've written his name many many times on the minor league web site this season. He was nice, even for a 21-year-old rookie.
-While playing catch in shallow left field, Eddie Perez saw me moving to some salsa and shook his head with disdain. When I continued, he shouted, "You don't know how to dance!" to which I replied, "Why don't you help out my white [tushy] with a ball?!" He laughed but didn't throw me one.
-I got to see Bobby Cox suffer.

Two other things:
-I'm going back to Shea later today as long as it doesn't rain; my 28-game streak is in danger.
-My current ball total is a palindrome: 2,552.

I caught my first four balls in 1990 and added 14 more the following season. In 1992, when I first started going to games almost every day, I set my first goal: 100 lifetime balls. My parents thought I was crazy, the other kids in school made fun of me (even more than usual), and by October, my grand total was 146. That's when I decided to go for 1,000, and four years later, I was there.

In 1997, I headed off to Guilford College in Greensboro, NC. Not only was I five hours from the closest major league ballpark, but there were lots of girls.
Playing my favorite sport was no longer a priority.
I wasn't even thinking about going to games.
I got my thousand balls, and that was that.

Then my summer job fell though and I ended up filling my time by writing a book called How to Snag Major League Baseballs. The project rejuvenated my love for collecting balls and, with the Snag-O-Meter at 1,074, I got back into it in '98. I couldn't decide how high to set my next goal--2,000 seemed too far away--until I stumbled across the stats of one of my favorite players at the time: Rickey Henderson. He had 1,231 career stolen bases. I had to catch him. He finished the year with 66 steals, and I caught 192 balls. He was still winning, 1,297 to 1,266, but his lead didn't last long. I passed him in May of 1999 and then went after his career runs total. That took five years, and I caught my 2,000th ball along the way. Getting #2,000 meant more than surpassing Rickey's 2,295 runs, but it was more fun to chase a human than a lifeless milestone.

Now what?

All season, I've been trying to come up with a new number to pursue, a number that's historically important but within reach in the near future. When the Mets signed Pedro, I considered going after his career strikeout total (which now stands at 2,791), but Rafael Palmeiro's current pursuit of 3,000 has inspired me to climb my way up the career hits leader board.

Right now, with 2,548 balls, I'm in 76th place between George Van Haltren (2,532) and Willie Davis (2,561).

I have some serious work to do before I catch Pete Rose (who absolutely belongs in the Hall with his 4,256 hits), but it'll be fun to leapfrog the game's all-time greats along the way. Hopefully, the 46-year-old Julio Franco (2,496) won't leapfrog me...

I just got off the phone from back-to-back radio interviews, and the first one was BY FAR the worst I've ever done. It was the Paul & Young Ron Show on "BIG 105.9" in Miami, and these two guys who "interviewed" me were aggressively rude and hostile. Now don't get me wrong, I can take my share of baseball ribbing--you know, stuff like "How many little kids did you have to knock over?" or "I guess you don't have a girlfriend ha ha ha"--but these guys were relentless. Not only did they make fun of everything I said, but they interrupted all of my answers and then hung up on me! It was unbelievable, in the true sense of the word. Boycott the station.

The second interview was with "FM 106.1 Continuous Country Favorites!" in Milwaukee and it was great. The hosts were friendly and genuinely interested in what I had to say. The only bad thing is that it was taped half an hour in advance and then digitally edited, so part of what I said got cut, including my "Check out MLBlogs" plug. That's how it goes.

It's now 9:25am, and I've only had 90 minutes of sleep, but before I crawl back into bed, I have a quick question (for anyone who watched last night's All-Star Game). What's the deal with the players carrying balls onto the field during the pregame introductions? I kept waiting for these balls to be tossed into the crowd...and I'm still waiting...

Now THAT was a derby...107 total home runs including 41 from Mr. Abreu. The only thing I hated was not being there. Once again, I was forced to watch it on TV, and once again, I studied the direction and distance of the homers so that when I do finally make it to a derby, I can dominate (or at least enter the ballpark with slightly more of a plan than everyone else). The thing that worries me is that the derby is not like batting practice in that you can't sit anywhere you want. People actually buy tickets and have assigned seats. Security's gotta be extremely tight.

Anyway, in case you make it to next year's derby, here are three observations/strategies that might help:

1) Most home runs were hit to straight-away left and right field--no surprise there--while some landed a bit closer to center. Take a look at ESPN's home run tracker for Abreu's final round...and keep this graphic in mind during regular batting practices, too. (Lousy picture. Sorry. I took it right off the TV.)

2) You're better off sitting (or standing) in the front row of the 2nd deck that's 460 feet away from home plate than in the 10th row of the lower deck that's only 360. (If you can get into the front row of the lower deck, go for it.) These guys were hitting bombs. They'll reach you. Abreu's longest shot was 517 feet! Don't get trapped in a sea of aggressive fans. As a general rule, you never want to have people sitting right in front of you, especially at a derby where everyone is waiting to jump for the next ball.

3) Foul grounders. There aren't nearly as many of these as there are home runs, but if you can somehow find a seat (in the first row, of course) down one of the foul lines, you'll get some action. Last night, some dude in the corner spot down the right field line got a ball and came VERY close to a few others. (If I'd been sitting there, I would've caught three or four. Or maybe I would've missed them all because I'm a miserable, bitter human being. And as long as I'm being negative, what's with those loser kids with zero athletic ability who get to shag balls in the outfield?)

Enjoy the All-Star Game.
I know I will...on TV...once again.

-------------------------------------------

IN OTHER NEWS...
I have a radio interview tomorrow (Wednesday) sometime between 7 and 7:30am, and you can listen to it online. Just click here and go to "LISTEN LIVE" in the upper right hand corner and pray that your computer doesn't blow up. The station is in Miami, so if that's where you happen to live, forget the Internet and tune into "BIG 105.9."

Actually, I have two interviews tomorrow, but I don't yet know the details for the the second one. It's going to be around 10:45am (Eastern Time) with some station in Milwaukee.

Did you hear about tonight's Home Run Derby? Rawlings and MLB are introducing new golden balls, which will be used when each player is down to his last "out." Every homer hit with one of them will generate $21,000 for charity.
I applaud that.

But I have issues with the ball itself. When I first saw this picture of it, my first reaction was closer to "Ewww!" than "Oooh!" The Century 21 logo, in my opinion, makes the whole thing seem tacky, and I'm concerned that the dual-color paneling will distract the hitters. Am I being too harsh? What do you think?

By the way, the few All-Star balls I've caught came from random batting practices here and there. In other words, I've never been to an All-Star Game--or a HR Derby. Anyone got an extra ticket?

Fred McGriff homered in a major league record 43 different ballparks; I've snagged at least one ball in 38. Here's how my numbers break down (with approximations for Shea and Yankee, since I didn't keep track of my daily totals for the first 146 balls):

STADIUM-----------------------# OF BALLS---------------# OF GAMES

Shea Stadium ------------------- 1,700 -------------------------- 332
Yankee Stadium ------------------ 400 -------------------------- 175
Turner Field -------------------------- 38 ----------------------------- 4
Comiskey Park ---------------------- 35 ----------------------------- 5
Oakland Coliseum ----------------- 22 ----------------------------- 3
Kingdome ---------------------------- 19 ----------------------------- 2
Kauffman Stadium ----------------- 19 ----------------------------- 2
Pacific Bell Park -------------------- 19 ----------------------------- 3
Olympic Stadium ------------------- 19 ----------------------------- 4
Tiger Stadium ----------------------- 18 ----------------------------- 3
Miller Park ---------------------------- 17 ----------------------------- 1
Fenway Park ------------------------- 17 ----------------------------- 3
Oriole Park at Camden Yards --- 15 ----------------------------- 2
Jack Murphy Stadium ------------- 15 ----------------------------- 3
Joe Robbie Stadium --------------- 14 ----------------------------- 2
Veterans Stadium ------------------ 14 ----------------------------- 5
Citizens Bank Park ----------------- 14 ----------------------------- 2
Wrigley Field ------------------------- 13 ----------------------------- 2
SkyDome ----------------------------- 12 ----------------------------- 2
Dodger Stadium -------------------- 10 ----------------------------- 2
Anaheim Stadium -------------------- 9 ----------------------------- 2
Bank One Ballpark ------------------- 9 ----------------------------- 2
The Ballpark in Arlington ----------- 9 ----------------------------- 1
Metrodome ----------------------------- 9 ----------------------------- 2
Coors Field ----------------------------- 9 ----------------------------- 2
Tropicana Field ----------------------- 8 ----------------------------- 1
Riverfront Stadium ------------------- 7 ----------------------------- 1
Three Rivers Stadium --------------- 7 ----------------------------- 1
Busch Stadium ------------------------ 7 ----------------------------- 1
PNC Park ------------------------------- 7 ----------------------------- 1
Safeco Field --------------------------- 7 ----------------------------- 1
Comerica Park ------------------------ 7 ----------------------------- 2
Jacobs Field --------------------------- 6 ----------------------------- 1
RFK Stadium -------------------------- 6 ----------------------------- 1
Astrodome ----------------------------- 5 ----------------------------- 1
County Stadium ---------------------- 4 ----------------------------- 1
Fulton County Stadium ------------- 1 ----------------------------- 1
Candlestick Park --------------------- 1 ----------------------------- 1

When I got to work yesterday, everyone asked me if I'd seen the fan at Yankee Stadium who dropped two home runs the day before.

Yes, of course I had, and it was incredibly frustrating. This guy was sitting in THE spot for home runs, just behind the short porch in right field where I always TRY to sit...except there's never an empty seat out there, even when the attendance is "only" 40,000. (Each of the last eight Yankees games has drawn over 52,000 fans, which is why I've stayed away.)

ESPN showed this guy's lameness among the week's top ten bloopers, and the Associated Press even wrote a story about him.

Whether or not a fan makes headlines for catching or dropping a ball, I'm glad to see my favorite hobby get some attention.

(Click the picture on the right and check out the facial expression of the woman in the white hat.)

There's no official scorekeeper for baseball collectors.

If you get a ball during batting practice or spring training or at a minor league game, YOU have to decide whether it counts. What if another fan catches a ball and gives it to you? What about an usher or a hot dog vendor? What if you catch a ball during practice and it doesn't have an official logo on it?

It's your call.

Some collectors count everything. Others only go for game balls. But what IS a game ball? Is it any ball that was used in the game? Does it have to reach the seats on its own? What if the 3rd base coach picks up a foul dribbler and tosses it to you? Can you brag to all your friends that you caught a foul ball? What if a foul tip gets stuck in the protective screen...or if the home plate umpire reaches into his ball pouch and tosses one to you after the game? Is it fair to count those as game balls? What if the visiting team hits a home run and the fan who catches it throws it back onto the field and the ball boy retrieves it and hands it to you? Can you count that as a home run? Did you even "catch" it? Or did you "acquire" it? Did you "haul" it in? Did you "get" it? (That's why the word "snag" was invented.)

It doesn't matter HOW you answer these questions. All that matters is that you DO answer them--and then stick with your decisions. These issues never occurred to me when I caught my first two balls as as 12-year-old in 1990 because I had no idea where my hobby was going. I finished the season with four balls and added 14 more in 1991. I tossed the balls in a drawer with some autographs and cards, and that was that. I wasn't thinking about saving my ticket stubs or writing down the number of balls I caught at each game or starting a list of the players who'd given balls to me.

I wish I had.

In 1993, after I'd already accumulated 146 balls, I finally started keeping track of this stuff, and it felt great...until people started asking, "How do you know which ball is which?"

I didn't, and it bothered me, but I didn't know how to get around that. I didn't want to write anything on the balls--I didn't even get them autographed--because I wanted to keep them pure, in their original condition. I thought about using stickers but decided that they'd be too hard to remove, so I tried taping a little piece of paper to one of my game balls, and when I pulled it off, the dirt came off with it. That was the last time I ever put tape on a ball.

For the next decade, I didn't label the balls in any way. I'd come home from games, update my lists, and toss the balls into my drawers and barrels with all the others. It wasn't ideal. I knew I'd never be able to tell each night's balls apart from any others, but I still didn't have a solution. Anyway, it didn't matter, I told myself, because the point was to get as many balls as possible, and I kept the special ones aside. Did I really need to identify all the others.

In 2003, I decided I did, and I planned the new phase of my collection around my 2,000th ball. I had to write on the balls. There was no other way. But what would I write? The date? The ballpark? The player's name? I didn't always know the player's name. What if I ran inside for batting practice and found a ball in the seats? What would I write? The section number? I knew I had to keep the scribbling brief; this was a baseball collection, not a handwriting exhibit, and besides, I'd have to do my writing on the spot, during batting practice and the game itself. There wasn't exactly going to be much time to spare.

The final solution: Starting with ball #2,001, I would write the number of the ball as neatly and as small as possible, as far from the logo as possible...and I would keep a list on my computer--a ball log-- with the corresponding details for each ball.

My friends thought I was nuts. (This is nothing new.) "You're going to start labeling your collection after you've already caught two thousand balls?!"

"Someday," I told them, "I'll have four thousand balls and I'll be able to say, 'The first half of my collection isn't labeled. The second half is.'"

And so, when I caught my second ball of the day on May 24, 2003, I took a deep breath and, with my heart throbbing and my right hand shaking, managed to scribble a little "2001" on the ball.

The first line of my ball log reads:
"2001: 5/24/03, Olympic Stadium, LF bleachers, BP, thrown by Rheal Cormier"

It's not fancy, but I'll always know, and I love that. This new labeling process took my passion for collecting balls to a whole nother level by increasing the connectedness factor. What a great feeling it is to pick up "2472" and know that Ichiro Suzuki, one of my favorite players of all time, tossed it to me at Yankee Stadium on May 10, 2005.

Decide what YOU want to remember about your collection and start keeping track. It takes a lot of extra work, especially if you get home late with a bag full of balls, but you won't regret it. I promise.

I have three things to report, and I must warn you: the last one may be a bit shocking. It certainly was for me when I made the discovery a few hours ago...

1) In my entry from June 28th, I mentioned that a sports writer in Pittsburgh contacted me to ask about a fan who'd snagged three foul balls within a five-out span at PNC Park. The article came out two days ago, and I just received the link. CLICK HERE to check it out.

2) Today, I did a 20-minute radio interview (via telephone) with the Dwyer & Michaels Show in Davenport, Iowa. Halfway through, one of the guys remembered me from a previous interview; unlike Sports Illustrated, however, they were still interested in talking. Anyway, the producer had seen the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette article. That's how he found me.

3) In preparation for my 400th consecutive game with at least one ball caught, I did a little fact-checking to make sure that my next trip to the ballpark really would be #400. I counted 16 games at the end of the 1993 season and started adding...
45 games in 1994
59 games in 1995
38 games in 1996
10 games in 1997
31 games in 1998
41 games in 1999
26 games in 2000
20 games in 2001
30 games in 2002
31 games in 2003
37 games in 2004
and 17 games so far this year.
I ended up with 401. FOUR-OH-ONE?! Damn arithmetic. I crunched the numbers again--and got 401 for a second time. I still didn't believe it. I added the numbers in reverse order. Same result. I was in shock, desperate to figure out what was going on, so I pulled out my early handwritten records. Was there was a discrepancy between those and the detailed lists on my computer? I flipped though page after page and discovered that there were two playoff games I attended (Game 5 of the '93 World Series and Game 1 of the '95 ALDS) that I did NOT count in my stats! My god. It was coming back to me...those were my first two playoff games...yes, suddenly I remembered my original logic: Since the players' stats from those games wouldn't count on the backs of their baseball cards, then the games shouldn't count for me either. But then in 1999, when I attended Games 3, 4, and 5 of the NLCS, I did count the stats. Man-o-man.

After thinking this over, I've decided that my rules should be consistent--none of this designated hitter garbage--so I have officially ADDED those two playoff games to my stats. I always included the balls from those two games in my grand total, so that number won't change, but the games never counted as part of my streak or when I calculated the number of balls I averaged per game. Anyway, there you have it. Instead of a 399-game streak, I actually have a 401-game streak. I'm still in shock. My world isn't what I thought it was. It's like I just found out I was adopted.

It turns out that the streak's 400th game was that BP-only trip to Shea on July 1st. I'm bummed. I mean, it's cool to have reached the milestone, but I was looking forward to it. I was all set to start hyping it up and sending out press releases. (Not really.) I was planning to reach 400 next Thursday at Shea, but instead, that game will be #402. Yawn.

At least I'm two games closer to 500...

The first raindrops hit my windshield at 1:55pm, somewhere north of Baltimore, but the sky was bright and the rain quickly stopped. Then it started again at 2:24. Then it stopped. Then the sun came out and stuck around.

Mapquest was right on the money. I didn't get lost until I arrived at RFK and circled the ballpark without finding a parking lot that was open and somehow ended up back on the highway...followed by another highway...and then some back roads...but I didn't panic. Not only am I very good at being lost, but I had four hours until gametime.

I made it back and found LOT 3.
I was the first one there.
I picked a corner spot in Section D.
That'd be easy to remember: 3-D.
I took a picture just in case.

I walked to RFK and took a lap around it. That's what I always do when I go to a stadium for the first time: wander, explore, take lots of pictures. It's not just the baseball--or the baseballs--that I'm after; stadiums, on their own, fascinate me. They're huge and mysterious, and each one has its own atmosphere, especially on the outside when there's no one else around. I love the nooks and crannies, the ramps, the cracks in the asphalt, the stairs, the turnstiles, the gates, the railings, the Port-O-Potties, the ticket windows, the media entrances, the statues, the trees, the signs, the barricades, the canopies, the drains, the souvenir stores, the garbage cans, the lampposts, the wires, the TV trucks, the sidewalks, the roads, and even the parking lots.

My critique of RFK: it's dumpy and ugly and gloomy and depressing.
And guess what...I loved it.
I don't care if a stadium is "nice."
Safeco Field is "nice." Coors Field is "nice." Turner Field is "nice."
And you know what?
They're generic.
They're the cookie-cutter stadiums of the 21st century, and I can't tell them apart any more than I could differentiate the concrete beasts of the 1970s, like Three Rivers, Veterans, and Riverfront.
As far as ballparks go, RFK is a disaster, but it's also interesting. It has a personality, a unique look and feel.

At every gate, there was a sign that listed the rules and prohibited items. "No backpacks," it said, and I didn't think much of it. After 9/11, every ballpark made a no-backpack rule, and Yankee Stadium remains the only place that actually enforces it (reason #27 why I hate going there). Just to make sure, I poked my head into a little security/media entrance, where I happened to spot a familiar face. It took me a moment to figure out who it was. He looked older and shorter in person. "Mr. ______," I said, "could you sign an autograph for me, please?" He nodded and walked over. I reached into my backpack, pulled out an old Mets-Philles ticket stub, and handed it to him with my un-capped blue Sharpie. He took it and signed it and handed it back to me. "It's nice to finally meet you," he said. "I've been waiting all my life to sign an autograph for you." Okay, that's not really what he said, and it's not even that close to what I said. I did tell him I was glad to meet him--that much is true--and I shook his hand...and that was it. We couldn't stand around exchanging pleasantries all day. We both had work to do. Who was this mystery man? You tell me. His signature isn't THAT hard to read. Anyway, the security guard confirmed that backpacks are not allowed inside the stadium. After entering the gates, I'd be escorted to Guest Services where I would check my bag. After the game, I'd be allowed to pick it up. (Yankee Stadium won't even hold your bag for you. If you don't have a car or some other place to put it, you have to leave it at the bowling alley across the street. No joke.) This was bad. Really really bad. I had a LOT of stuff with me--Mets hat, Mets jacket, Expos hat (haven't bought one yet for the Nationals), journal, pens, rubber bands, Sharpie, keys, food, glove, ticket stubs, wallet, camera--and there was no way I'd be able to carry it all in my arms. And what about all the balls I'd be getting?

I went to the ticket window to get a second opinion (and a ticket). "It depends on the security alert," said the lady behind the bullet-proof window, "but you probably won't be able to bring in anything except a bottle of water." I asked her if I'd be able to enter the field level without a field level ticket. "No," she laughed as if that were the dumbest question she'd ever heard--so I had to shell out 40 bucks for a seat along the right field foul line...a seat which I never even sat in.

It was 4pm and sunny. The gates would be opening in 90 minutes. I felt good about the weather. I felt bad from having gotten only five hours of sleep. I was worried about my backpack, so I went to the Nationals office...you know, that sterilized waiting room with a receptionist and the team logo high on the wall and a security camera watching your every move. I told the lady that I'd just driven down from New York and that it was first time at RFK and that I was really nervous about not being able to bring my bag inside. "Oh don't worry," she said, "I see people with backpacks in there all the time. If anyone gives you a hard time, you just come right back here." I still had my doubts. "NO" was still winning, 2-1. I asked if there was a bathroom open to fans this early in the day. "Just around the corner, you'll find one," she said, referring to the Port-O-Potty. I told her it was locked. (It really was.) "Really?" she asked apologetically. Really. She told me to have a seat, and when her replacement showed up two minutes later, she took me upstairs and pointed me down a corridor toward the men's room. Let's just say that it was a LONG drive.

Next stop was the team store, housed in a flimsy white structure that looked like it'd been built just for this homestand. No, I didn't want a Christian Guzman jersey. No, I didn't care about the 8" x 11" glossy photographs of the president throwing out the season's ceremonial first pitch. I just wanted to see the balls. Not counting all the fake/plastic ones, there were two different kinds for sale: regular MLB balls for $21 and the commemorative "Washington Nationals 2005 Inaugural Season" balls for a dollar more. I inspected the commemorative ball so long that a sales lady came over and asked me if I was interested in buying it. "I'm gonna see if I can catch one first," I said and left for the gate.

It was 4:15pm. I had an hour and a quarter to kill. I found a butt-sized patch of pavement that did NOT have bird poop on it, and I sat down and leaned against the gate and wrote in my journal. Heaven.

Forty-five minutes later, people started lining up, so I stood up and joined them and had several conversations, all of which were about two things: baseball and the weather. Just about everyone I talked to was there for the first time. There was one family that'd driven from Kentucky and another that had taken the train from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. There were lots of Mets fans, too--lots of "WRIGHT 5" and "BELTRAN 15" jerseys. Why do I keep thinking that I'm going to be the only Mets fan if I see them on the road? So much for using my Mets jacket to give myself an advantage.

The clouds moved in at 5:10pm, the thunder began at 5:15, and five minutes before the stadium opened, it started POURING. I wished I wasn't there.

My backpack has three main compartments. When the stadium opened, security searched one of them for two seconds and sent me on my way. I had my ticket scanned and raced inside to find the tarp covering the infield, with the batting cage and other remnants of BP having been moved hastily aside. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

Security chased me out of the seats and sent me back into the concourse. Why? Because the main aisle--and all the steps below it--is made of metal, and there was lightning. Nice going, stadium architects. Keep up the good work.

I caught a glimpse of several Mets scampering from the right field bullpen (at RFK, the visitors are on the right side), so I threw on my Mets jacket and headed that way, carefully avoiding all metal surfaces so I wouldn't get killed or scolded. There was a cluster of Mets fans out there, and some guy immediately started talking to me: "Do you know when Trachsel is coming back? What do you think about Reyes being moved to the 7th hole? Sheffield for Cameron?! Yeah right! How disappointing is Glavine? Are you from New York? I'm from Norfolk. I see the Triple-A team all the time. My cousin played high school ball with David Wright. Can you believe that Floyd isn't going to Detroit? What do you think about Rick Peterson? The bullpen is really struggling. And Zambrano..."

DUDE!!! SHUT UP!!! I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE METS!!! I ROOT AGAINST THEM SO THAT FEWER PEOPLE WILL SHOW UP AT THEIR GAMES!!!

There was a ball sitting under one of the benches in the bullpen. Did these other fans want it? There were some kids with gloves, looking in the ball's direction, but did they even see it? It was far away, on the other side of a gap and a fence--and 20 feet down. I knew it was going to be tossed into the crowd, but the competition was stiff....that is, until the rain stopped and security opened up all seating areas. The crowd dispersed. It was beautiful. I was now alone out there, staring at a soggy baseball and an empty bullpen.

Zambrano came out of a passageway in the right field corner, tiptoed around the puddles on the warning track, and wandered into the bullpen.

"Victor!" I called, and he looked up. "Could you please toss me that ball?" He didn't see it. I had to point it out. He walked slowly toward the bench, kneeled on a little platform and reached for the ball. Oh baby, this was too easy...he took a few steps toward me, reached back to throw it but then flung the ball underhand. It stuck in his hand just a fraction of a second too long, went too high, sailed too far to the right, and fell short, hitting the base of the wall and rattling around in the gap between the bullpen and the stands. All the other fans saw it and came running over. Victor walked out of the bullpen, to give me another chance, I assumed, but he left the ball lying there and headed to the outfield grass to do some running. A Mets coach came out of the passageway and headed through the gap toward the field. I yelled for the ball and told him that Zambrano had tried to throw it to me. The coach didn't look at me. He just flipped it up randomly and it went five feet to my right where some other guy (not even wearing a glove or any Mets gear) caught it.

"Sorry," he shrugged and walked off with my ball.

The field was still empty, and it was less than an hour until gametime. My 26-game streak of four or more balls per game, it seemed, was about to die.

Zambrano finished his running and stretching, then played catch with bullpen catcher Dave Racaniello. That lasted about ten minutes, and THEN he went back into the bullpen to throw off the mound for Peterson. Nationals starter Esteban Loaiza began throwing in left field. Several players were signing autographs along the 3rd base line, but I couldn't leave. I'd invested so much time on Zambrano that I had to stick around to try to get that ball. And anyway, I always go for balls before autographs, especially when it's 45 minutes before gametime and I'm being shut out. Zambrano kept throwing and throwing. Fastballs. Curveballs. Sliders. My lord. He must've thrown 75 to 100 pitches. Maybe more. This was the only action on the Mets side, so all the fans had made their way over to check it out. Finally, the bullpen session was done, and the three guys--pitcher, catcher, and coach--headed out onto the warning track and around the foul pole and back through the gap toward the passageway. "Victor!!! Victor!!!" I was screaming louder than anyone. It was half an hour 'til gametime, and I was desperate. I'd stopped thinking about getting four balls. I was just hoping for one. My 398-game streak with at least one ball at every game was very much in danger. Zambrano kept walking, and I kept shouting, and just before he disappeared from view, he turned and underhanded the ball to me--and it sailed five feet over my head into a thick crowd of people. O h m y g o d.

This was serious.

Loaiza had disappeared into the LF bullpen. It wasn't worth going over there because the game's starting pitcher hardly ever throws his warmup ball into the crowd. Zambrano wasn't starting. He was just getting in some work between starts. This was Pedro's game. Pedro was nowhere in sight, and there weren't ANY players on the field. The sun was out. The tarp was long gone. It was 25 minutes before gametime. What was going on?! I was officially in panic-mode.

Twenty minutes.
Still no players.
Are you kidding me?!

Finally, two Nationals--Jose Guillen and Matt Cepicky--came out to run and throw, so I bolted to the left field side. The ushers kept trying to kick me out of the section, so I kept pretending to leave (by walking up a few rows) and then returning. It was 15 minutes until gametime and so crowded behind 3rd base that the ushers forgot about me. Cepicky and Guillen were winding down. They got closer and closer. Who would end up with it? Guillen? No problem, I'd ask him in Spanish. No! It was Cepicky, and he started walking toward the dugout. "MATT!!! MATT!!!" He didn't look up. I kept shouting and finally got his attention, and he tossed the ball to me. It was 6:53pm, twelve minutes before gametime. The shutout was over...and to make things even better, it was a commemorative ball! Unfortunately, the logo was semi-worn, but whatever. I was thrilled.

Five minutes later, just before the national anthem, I got Vinny Castilla to throw me a ball (a very regular, non-commemorative ball) at the dugout, and that was it for the Nat's. They were all off the field, and it wouldn't be long before the managers exchanged lineup cards and got the game underway. Ramon Castro and Jose Reyes popped out of the Mets dugout for a quick warmup catch. I figured that Reyes, the better player, would end up with the ball, so I hurried to his side--the 1st base side--of the dugout...but Castro ended up with it, 50 feet away, all the way down on the home plate side. Amazingly, there were no other fans anywhere along the dugout who were asking for the ball. I let out a mighty "RA-MON!!!" and waved my arms. He looked up, just before heading down the steps, and lobbed the ball to me. There was a guy sitting on my left in the front row. I was afraid he'd reach out and grab it, but he made no effort whatsoever, allowing me to lean out and one-hand it. (Regular ball...no reason why the Mets would be using the Nationals' commemorative balls.) One minute after that, David Wright was finishing playing catch with Chris Woodward in shallow right field. Wright ended up with it. I called out. He ignored me and started heading toward the dugout. I darted through the mostly empty rows of seats to keep up with him, calling his name the whole time. Nothing. But when he got closer, just on the other side of the photographers' box, he heard me loud-n-clear, and since there was no one else wearing a Mets jacket in the 88-degree humidity, he tossed it to me, a nice little floater of knuckleball. It was 7:01pm. I'd gotten four balls within eight minutes.

But I wanted another. I wanted a game ball...or any ball with a crisp Nationals logo on it...but the game was starting, so I figured it had to be a gamer. I also wanted to explore the inside of the ballpark, and I spent the first three innings doing so. I took pictures of everything from the ramps and concourses to the field and views from the upper deck. I did my wandering early so that the seats would fill up. There was no point in sitting down somewhere and then moving five minutes later when the latecomers arrived. And by the way, no one ever asked to see my ticket. Nice ploy by the ticket office to get

me to pay $40. Here's my revenge: When you go to RFK, buy the cheapest seats available and sit anywhere you want. Tell your friends. And tell them to tell their friends. And tell them all to bring backpacks. Mwahahaha!!!

In retrospect, I should have gone for balls at the start of the game because I lost valuable opportunities. I ended up using a double strategy. Every half inning, I moved back and forth behind home plate for righties and lefties (for foul balls) until there were two outs, and then I went to the dugout for the third out to try to get the ball tossed into the crowd when the players came off the field. It was exhausting, but I was determined. I needed a good Nationals ball. I came close after the bottom of the 4th when Woodward came in and tossed the ball to the guy right in front of me. The guy was sitting in the second row. I was a little late getting down there and only made it to the third row. We both put our gloves up as the ball came in. He caught it six inches in front of mine. That hurt. I should've done my wandering in the middle of the game. In the first few innings, none of the fans ever realize that the players will continually toss balls into the crowd, so I should have been down there, trying to work it before everyone caught on. Stupid Zack!

I came close to two foul balls. No wait. Three foul balls. There was one that landed in a TV booth and got tossed down, five seconds before I could get over. There was another ball that flew over my head, and as soon as I started running up the steps for it, it clipped the bottom of the facade of the press level and ricocheted back and landed TWO seats right in front of where I'd been sitting...if only I'd stayed there! But how was I to know? And then there was a two-out, check-swing bullet that came my way when I happened to be sitting a few rows behind the 1st base dugout. It shot into the crowd ten feet to my right, and when I scampered for it, I accidentally stepped on some woman's foot. She made such a big stink about it that I grabbed my bag and left before the situation got out of hand. That incident wiped out any chance I had of going back to the Mets' dugout, but whatever. It was the 7th inning, and there were so many kids running down to the first row after every 3rd out that I wasn't going to get a ball there anyway. As for the Nationals' dugout, I was banned from there as well, not because of any incident, but because the usher knew I didn't belong and told me not to come back.

I was mad. I'd come close to so many balls, and both of my main spots were now dead. I wandered out to the LF corner to have a look at the Nationals' bullpen. What did I see when I got there? A ball, just sitting on the ground in the gap between the pen and the stands. Was this a joke? The seats were packed. How was it possible that none of the fans spotted it? None of the players saw it either. Gary Bennett walked by. I called out. He ignored me. He's always been rude. Moments later, Joey Eischen passed by. I shouted and he looked up. I pointed to the ball and asked if he could toss it. He walked over, picked it up, and threw it right to me. "Thanks!" I yelled and fumbled with it frantically to see if it had the Nationals' logo. Nope. Just a regular ball. And it was waterlogged. (It could have been soaked with tobacco juice for all I cared. A ball is a ball.) That was #5.

Meanwhile, there was a nice little pitchers' duel going on, and I hadn't even noticed. Washington was winning 1-0...and promptly tacked on a couple more runs on an RBI-double by Jose Vidro and a run-scoring single by Guillen.

I stayed in left field until the top of the 9th, then went back to the Nationals' dugout but stayed back a dozen rows so the usher wouldn't see me. It had been a quick game, and I really wanted it to end so I could hit the road. Also, if the Nationals could hang on, I'd have a better shot at getting a commemorative ball. Loaiza gave up a leadoff single to Cliff Floyd and got lifted for Chad Cordero, the major league leader in saves, but two more singles and a boneheaded throwing error by Guillen made it a 3-1 game with one out and runners on 2nd and 3rd. Jose Reyes grounded out to make it 3-2. Two outs. Tying run on 3rd. Please Please Please...c'mon, Mets...lose! Pinch-hitter Brian Daubach popped out to Jamey Carroll at short. Ballgame!

The usher didn't stop anyone from going down to the dugout, so I followed the crowd and squeezed into the front row. The Nationals headed out onto the field to congratulate each other. Blah blah. I waited for Cordero to come back, but he kept the ball. That was predictable. It was his 30th save. I was hoping someone else would have a ball...and someone did. Unfortunately, I only got a glimpse of this person before he tossed it to me and ducked into the dugout. At first, I thought it might have been Nilson Robledo, the bullpen catcher, but now I think it was Hector Carrasco (who tossed me ball #1,500 at the Metrodome in 1999). I looked at the ball...and YES! There it was: a near-perfect Nationals logo. My night was complete.

I hung around, asked people for their extra ticket stubs, took some pictures of the empty seats, and headed back to 3-D to begin the long journey back to New York City.

Stats:
2,548 total balls
117 balls in 17 games this season = 6.9 balls per game
399 consecutive games with at least one ball
27 consecutive games with at least four balls
38 major league stadiums with at least one ball
448 total balls outside NYC
73 consecutive games outside NYC with at least one ball
3,989 words in this entry

It's 2:39am. I just got home from work.
I'm planning to wake up in...not too many hours and drive (226 miles) to Washington, D.C. for the Mets-Nationals game at RFK Stadium.
I've never been there before.
It'll be my 38th major league ballpark.
Unfortunately, weather.com is saying "Isolated T-Storms" with a 40% chance of rain.
I'm not worried about the game being canceled; I'm worried that there won't be batting practice.
Even if there is batting practice, it'll be tough to get balls. (Click here to read why.)
I've caught at least one ball in 398 consecutive games.
I've caught at least four at each of my last 26.
It would be a shame to lose either of these streaks after such a long trip (and at such a crappy ballpark).
In addition to keeping the streaks alive, I have another goal:
This year, the Nationals are using special game balls with commemorative logos.
I don't just want one; I need one.
The odds of catching a game ball are slim, so I'm going to do whatever it takes.
No, I'm not going to knock over little kids. (Only big ones.)
I'm hoping that some of these special balls, perhaps old ones with grass stains or scuff marks, have made their way into the practice bin.
I've been told, however, that RFK opens just 90 minutes before gametime.
That's lame.
It means I won't get in early enough to exploit the Nationals during their warmups.
If I don't get a commemorative ball tomorrow, I still have three months to make it back to RFK and try again.
Or I can wait for the Nationals to come back to Shea (three games in August, three more in September) and hope that they bring some special balls with them.
It could happen.
That's how I've gotten most of my commemorative balls...not from the special games themselves but from random teams' batting practices here and there.
Anyway, it's 3:17am and I must get to bed.
Oh no, wait, I have to update my rosters and gather all my stuff for the game.
And brush my teeth.

I mention my job a lot (because I have to plan my ball-collecting around it), but I never really talk about it. In the last few days, a few people have asked me what I do, so here's the answer: I'm a baseball writer. I work for MLBAM, which stands for Major League Baseball Advanced Media. I write recaps of minor league baseball games for the minor league web site (plus the occasional news/feature story and a few other things here and there). My recaps are short, usually six to eight paragraphs, because I write several per night. The writing is not supposed to be fancy; the goal is to mention the key players and key moments, the stadium, the day of the week, the teams' won-lost records, important stats, winning and losing streaks, etc. If I spend more than 20 or 30 minutes per game, I could get fired. Okay, that's not true, but that really is how quickly we try to work. Here are the recaps I wrote last night:
Columbus Clippers vs. Durham Bulls
Charlotte Knights vs. Pawtucket Red Sox
Ottawa Lynx vs. Buffalo Bisons
Reading Phillies vs. Erie SeaWolves
Albuquerque Isotopes vs. Omaha Royals
Mobile BayBears vs. Mississippi Braves
Huntsville Stars vs. West Tenn Diamond Jaxx
New Orleans Zephyrs vs. Round Rock Express

Someday, we'll do recaps for Single-A and short-season and rookie ball, but for now, it's pretty much just Double-A and Triple-A games. It's a great job, though stressful at times, but I love getting paid to follow baseball and write about it.

If you want to look for future (or even past) recaps, here's what to do:
1. Go to minorleaguebaseball.com
2. Click "Scoreboard"
3. Pick a league (International, Pacific, Eastern, Southern, or Texas)
4. Select a date
5. Click "wrap" underneath any of the games, and you might just be looking at my work.

It turns out that all my recent complaining--all my whining about my schedule--was unnecessary because I did end up making it to Shea yesterday. Of course, there was a gigantic crowd before Gate C even opened (because it was fireworks night), and it looked like it was about to start pouring at any second, and I still had to buy a $16 ticket even though I'd have to leave immediately after batting practice to make it to work by 7pm. I was torn. On one hand, I was glad to be there. On the other hand, I was wishing I'd stayed home. I knew I'd get at least one or two balls, but I knew it would be a struggle. My streak of 25 games with at least four balls was in jeopardy.

When the stadium opened at 4:40pm, most fans headed toward the Mets dugout on the 1st base side, and I sprinted to the left field foul line. Thirty seconds later, I got a ball when someone on the Mets (I think it was Gerald Williams) jerked a line drive into the empty blue seats.

The usher walked over, cursed the broken chain that had allowed me to enter his precious section, and said, "You better go to right field where they don't know you because I'm going to tell [the players] not to give you any balls."

I didn't move. Right field was already getting crowded--and within a couple minutes, left field started filling up, too.

Roberto Hernandez jogged over to field a grounder.

"Roberto!" I shouted. "Could you please toss me the ball?"

He looked up and turned to throw it.

"No!" barked the usher, "Don't do that! He's already got fourteen balls!"

Roberto looked around and gave the ball to someone else. The usher smirked.

David Wright came out to left field and within two minutes, he tossed four balls into the crowd--none to me of course. Then he tossed another one, a very easy lob to a teenage boy in the front row. The boy missed it. The ball nearly hit him in the head. David Wright cringed.

"David!" I called from the left field corner. "I can catch. Throw me a ball. I'll show you."

He tossed the next ball my way, but it fell short, and I had to lean waaay over the railing to catch it. When I looked up, he gave me a "you-da-man" point, just like pitchers do to infielders after run-saving plays.

Then things got difficult. I ran to the 3rd base line. No ball. I moved to shallow left field. Nothing. I returned to the left field foul line, and Jose Reyes sliced a line drive that hit the warning track in front of me. The ball bounced, and I leaned forward to catch it--but the on-field security guard (another stadium employee who unfortunately recognizes me) jumped and grabbed it and handed it to some bimbo.

It was crowded. Really crowded. I gave up on left field and squeezed into the first row behind the Marlins' dugout before they took the field for BP. Hitting coach Bill Robinson was standing next to the basket of balls, and all the fans were pestering him, so I asked for a dirty ball...anything to get his attention and set myself apart from everyone else. He told me there weren't any dirty balls, and it was true. They were all brand new. What are the odds?

Luis Castillo and Damion Easley were playing catch. I asked them for the ball, and they ignored me.

"C'mon, Damion!" I yelled, "I won't tell anybody!"

A few fans laughed at me. One guy said those lines never work.

Alex Gonzalez walked by with a ball. I called out and got him to toss it up, but it sailed far to my left. I didn't think I'd be able to reach it, but I still dove for it, lunging as far as I possibly could and belly-flopping on the dugout roof. I caught it in the tip of my glove.

I went back to the left field corner and didn't catch a thing. The only people getting balls were little kids and pretty ladies. The seats were unbelievably packed. (The attendance ended up being 44,853.) It was a lost cause. I needed one more ball to extend my four-per-game streak, but it wasn't happening. Then BP ended 13 minutes early. It wasn't even raining. The Marlins just stopped and headed off the field. I HAD to make it to the dugout. It was my last chance to get a ball, but the left field aisle was full of vendors and ushers and fans who couldn't find their seats, so I took the less crowded detour, sprinting through the concourse and eventually cutting to my left through the runway. I made it to the corner of the dugout just as Bill Robinson had finished packing up the balls. (I was wearing my Marlins hat, of course.)

"Hey, Bill," I said as he headed into the dugout, "any chance for a dirty ball NOW?"

He looked up as he disappeared from view. I stayed. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance. Three seconds later, he poked his head out, made eye contact with me, and tossed a ball. It wasn't even that dirty.

"That's TWO!" shouted the fans who'd been laughing at me 40 minutes earlier.

"Yeah," I said, "those lines never work," and I took off for the subway.

S T A T S:
2,542 total balls.
398 consecutive games with at least one ball.
26 consecutive games with at least four balls.
111 balls this season in 16 games = 6.9 balls per game.

Next game?
Thanks to a co-worker who switched days with me next week, it looks I'll finally make it to RFK Stadium on Tuesday...Mets vs. Nationals...it'll be my 38th major league ballpark...please don't rain.

It's 2:40pm.Shea Stadium opens in exactly two hours.
I'm still thinking about zipping over there for batting practice.
Weather.com is saying "Scattered Strong Storms" for the rest of the day.
The sun, however, is temporarily winning its fight with the clouds.
This is unsettling.
I hope the new Shea is built with a retractable dome.

Random news:
--Three days after getting hit by that ball, my shoulder still hurts (but only if I touch it).
--I really DO like my job, even though yesterday's entry might've led you to believe otherwise.
--While riding the M72 bus earlier this afternoon, I spotted Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria getting into a taxi between Madison and 5th Avenue. (No, this isn't my card...just a picture I found on Google.)
--I wish I owned a major league baseball team. (Okay, this isn't news.)