My girlfriend Jona is a good sport. She had the day off from work and chose to spend 15 hours of it with me, driving down to Baltimore, waiting outside Camden Yards for the gates to open, following me around with her camera during batting practice, listening to me complain about every ball I didn't catch, moving from seat to seat during the game, letting me wander off in pursuit of foul balls, straying from her healthy vegan diet, staying for extra innings, and pretending not to mind the oldies I was blasting in the car on the ride home. (In all fairness, I pretended not to mind the R&B she was blasting on the ride down.)
Jona had gone to a Mets game with me on June 18, so she knew what to expect, but still, I found myself explaining why we'd gotten there so early.

"Every ten or twenty games," I said, "I'll find a ball just lying on the ground when I run inside. It's pretty rare, but still, that's why I need to be the first one in."

Sure enough, when we ran inside at 5:05pm, I found one (and since I had such a big head start on the next fan, I had time to pull out my camera and take a pic before snatching it).

A father and his young son had made their way into my section when a lefty on the Orioles hit a home run that got wedged in an empty seat. As I scurried over and grabbed the ball, the father pointed at his son and called, "Little kid! Little kid!" so I pointed at Jona and called, "Girlfriend! Girlfriend!"

The father laughed and let it go, and his kid got a ball tossed to him a few minutes later.

I ran all over the place during the first half-hour (Jona's camera could not contain me!), but only got one other ball. Kurt Birkins was standing near the warning track. I was standing next to Jona in the aisle at the back of the right field seats. He tossed the ball over 20 empty rows.

Jona and I jogged to left field when the Devil Rays began taking BP. I was looking forward to seeing Dan Wheeler and wondering if he'd remember me from his days with the Mets. I spotted him in the outfield and headed down the steps, and before I reached the front row or even said a word, he looked up and pointed at me.

"Where ya been?" he yelled.

"What's up!" I yelled back. "It's good to see you. How 'bout a ball for old time's sake?"

"How many are you up to?"

"Three thousand, one hundred, and forty-eight."

"That's pretty good," he said.

"Don't tell any of your teammates, okay?"

He nodded and asked what I've been up to and signed a few autographs for some kids in the front row. I told him I have a new baseball book.

"Where's my autographed copy?" he asked.

"Where's my ball?" I demanded, then quickly realized that this wasn't the time to be stingy. He was asking for my autograph. A major league baseball player was asking for MY autograph. It had never happened before, and I wasn't sure if it would ever happen again so I told him I'd send him a copy. I also told him I had to keep moving because there were balls to be snagged.

"Go do your thing," he said. "I'm sure I'll see you later."

We shook hands and I ran into foul territory just in time to get Scott Kazmir to toss me my fourth ball of the day as he finished throwing. I could've asked any of the other pitchers for a ball, but I specifically wanted one from Kazmir. I know he's young, and I know he could get hurt, but he has a legitimate chance to win 300 games or at least end up in the Hall of Fame, and I wanted to be able to add his name to my list.

Moments later, a left-handed hitter on the D'Rays sliced a line drive over the 3rd baseman's head. The ball rolled all the way down the line and curved into foul territory. I didn't have to move my feet. All I did was lean over the low wall and scoop it off the rubberized warning track.

I'll admit it: the stadium was empty, and the competition was a joke. Whatever. I don't need to apologize. For all the miserable batting practices I endure at Yankee Stadium where I don't even have a single row to myself, I deserve a few easy games like this.

I caught two homers on a fly in the next ten minutes. The first was hit into my row, about 20 feet to my left, so all I had to do was scoot through the empty seats. The second was hit right at me, and I quickly determined that it was going to fall a few feet short, so I climbed over a row of seats and lunged over another row for the catch at the last second. I felt good about that one (in part because Jona was watching), but of course I misplayed a few other balls later on.

I got an incredibly lucky bounce several minutes later on a long home run. I was a bit too far back in the left field seats so the ball landed half a dozen rows in front of me and skipped directly up in the air as fans were closing in on it from both sides. As the ball hung up in the air for split-second, I was hoping against all odds that it would land on the concrete between the rows and that the extreme backspin from the deflection would cause it to bounce back in my direction...and by golly it did. I leaned far forward and caught the ball in the tip of my glove just before the other fans got there.

Wheeler saw me make the catch and called me down to the front with a wave of his arm.

"How many have you gotten today?" he asked.

"Eight, but shhhhh," I said quietly.

With just a few minutes remaining in BP, I cut through the seats and headed toward the 3rd base dugout, stopping briefly along the way to get ball No. 9 from Juan Salas. Soon after I reached the dugout, I got my 10th ball rather unexpectedly. Someone on the Devil Rays—might've been Jon Switzer—jogged in out of nowhere, and without my asking or getting a look at his face, he flipped me a ball. I have no idea why. Could Wheeler have had something to do with it?

I got Devil Rays manager Joe Maddon to sign my ticket stub after BP. Then I talked to three kids who recognized me from YouTube, and I gave them contact cards. Finally I got to sit down with Jona and label the last four balls I'd snagged.

Five minutes before the national anthem, Josh Wilson tossed me his warmup ball after playing catch in shallow left field. (For those of you keeping score at home, that was my 11th ball of the day and 100th lifetime ball at Camden Yards.) Moments later, Wheeler and a few relievers walked past my section on their way to the bullpen in left-center.

"Dan!" I shouted.

He looked up.

"Eleven," I said.

He knew exactly what I meant.

Now...
I don't want to incriminate anyone by mentioning names or section numbers, so let's just say there's a certain usher at Camden Yards who takes good care of me. As fate would have it, he got sick and wasn't there the other night. Not hospital sick. Just sick enough to miss the one game I happened to attend, so I had to find another spot. If I'd been there by myself, I would've run around all night for foul balls. Or maybe I would've camped out in the standing room only section for home runs. But Jona was with me, and this was only the second game of her life, and I didn't want to make her run around any more, and I wanted her to have a good view, so we walked down the steps to the Devil Rays' dugout and sat in the third row. The ushers didn't say a word, and no one came for the seats.

I picked that spot, not for the foul balls, but for the third-out balls that were going to be tossed up after every inning. Second batter of the game? Carl Crawford. 2-1 pitch from Steve Trachsel? Popped up into foul territory 30 feet behind me. I was sitting on the end of the row, so I jumped up and raced up the steps while keeping my eye on the ball as best I could. I was a bit too slow and the ball landed just out of my reach, but the other fans dropped it, and it rolled onto the steps where I grabbed it. Crazy! You may recall that I snagged a foul ball in almost the exact same way on August 7 (at 7:09pm) in Philadelphia.

I really wanted another foul ball. I mean, I always want foul balls, but now I had a chance to extend one of my lesser-known streaks. In every season since 1999, I'd had at least one game in which I snagged at least two game balls—and by "game balls," I'm not simply talking about game-used balls that get tossed into the crowd. I'm talking about balls that are hit directly into the seats.

Miguel Tejada struck out to end the first inning; Devil Rays catcher Dioner Navarro rolled the ball back to the mound. Melvin Mora grounded out to end the second; first baseman Carlos Pena tossed the ball to a well-endowed blonde. Nick Markakis grounded into a double play to end the third; Pena tossed the ball to a little kid.

It wasn't happening. Jona and I were hungry. We headed to the concourse. She got on line for food. I used the bathroom. She bought a pretzel and a bag of peanuts. I held the food (and took an obnoxiously large bite of her pretzel) while she used the bathroom. There were two outs in the bottom of the fourth. I raced back to the dugout. She waited in a tunnel. Mora walked on seven pitches. I felt bad about leaving her on her own. Ramon Hernandez flied out to end the inning. Right fielder Delmon Young tossed the ball two sections over. I hurried back to Jona. We headed back into the concourse. I got some pepperoni pizza. We walked back into the seats as the fifth inning started. I wanted to sit in the empty row below the press box, but two ushers were standing nearby. Jona and I crept up the steps behind the aisle. We cut through the back of the section toward home plate and stood next to the press box. The pizza box was in my hand; my glove was in my backpack. I was waiting for both ushers to look the other way. Akinori Iwamura slapped a one-out single to left field. Crawford stepped up to the plate, and I said, "I'm gonna drop my pizza and go for the ball, if need be," and on the very next pitch, a laser of a foul ball came flying right in my direction. I dropped the pizza without thinking and heard the box smack the concrete half a second before I made the bare-handed catch. Jona was in shock. The fans around me applauded. The ushers looked up. I sat down in the nearest seat and pretended I'd been there all along. An old woman asked me if my hands hurt. "Nah, not at all," I told her. Then I looked at my hands and saw that the base of my left thumb was bright pink. "Actually, yeah, it hurts," I said and she laughed. It was a good hurt. A Big Hurt. A hurt of joy and satisfaction. A hurt of knowing instantly that what had just happened was insanely cool and that I'd be telling this story for decades. The pizza was still in the box.

Two foul balls and it was only the top of the fifth! The first thing I thought was: "I need to get two more." I'd snagged three foul balls in a single game on two occasions. But never four. I explained all of this to Jona (and also explained that it was okay to throw her peanut shells on the ground) and asked her if she minded if I headed over to the first base side for the right-handed hitters. She didn't mind, and my official pursuit of foul balls was underway.

Of course nothing came anywhere near me for the next few innings, but it was still fun to run around. It was fun just to have a chance. The game itself was meaningless in the standings, but every pitch carried serious weight for me.

The Devil Rays scored two runs in the eighth to cut the Orioles' lead to 4-3. One inning later, I was positioned behind the Orioles' dugout and hoping that the game would end...when Brendan Harris muscled a two-out line drive into left field to plate B.J. Upton with the tying run.

The bad news: It was going to be a very late night.
The good news: More chances for foul balls.

Navarro put the Devil Rays on top, 5-4, with an RBI single in the top of the 12th, and in the bottom of the frame, Cory Patterson hit a towering foul pop-up in my direction. The stadium was so empty at this point that I was standing in the middle of the main aisle, and no one cared. Not the ushers. Not their supervisors. Not the Baltimore police. It was truly beautiful, and the wind nearly screwed me. I moved 10 feet to my right while keeping my eye on the white speck against the black sky. That speck ended up drifting 15 feet to my left, and I recovered by drifting back with it and making a last-second lunge over my head. As empty as the stadium was, I wouldn't have gotten that ball if I hadn't gotten leather on it because it would've bounced a long way off the concrete.

Getting those three foul balls seemed oddly easy, and after the final out, I found myself wondering why I didn't get more, and why I don't get three at every game. There were several other close calls that could've gone my way. One foul ball that was heading for me didn't quite make it over the protective screen, and another could've easily been dropped by the fans sitting directly above me in the club level. There's so much luck involved. Sometimes I try to play it off like it's all skill, but it's really not. How much skill? It's impossible to say. If a ball comes right to me, is that luck? What if I skillfully chose that spot? Am I lucky to have been born with good hand-eye coordination? Was it luck that the paid attendance was only 16,944? Was I lucky to be the only fan who was dorky/obsessive enough to be going for foul balls in the 12th inning? I don't know. Doesn't matter. It's hard to make sense of it all, but I can tell you that I'm still buzzing.

STATS:

• 198 balls in 28 games this season = 7.1 balls per game.

• 483 consecutive games with at least one ball

• 100 consecutive games outside of New York with at least one ball

• 68 lifetime games with at least 10 balls

• 9 lifetime games with exactly 14 balls

• 3 lifetime games with three game balls

• 12 lifetime games with two or more game balls

• 9 consecutive seasons with at least one game in which I snagged two game balls

• 103 lifetime balls at Camden Yards

• 3 stadiums with at least 100 balls (Shea = 2,018, Yankee = 464)

• 107 lifetime game balls

• 21 lifetime game balls outside of New York (pizza foul = 20th)

• 3,159 total balls...moves me ahead of Paul Waner (3,152) and George Brett (3,154) and into 15th place on the all-time hits list. Next up is Cal Ripken, Jr. (3,184).

I did something pretty special last night at Camden Yards—something I'd only done twice before in 664 games.
Curious?

Gimme a day (or two) and check back in. I'm about to get started on what will be a MONSTER blog entry...

Okay, that was lame. Sorry. It's 3:09am, and I'm hyper. Too much sugar. It was healthy sugar, though. Lots of fruit. Blackberries, a peach, an orange, a banana. Vanilla yogurt. Granola. So I'm hyper. And psyched. About Baltimore. I'm leaving NYC at noon. Driving down with my girlfriend. The weather's supposed to be perfect. And if last night's attendance is any indication of what's in store for today...all I can say is "heh heh." There were only 17,781 fans at Camden Yards. It's all about the weeknight games against crappy teams—in this case Tampa Bay—when there isn't a promotion. Fireworks are a killer. Bobbleheads too. Used to be Beanie Babies. Hated those things. Why do people need to be bribed with trinkets to go see Major League Baseball? Anyway, my goal for today is to snag at least eight balls. EIGHT in honor of Cal Ripken, Jr. I'll leave you with a link to the latest article about my baseball collection: Voila! And good night.

I've been thinking of ways to grow my Watch With Zack business, and I came up with an idea that can grow your wallet.
It's pretty simple. All you have to do is tell people about Watch With Zack, and if any of them book a game with me and mention your name, I'll give you a 10 percent finder's fee. That's fifty bucks. Bam! Just like that. Right in your pocket. If the person books a second game (or a 17th game), you'll get 10 percent of that too. Whatever the person ends up spending, you'll get 10 percent, so think it over and start spreading the word...

I met a guy from Hungary yesterday, so naturally the first thing I asked him was if he could teach me how to say, "Please throw me the ball" in Hungarian. He did, and I wrote it down phonetically (with little slashes over the syllables that get the emphasis), and here it is:

Now I know how to ask for a ball in 29 languages. Yay.

Yesterday's TV interview was unlike any I had done before. The host was in Oakland, and I was in New York City, so it was one of those "joining us via satellite" deals.
But let's start from the beginning...

I woke up with five hours of sleep and a sore throat, cabbed to the midtown studio at 11:15am, avoided making eye contact with the security guard in the lobby, took an elevator to the 13th floor, and called the receptionist on an intercom outside a set of glass doors.

The place was sleek and elegant and shimmering with natural light. There were conference rooms and flat-screen TVs. There was designer furniture and a full bar. But best of all, there was an autograph book on the counter, signed by the REAL celebrities who'd recently been interviewed there—people like Bruce Willis, Ozzie Smith, Jerry Springer, Tony Parker, etc.

At 11:30am, a young woman led me to a small room with a backdrop of New York City, and she clipped a microphone to my shirt.

Then she gave me an ear piece and told me to look straight ahead into the camera, which she was going to operate with a remote control from the next room.

She closed the door behind her, and after a brief pause, I heard her voice in my right ear. We did a sound check. She told me to keep looking straight ahead and smiling because I wouldn't know exactly when I'd be on. Then I heard another voice in my ear.

"Hey, Zack, it's Chelsea. We're gonna be live in two minutes."

Chelsea was in Oakland. She's the segment producer who first contacted me about doing the interview.

By this point I could hear the audio of KTVU/Channel 2. First a few commercials. Then the weather.

"Ten seconds," said Chelsea.

I counted down in my head, kept smiling, and assumed that at some point my face was being shown to a whole bunch of people in the Bay Area. The host started talking. He introduced me and said baseball is a great game and asked why people are so crazy about it. Or something like that. And the interview was underway. It was quick. Only about five minutes. I was asked about the Rangers' 30-run outburst, about AT&T Park and McAfee Coliseum, about the value of Bonds' 756th home run (which is about to be auctioned), about advice for a kid who was heading to his first game, and so on. I wasn't nervous. It was just kinda strange to be alone in that little room, hearing a voice 3,000 miles away in one ear and directing my portion of the conversation into a camera.

Anyway, that's TV for you. I think I did a good job with the interview, but I won't know for sure until I see it.

(Happy birthday to Cal Ripken, Jr.)

My girlfriend reads this blog, and when she saw the previous entry, she got a bit jealous and wanted me to sign her shirt too.
ANYWAY...
I have a few more links to share, starting with three stories I wrote last week for MiLB.com. For the first one, I interviewed a former Major Leaguer named Paul Runge who's currently managing the Danville Braves of the Rookie Appalachian League. For the second, I talked to a minor league pitcher named Kyle Schmidt who made a dominating start for the Class A Delmarva Shorebirds. The third is just a brief recap of a Mexican League playoff game. Nothing fancy. Just kinda cool that I got to cover it.

More links...
There's a site I recently stumbled upon with news updates about everything related to the world of sports memorabilia. It's called Sports Collectors Daily and you should definitely check it out.

My book got a nice plug from an unlikely source: Vera's Crafty Blog.

In case you never got to see a hard copy of the "USA Today" article, here it is on my web site.

I didn't go to Philadelphia yesterday, and I'm not gonna make it to Shea today. Stupid sore throat. I'm not getting enough sleep.

It rained. Of course.

I'm seriously jinxed when it comes to taking live BP. Yesterday I woke up with five hours of sleep, raced to the Port Authority, rode a bus for two and a half hours, and then had to settle for playing Wiffle Ball in a dumpy little gymnasium.

It was still fun, I must admit, and the kids were excited to meet me (thanks to the fact that my friends who run the camp had been hyping me up for the previous two days). I gave a 45-minute speech which included a glove trick demonstration, a brief session of show-and-tell, and lots of questions and answers.

A few kids asked for my autograph. Then all the kids asked. One kid wanted me to sign his shirt. (Why couldn't he have been 15 years older and female?)

Three boys asked me to sign their muscles.

I joined all the kids for dinner, visited their cabins, said some quick goodbyes, and took the bus home. It wasn't raining anymore. Of course.

TODAY: I was hoping to have a hard copy of that "USA Today" article by now, but no, the US Postal Service apparently needs more than three days to deliver an envelope three-quarters of a mile. Meanwhile, I'm feeling guilty about not working on my book proposal and getting ready to go out and buy a new shower curtain and bath mat. I'm also eating leftover Thai food, and my girlfriend just said, "Haha, you're eating vegan food, and you're gonna say how good it is." Yeah, it IS pretty good, but it'd even better if there were chunks of dead animal flesh.
TOMORROW: Waking up at 9am to catch a 10am bus from the Port Authority to my friends' baseball camp in Milford, PA. I hope it doesn't rain because I really want to put on a hitting display for the kids. I hope my friends take pictures and then email them to me in a timely fashion so I can share the experience here.

WEDNESDAY: Interview (via telephone) with talkSPORT Radio in London at 10:20am ET, followed by another phoner with WGIR in Manchester, NH. Then, if I've heard back from a certain Comcast SportsNet producer and he wants to film me at Citizens Bank Park, I'll go. Otherwise, I might stay home and work on the book proposal. Or go to Shea. Or do both. Or neither. I hope it doesn't rain.

THURSDAY: TV interview with KTVU/Channel 2 News at 11:45am. They're in Oakland and have a studio in NYC. It's going to be live, which means it should air at 8:45am on the West Coast. Then I might go to Shea. Depends on the weather (I hope it doesn't rain) and if I was there the day before. I don't think I can handle two Mets games in two days. Too stressful.

FRIDAY: More work on the book proposal. Radio interview at 7:20pm. I forget which station. They're out in Las Vegas, I think. Doesn't matter. I'll just wait for the phone to ring. Possible visit from my friend Darren who's slowly fixing my Arkanoid machine.

SATURDAY: Going to the Hamptons with Jona (the girlfriend) to see a performance by Ronald K. Brown Dance Company. (Who?!)

SUNDAY: Writing group meeting in Central Park. I hope it doesn't rain.

I've been invited to make a guest appearance at my friends' baseball camp on Tuesday, August 21, so I went to a batting cage this afternoon to make sure I hadn't forgotten how to hit...

Oh yeah. I still got it.

Last week (in case you missed it) I was interviewed on NPR. Since then I've heard from a bunch of people who want to watch baseball with me, including a woman who asked if I'd take her son to Yankee Stadium before he had to head back to college on August 17th. I told her I was free on the 14th so she gave me his phone number, and I called him the day before the game to get a little more info.

His name is Peter. He's 21 years old. About to start his junior year at the University of Miami. Psychology major. Huge Yankees fan. Huge baseball fan. Runs a 20-team fantasy league. Has a partial season ticket plan with his dad at Yankee Stadium. Played varsity baseball in high school...

So, what exactly did he need me for?

"I've never been to batting practice," he admitted, adding that he'd once gotten a ball at Spring Training, but never at a major league stadium.

"I think we can do something about that," I said.

We ended up talking for 20 minutes--very cool guy--and by 4pm the next day, we were shaking hands and heading to the #4 train.

By the time GATE 6 opened at 5:05pm, the line behind us was insanely long so I set Peter up in the corner spot out in straight-away right field.

It wasn't a good spot to snag six balls, but there was an excellent chance he'd get at least one thrown to him. He was a bit shy at first, at least in terms of using his voice, so I assured him it wasn't rude to yell as long as he said please, and soon after, he got Phil Hughes to toss him a ball.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten to warn Peter that Yankees fans tend to be rather aggressive during batting practice. Therefore, when he didn't reach all the way out for the ball, another fan reached in front of him and stole it. Not good. It was still early, but I could tell it was going to be a slow day for balls. The players weren't hitting or throwing much into the seats, there were half a dozen kids with cup/glove tricks, and the entire section had a sinister vibe. I'd managed to snag two balls by that point--one from Mike Mussina and another with the glove trick--so at least Peter was guaranteed not to go home empty-handed, but I wanted him to enjoy the rush of getting a ball for himself. When the Orioles took the field, I told him to lose the Yankees cap and Jeter jersey, and I gave him my Orioles cap.

I also gave him an Orioles roster and helped shout at the players, and within a few minutes, Nick Markakis fired a ball at him from about 100 feet away. The ball was easily traveling 50 to 60mph, but it seemed to float toward us in slow-motion, during which time I was praying that Peter would put his 6-foot-2 frame to good use and reach all the way out. PLEASE!!! Please reach out. Please make the catch. This is your chance. Your second chance. Possibly your last chance for quite some time. Reach all the way out. ALL THE WAY. And don't just reach. Open the glove. Open the glove and hold it in the right spot and squeeze it at just the right moment. Did you really play high school baseball? Prove it. Make the catch. Make it. Do it. Come on...

He made the one-handed catch with ease. **** yeah. But the rest of BP was a nightmare. First I tore my (overpriced) cargo shorts on the back of a seat as I tried to squeeze down a narrow staircase (and nearly lost my keys and wallet as a result), and later on, I got knocked down while going for a ball. It was the second time this happened in my last two Yankees games, and I was NOT happy. Basically, there was a ball that got flipped up from the warning track, and it was coming down directly to me, so I reached up and jumped a few inches and got body-checked from all sides. The worst part wasn't getting elbowed on the right cheek. It's that the other fans were so reckless that they sent me flying toward a group of little kids. I avoided slamming into them by grabbing onto someone's shirt on the way down, and when I picked myself up...let's just say I offered a few choice words to the people around me.

After BP, if I'd been there by myself, I would've wandered to the left field foul line and tried to get a few Orioles autographs. Maybe even a third ball. But Peter just wanted to go to the seats and order some food and wait for the game to start, and that was fine. Seriously. It was nice to relax and sit in one place and have some company in the process. When A-Rod came up in the bottom of the first inning, I was hoping he wouldn't hit a home run to left field. Again...if I were alone, that's where I would've been, so I was glad when he walked.

A-Rod grounded out in the fourth, and Hideki Matsui followed with a line drive single to left to break up Daniel Cabrera's no-hitter. The Yankees were already losing, 6-0, at that point, and by the time A-Rod came up again in the sixth, the score was 11-0 and Peter and I were in left field. (Even HE got a bit restless with the score so lopsided.) I couldn't believe how empty the aisle was. If A-Rod had hit a line drive anywhere near us, we would've been all over it, but the best he could do was cream a foul homer into the upper deck and then dribble a slow roller toward shortstop Miguel Tejada for an infield hit--the Yankees' second and final hit of the night.

Peter and I went back to our seats for the next two innings, then snuck down behind the Orioles' dugout in the ninth, but the players and coaches didn't toss a single ball into the crowd.

Final score: Orioles 12, Yankees 0.

It's amazing that the Yankees got blanked, considering that the Orioles walked nine batters: six by Cabrera in 6 2/3 innings, two by Paul Shuey over the next inning and a third, and one by Rob Bell in the ninth. Props to Aubrey Huff for hitting a grand slam and knocking in five runs...and to Kevin Millar who reached base in all five plate appearances, going 3-for-3 with a solo homer, two walks, and four runs. Of course his homer landed right where we'd been sitting half an inning earlier, but whatever. It wasn't ALL about the balls last night, and I lived to tell the tale.

STATS:

• 184 balls in 27 games this season = 6.8 balls per game.

• 482 consecutive games with at least one ball

• 107 consecutive games at Yankee Stadium with at least one ball

• 3,145 total balls

I have two more links for you—not articles, but web sites of ballhawks in San Francisco...
The first belongs to a guy who ONLY goes for home run balls inside AT&T Park. As you'll see, he describes all the action and breaks down his daily performance into three statistical categories: How many balls he "got," how many of those he "caught," and how many balls he "dropped."

The second chronicles the adventures of the kayakers in McCovey Cove. Scroll down a bit and look for the YouTube image of a man in an orange sweatshirt. He's the guy who grabbed Barry Bonds' 757th home run, and the video was filmed moments later from another kayak.

Meanwhile, I just booked a Watch With Zack client for tomorrow night's game at Yankee Stadium, and I'll share all the details in my next entry.

As for tonight...
I'll be joining my girlfriend at a meditation class at the Integral Yoga Institute. Wish me luck.

Anyone here remember Tom Herr? Former major league second baseman. Played from 1979 to 1991. Mostly with the Cardinals. Once had a season in which he had 110 RBIs but only hit eight home runs. I always thought that was cool. But anyway...Tom has a son named Aaron whom I interviewed the other night for a story on MiLB.com, and you can read it here.
Now...are you ready for a much more entertaining piece? Unfortunately I didn't write it, but my friend Ben did, and since I got him the job at MiLB.com, I think I deserve at least half the credit. The Altoona Curve (Double-A affiliate of the Pittsburgh Pirates) recently had one of the wackiest promotions you will ever hear about, and Ben was there. You MUST read his article. If you hate reading, just give it one minute, and if you can't read, just click the link and look at the photograph. Trust me. (Can you even imagine this promotion taking place at Yankee Stadium?)

Earlier this week, a reporter from the Associated Press (named Geoff Mulvihill) interviewed me about the pursuit of milestone home run balls. The article hit the news wire yesterday, and you can read it here on my web site. (Are you as sick of the word "scrum" as I am? I don't think I ever heard anyone say it with a straight face until Bonds got within a few homers of Aaron.)

Let's start with a brief photo tour...
This was the view of Shea Stadium from the John Rocker Memorial Subway Platform:

This is what Citi Field looked like:

And this was half the line that formed outside GATE C for batting practice:

The stadium opened at 4:40pm, and it was business as usual. I raced up to to my corner spot in the right field Loge and got three balls tossed to me during the Mets' portion of BP. Guillermo Mota under-handed the first from the warning track down below. Scott Schoeneweis flipped up the second from the bullpen after saying, "You get a ball here every day." Jorge Sosa threw me the third from about 100 feet away after hearing me call out to him in Spanish.

I rushed to the Mets' dugout before the players and coaches came off the field and wiggled into a narrow space in the front row. I was hoping for a ball from first base coach Rickey Henderson, but settled for one from bullpen catcher Dave Racaniello.

I switched into my Braves cap (get over it, Mets fans) and headed back up the Loge, this time in left field where I got my fifth ball from Braves pitching coach Roger McDowell. He had just finished a bullpen session with the rehabbing Mike Hampton, and he teased me repeatedly by tossing the ball five feet short. Eventually, though, he put a little more muscle into it and reached my outstretched glove. It felt great to get a ball from a member of the '86 Mets.

Ron Mahay threw me another ball, and that was it for BP. Not great. Not bad. It would've been better if I'd been in position to catch the ONE home run that landed in my section. Matt Diaz hit it toward the end of BP. It was a rocket. No time to move. So frustrating. I'd been begging for balls for 90 minutes and finally there was a batted ball that I actually could've caught...on my own...on a fly...but no. I was standing in a stupid place, trying to get Tim Hudson to throw me a ball by pointing out the fact that we have the same haircut.

Throughout the day I'd been crossing paths with my friend Greg (aka "gregorybarasch" to those who read the comments). We'd played catch while waiting for the gates to open, then shared snagging stories and strategies, and later did our best to stay out of each other's way. I caught up with him after BP. I had six balls. He had five. I was sweaty and disgusting. He wasn't. We had an usher take our pic. He then got his sixth ball at the Braves' dugout and wanted to have a new pic taken, but I claimed there wasn't time, and we headed up to the Loge.

Greg is a kind young man. There are certain tunnels in the Loge that are better for foul balls, and he let me have them--that is, until security kicked him out of his tunnels. After that, he had to stay near me so we ran back and forth together all night, playing righties and lefties on either side of home plate.

In the fourth inning, Kelly Johnson swung underneath a 3-2 fastball from El Duque and fouled it right over my head. I scampered up a staircase. The fans bobbled it. The ball landed on the steps and rolled to me, and just like that I had my second gamer in as many nights.

In the fifth inning, El Duque lost the no-hitter.

In the sixth, the Braves turned a 1-0 deficit into a 3-1 lead.

In the seventh, Luis Castillo tied the game with a two-out, two-run, broken-bat single. The jagged barrel of the bat FLEW into the seats and hit a man in the face. There was blood everywhere. He was taken away on a stretcher. It was terrifying.

In the eighth, Moises Alou hit a solo homer to put the Mets on top, 4-3.

In the ninth, Billy Wagner loaded the bases with no outs, then got Jeff Francoeur to ground into a 5-2 forceout and induced Andruw Jones to bounce into a 4-6-3 double play. Carlos Delgado caught the final throw and pumped his fist. Game over. Please drive carefully and arrive home safely.

STATS:

• 182 balls in 26 games this season = 7 balls per game.

• 481 consecutive games with at least one ball

• 104 lifetime game balls

• 16th time snagging a game ball in back-to-back games

• 5th time snagging a game ball in back-to-back games in two different cities

• 3,143 total balls...moves me ahead of Tony Gwynn (3,141) and Robin Yount (3,142) and into 17th place on the all-time hits list. Next up is Paul Waner (3,152).

If you're wondering why I'm comparing balls to hits, click here, and if you're new to the blog, welcome aboard. For the regular readers who might not know, my latest NPR interview aired yesterday. Sorry I didn't give a heads-up, but I didn't find out 'til the last minute, by which point I was just about to head out to Shea. The interview itself was taped last week and lasted 70 minutes. Then it was edited down to about half an hour, so if you have that kind of time to spare, you can listen to it here. I've gotten LOTS of emails and phone calls in the last 12 hours (including interview requests and inquiries about my Watch with Zack business) so if you're waiting for a reply, hang tight and I'll get back to you within the next day or three...

11:18am — Wake up with my girlfriend.11:40am — The girlfriend leaves. Instead of going to Philadelphia with me, she has to spend the day canceling her credit cards and getting a new phone and having her locks changed because her purse had been stolen the night before.
11:42am — Brush my teeth.
11:46am — Talk to a reporter from the Kansas City Star who was writing a piece about how to catch Barry Bonds' record-breaking home run.
11:57am — Get dressed.
12:02pm — Check the weather in Philly.
12:03pm — Read the previous day's box scores and transactions.
12:39pm — Eat a piece of seven-grain toast with hummus.
12:46pm — Gather all the stuff I'll need for the day.
1:14pm — Leave my apartment.
1:26pm — Drive my parents' car out of the garage.
1:40pm — Get through the Lincoln Tunnel.
2:07pm — Dreaming about No. 756.
2:08pm — Driving 94mph.
2:29pm — Blasting my iPod and singing loudly.
2:30pm — Dreaming about the cheesesteak I'll soon be eating.
2:31pm — Trying to decide whether I should play the dugouts and try to get balls tossed to me at the end of each half-inning, or if I should stay in left field during the game and go for home runs.
2:42pm — A sign says "WORK AREA 500 FT" and makes me think about not catching A-Rod's 500th career home run.
2:54pm — I curse wildly as several teeny raindrops hit the windshield. The cursing works and causes the rain to stop.
2:59pm — Take exit 3 off the New Jersey Turnpike.
3:22pm — Get my first glimpse of Citizens Bank Park.
3:24pm — Pay $10 to park.
3:33pm — Buy a $27 ticket for a section in left field that I never end up going to.
3:46pm — Walk to the Ashburn Alley Gate, sit on the small ledge below the Steve Carlton statue, and open up my cheesesteak to-go box. There's no cheese. I hope the Phillies lose 10,000 more games.
4:06pm — Get a call from a former college professor who was listening to NPR and heard a promo for my baseball interview (which will be airing today, I think).
4:17pm — A small line of fans begins to form behind me.
4:31pm — Bag check.
4:35pm — Gates open.
4:37pm — Batting practice begins two minutes late.
4:45pm — Run through two sections and grab my first ball of the day, a home run that landed in the semi-empty seats.
4:47pm — Catch a homer on a fly. I think Wes Helms hit it, but I'll never know for sure.
4:53pm — Watch helplessly as another home run sails four feet over my head and into another guy's glove in the row behind me; frustrated that my recently-sprained ankle is still too weak for jumping.
5:02pm — Blocked from catching the next homer by a schmendrick clogging up my otherwise empty row.
5:15pm — Grab a home run ball off the steps near the foul pole.
5:24pm — Furious for unmentionable reasons.
5:27pm — Ball #4 via the glove trick in left field.
5:37pm — Ball #5 via the glove trick in straight-away center, at least 20 feet below. Two police officers are nice enough to let me go for it.
5:38pm — Photograph the dirt caked to the ball.
5:46pm — Ball #6 is thrown by Marlins pitcher Taylor Tankersley in right field.
5:49pm — A man walks up to me and asks, "Did you write a book about collecting balls?" He tells me his son has it, then points out his son who's wearing a black t-shirt with white lettering that says, "There once was a man from Nantucket..."
6:08pm — Take a one-minute break from BP to get my second bottle of water. (The first went with the cheeseless cheesesteak.)
6:10pm — Marlins bench coach Carlos Tosca tosses me ball #7.
6:13pm — Marlins pitcher Sergio Mitre throws me ball #8 over ten rows of fans. Turns out he was aiming for someone else, but he kindly got another ball rather than making me give mine away.
6:19pm — BP ends six minutes early, and I'm stuck in right field as the Marlins jog toward their dugout.
6:21pm — Bottled water #3.
6:24pm — Label my last two balls and put them in my backpack.
6:32pm — Get a cramp from having consumed 40 ounces of ice-cold water in a 15-minute span.
6:33pm — Bathroom.
6:34pm — A Phillies fan approaches me as I exit the bathroom, points at it and asks, "Pisser?"
6:41pm — Drenched in sweat and loving it.
6:58pm — The Memorial Baptist Church Choir (under the direction of Bonnie Gunzelman) performs the national anthem. Badly.
7:03pm — Marlins second baseman Dan Uggla tosses me ball #9 at the 3rd base dugout after his pregame throwing.
7:06pm — Jamie Moyer throws the first pitch. Hanley Ramirez hits it over the left field wall.
7:09pm — Uggla hits a foul pop-up toward my section behind the Phillies' dugout. I'm not wearing my glove because I'm busy switching from my Marlins cap to my Phillies cap. I run up the steps and lunge for the ball which glances off my left index finger, ricochets 10 feet down an empty row, hits a man on the leg, and rolls right back to me.
7:10pm — An usher comes over, asks me if I'm okay, asks to see my ticket, and kicks me out of the section.
7:16pm — Moyer throws a "fastball" that clocks in at 80mph.
7:17pm — Ryan Howard tosses the inning-ending ball right to the spot where I would've been if the usher hadn't kicked me out.
7:30pm — I go to the Marlins' side where a man behind the dugout makes a big stink about the fact that I'm in a section where I don't belong and threatens to call security if I don't leave.
7:31pm — I move one section over. The fan is still staring at me. I wave.
7:32pm — Howard bounces into a run-scoring fielder's choice to tie the game, 1-1.
7:36pm — Carlos Ruiz flies out to center fielder Cody Ross to end the first inning. Ross tosses the ball to right fielder Jeremy Hermida. Hermida jogs in and tosses it to me.
7:37pm — I leave the section and go back to the Phillies' side.
7:40pm — Bottled water #4.
7:58pm — Ice cream. Almost melts faster than I can eat it but I got skillz.
8:06pm — Phillies fans boo Marlins pitcher Rick Vanden Hurk for hitting Aaron Rowand with a 69mph curveball.
8:09pm — Jayson Werth hits an RBI single to put the Phillies on top, 2-1.
8:10pm — Phillies fans cheer when Rowand scores on a single by Ruiz.
8:12pm — Abraham Nunez hits an RBI double to extend the lead to 4-1.
8:14pm — Ruiz scores on Vanden Hurk's second balk of the game.
8:15pm — Moyer slices an RBI double down the left field line as the Phillies open up a 6-1 cushion.
8:31pm — Howard hits a solo homer.
8:33pm — Rowand goes back-to-back, and the Phillies have an 8-1 lead.
9:07pm — Howard goes yard again.
9:08pm — Marlins reliever Mauro Zarate drills Rowand in the back with a 91mph fastball. Home plate umpire Joe West warns both teams.
9:16pm — Nunez reaches on a throwing error by Miguel Cabrera, Rowand scores, and the Phillies have their 10th run of the night.
9:20pm — Wes Helms, pinch-hitting for Moyer, caps the score at 11-1 with a sacrifice fly.
9:31pm — Uggla gets jammed and hits a weak pop-up to second baseman Tadahito Iguchi to end the top of the 7th. Iguchi jogs toward the dugout with the ball. I ask him for it in Japanese and he flips it to me. A man sitting behind me shouts, "Nice catch!" and I resist the urge to say, "Really? What exactly is nice about catching a gentle toss that came right to me?"
9:53pm — Bathroom.
10:02pm — Uggla strikes out to end the game.
10:03pm — Joe West tosses me my 13th and final ball of the day as he walks off the field.
10:12pm — I walk out of the stadium.
10:15pm — Bottled water #5.
10:19pm — Drive out of the parking lot.
11:53pm — Get through the Lincoln Tunnel.
11:58pm — Gas = $3.129 per gallon.
11:59pm — Turn on ESPN Radio and learn that Barry Bonds hit No. 756. Hope and pray that a certain someone at AT&T Park didn't end up with the ball.
12:05am — Return the car to the garage.
12:07am — Call the girlfriend. She asks how many baseballs I got and tells me that her life is back in order.
12:16am — Home.
12:22am — Cereal and milk.
12:37am — Learn that the fan who got The Almighty Ball was just some random guy from Queens who happened to be passing through San Francisco on his way to Australia. Perfect.
12:46am — Photograph the Uggla foul ball.
12:50am — Transfer the photos from my camera to my laptop.
12:54am — Label the pics.
1:06am — Decide which pics to use in this entry.
1:12am — Edit the pics with Photoshop.
1:21am — Brush my teeth.
1:31am — Answer blog comments.
1:32am — Start blogging.
2:52am — Brad calls and gives me a first-hand account of seeing No. 756.
3:31am — Resume blogging.
3:35am — Update various snagging lists and stats on my laptop.
4:01am — Read this entry quickly to look for typos.
4:22am — Insert the pics.
4:34am — Spell-check.
4:35am — Post the entry.
4:42am — Futz with the entry and add a few more things to make it look better.
4:57am — Update the lists and stats on my web site.
5:09am — Shower. Ahhhhhhh.
5:31am — Fix several typos that I missed earlier. (Jayson Worth. Two police offers. Bottle of the water. Et cetera.)
5:42am — Raining like a mutha.
5:45am — I'm worried that there won't be BP later today at Shea, but accuweather.com says it's supposed to get sunny by the early afternoon.
5:49am — I love being a "writer" because it's a good excuse to have weird hours and stay up all night.
5:50am — I find the article about Bonds on the Kansas City Star web site, and I'm not in it. I guess it would've been hard for the writer to use a quote from me about how to catch a ball that's already been caught. (Or "snagged," as it were.) I do a search for "hample" on the site, just to be sure, and the computer asks me, "Did you mean ample?"
5:51am — I take a hint and go to bed.

STATS:

• 175 balls in 25 games this season = 7 balls per game.

• 86 lifetime balls in 9 games at Citizens Bank Park = 9.6 balls per game.

• 480 consecutive games with at least one ball

• 99 consecutive games outside of New York with at least one ball

• 663 lifetime balls outside of New York

• 18 lifetime game balls outside of New York

• 16 stadiums with at least one game ball

• 103 lifetime game balls

• 3,136 total balls

Why is it that no one seems to think we're ever going to see another 300-game winner? Am I missing something? I mean, just about every announcer has been going on and on about it, and it's seriously annoying me. To reach 300 wins, a pitcher needs to average 15 wins per season for 20 seasons. Difficult? Yes. Impossible? No. You want impossible? Try pitching 750 complete games. That's what it would take to break Cy Young's career record.
I went to the stats page on MLB.com and did a search for active wins leaders and made my own list of guys who could win 300 games. Some obviously have a better chance than others, but if you look at the numbers and do the math, you'll see that it's not an unreachable milestone at all...

Am I crazy? Who do you think has the best shot? I'm going with Sabathia and Zambrano.

It was a great week to be a baseball fan. I just wish I could've witnessed even ONE of the three big milestones in person.

Anyone planning to be in attendance for upcoming milestones? Barry Bonds' 756th home run? Or Manny Ramirez's 500th? The way things are going, I might have to settle for Paul Lo Duca's 1,000th game played.

Well, A-Rod just hit No. 500 and I immediately turned off my TV. I'm stuck at home, five miles from Yankee Stadium, nursing a sprained ankle, and the ball pretty much landed where I expected. I don't want to see the replays. I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to know who got the ball. I'm repulsed by the way this whole thing played out.
But there IS some good news...

Yesterday I was interviewed again on NPR (this time by Dave Davies for Fresh Air), so hopefully whenever the piece airs it'll help sell a few more copies of my new book.

Also, my first book got a recent mention on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle. There was a feature story about the Barry Bonds home run chase, and you can read it here.

I'm convinced that August 1st is an evil day, or at least a bad day to be at Yankee Stadium. Last year, Gustavo Chacin knocked a ball out of my glove during batting practice, and last night, a bunch of fans knocked me down while going for a ball (well beyond their reach) and caused me to sprain my ankle.
Thankfully, I'd already snagged five balls by the time I got hurt--three with the glove trick, one from a ballboy, and a homer that I caught on a fly--but that didn't lessen the pain. I limped to the nearest First Aid room for some ice, then found an empty seat and contemplated my next move. The only thing that kept me from going home was the false hope of catching (or even seeing) A-Rod hit his 500th career home run.

I wanted to be in left field, but my ankle hurt too much to walk all the way around the stadium, so I inched down the steps and positioned myself toward the back of the tunnel in right field. This is what it looked like for Derek Jeter...

...and this is what it looked like two minutes later for A-Rod.

A-Rod flied out to center. My ankle was killing. I grabbed a nearby seat, watched him go 0-for-4, and took a cab home in the 7th inning.

No more games for me this week. I don't give a **** about A-Rod. And to the fan in the Cano jersey who elbowed me in the ribs during batting practice because I was wearing a White Sox cap: have fun watching the playoffs on TV.

STATS:

• 162 balls in 24 games this season = 6.75 balls per game.

• 479 consecutive games with at least one ball

• 3 lifetime trips to the First Aid room

• 3,123 total balls