We looked for a parking garage that was closer to the middle of the downtown area. We just found out the night before that the Taste of Cincinnati was taking place this weekend, and decided to check it out after the game. We scored a spot just about the same distance from the park as the day before, but for less than half the price. Plus, it was just two blocks from where the food tents were set up.
We walked up from the North, approaching the third base side of the park.
After being in a stressful situation yesterday in regards to time, I was much less worried about today. I did take a big risk, however, in assuming there would be less fans around for the earlier start time. I explained in my last entry about how 4:10 was the perfect time to create my worst case scenario. Not only was it Sunday, but it wasn't even 11 AM yet. I knew for sure, though, the toughest part of the trip was over with.
We still arrived earlier than we planned.
Because there was absolutely nothing else to do, we popped into the only establishment in sight.
It was fully decked out with everything Ohio, with a touch of Notre Dame.
The Holy Grail only opened in 2009, but it already seemed like favorite place for fans to congregate. The coolest thing I saw was the Reds lineup being changed from the previous day:
If you look closely, you can see some writing at the bottom. If you look even more closely, you can see that Zack Cozart and Todd Frazier signed their name plates. That's really awesome. Not for just for the autograph collection, but the fact that these guys came into a place like this in their free time.
After 20 minutes in there, we took off to get in line and wait for the gates to open. You may have seen yesterday, but there were statues, dirt, baselines, and bases on the grass areas in front of home plate.
I looked up a photo Riverfront Stadium too see if this could be remnants of the old park.
Doesn't look like it. This is kind of a dead end story, and all of that decoration remains a mystery.
The difference in the amount of people from Saturday to Sunday was shocking. It was still two hours before the game, but I would guess only a quarter of the amount of people. I took the following picture from our approximate spot in the Season Ticket Holder line:
Remember, yesterday we managed to be pushed all the way back to the fan shop and beyond, just in front of this giant Johnny Cueto:
All of this was swinging in my direction so far. Less people meant less to move around and more overall chances for me.
The beginning was just about the same as yesterday. Got through the line and past the ticket scanners pretty quickly. Instead of just walking fast, I started jogging to right field as soon as I made it past most of the fans that were just standing around. Seeing how small the crowds were compared to yesterday got me more pumped up than I could have ever done for myself. After my confidence boost from a successful first game and doing a good job of scoping out the park, I was ready to have a monster day.
I took the same path as the day before, and was so sure of where to go that I didn't even look at the field. Just as I was about to go down the stairs that led to the Moon Deck, I heard an usher mention loud enough for me to hear, "HEY! NOBODY'S HITTING!". He didn't have a rude tone, but I give him credit for somehow making himself heard to me when I was so concentrated.
Sure enough, I turned around and saw nothing on the infield. NOOOOO! Almost instantly, my hopes of a monster day were dashed. I could still have a good day, but I still had the mentality in the back of my head that just one would be enough. I really wish I would stop thinking like that for some games and have more confidence in my abilities.
I slowed to a quick walk and continued to right field since I was basically already there. (Sorry for the lack of pictures for the last five minutes of my life. I don't know why I didn't pull the camera out to get any of this.)
I went down to the front row to see a couple guys in Cub uniforms mulling about in right center. Thanks to Mat Latos the day before, I wore one of the red colored t-shirts I packed to make myself look a little more neutral. It was that weird sort of cloudy and groggy warm out; not exactly hot. I would survive with my bright blue Cubs sweatshirt, but it would get uncomfortable after a while.
As soon as I put it on, I confidently made the decision to go to left field. I made a big mental note during the first game that there appeared to be no restrictions on where season ticket holders could go. I swiftly walked up the ramp, around the outfield seats, and down to the wall along the left field line.
This was going to be too easy. I had my blue on, and there was not a single soul within 500 feet of me. That is, if you don't count the Reds employees cleaning up peanut shells from the night before.
I got right behind a couple of them, hoping for an overthrow into the seats to make things even easier than they already were.
This season, I am absolutely awful with the names of the pitchers for my own team. Rafael Dolis was out here without a jacket and his number visible, so I know for a fact it was him. I had no idea he was on the big league team again. If someone told me that they released him last week, I would have believed them, no questions asked.
That passiveness and lack of awareness came back to haunt me. As more guys finished up, I wasn't sure who they were. All I could do was hold up my glove. Even with being the only one there, some of the guys required a bit more than that to cough up their ball.
A quick look to my right yielded me a beautiful sight.
The cage was being set up, and the rest of the Cubs were stretching. Besides me having a hell of a time with the relievers, all was good in the world.
The group dwindled more and more every minute, and I remained dumbfounded. I called James Russell and Micheal Bowden by name, but they didn't even turn their head. This was ridiculous! How has nothing happened yet?!
Unfortunately, I'm back to not having any pictures. I guess I figured I got enough shots of the park the day before and just didn't have it turned on as much.
What I'm about to tell you is completely, 110% true. It kills me to not have any sort of documentation of it. I hope the respect you have for me as a Ballhawk is enough to earn your trust and for you to believe the following story.
I was almost out of options, and more importantly, time. The Cubs would be hitting soon, but it would be pathetic to screw this up. The damn peanut shell people were still sweeping!
If you've been to Wrigley this season, you may have noticed Kyuji Fujikawa has a translator. They seem to be connected at the hip; he follows Fuji everywhere. He even gets to go out to mound visits. I've seen them hanging out plenty of times so far this season.
He and the translator were goofing around after Fuji got done throwing with another pitcher who went in already. They were pulling behind the back catches, exaggerated lobs, throws between the legs, stuff like that. One thing was for sure though, the translator was awful at throwing a baseball. It got the job done, but his motions and how he propelled the ball was just weird. Any moderately athletic guy could have thrown more directly with much more velocity.
Anyway, I was working on my rosters for my game at the Cell the week before when I realized the Red Sox had two Japanese relief pitchers. Rain was already in the forecast, so it looked like chances were going to be slim for that game. So what did I do? Hit up Google Translate.
I knew I would put it to good use if I spotted them, and figured I could use it on Fujikawa for the rest of the season until he gave me a ball. The whole sentence for "Can I have a baseball, please?" was much too long and hard to remember. I cut out all the unnecessary fluff and broke two single words down individually (spelled phonetically): baseball ("Yak-you") and please ("She-tay coo-da-sy"). That would get the point across, right?
I wasn't going to be passive about this. There was no way he wasn't going to hear me. He seemed like a friendly guy, and I was hoping that my extremely poor language skills would show him I put in a little extra effort to communicate with him.
Once he was done, I said it two or three times. It wasn't getting any reaction from him OR the translator. Am I invisible or something?
At this point, I was standing in the fourth row. He was about 25 to 30 feet away from me in left field. After what seemed like forever, he finally noticed me. Thank God, I thought. Plus, I was pretty happy that my Japanese may have worked.
Instead of doing the underhanded flip or an easy throw like most guys do when they toss balls to fans, he stopped dead in his tracks. I froze. I had no idea what he was doing.
He moved his right foot back and began his super Asian windup. It only took me a second to realize what he was doing. I bent my knees and crouched down as much as the seats would allow me to. I held out my glove like a catcher with my hand behind my back. He went through his entire motion, and lobbed the ball over to me.
I saw immediately it was falling short. I stood up and leaned over the row in front of me so the ball wouldn't hit the seats and roll away. Number 44 was in my posession.
In an effort to try to have a little fun, I motioned with my hands a calm down sort of gesture and said fairly loudly, and in English, "Hey man, that's a little low! You gotta bring it up!". I smiled, he smiled. Then he held up his glove like I do dozens of times a game when I ask for a ball from a player. This time, he was asking me.
HOLY CRAP. HE WANTS TO PLAY CATCH. My mind ran wild as I stumbled to get into the aisle to have more room. I held up my finger to tell him to hang on a minute as I tried to take off my bag and leave it in a seat.
Once I was ready to fire back, I prayed that I wouldn't make a fool of myself. I wasn't prepared to throw a baseball, and certainly wasn't expecting this. I wound up and threw like I always do, but with a little less power. He was able to grab it, but he had to bend down and bring it up from his kneecaps. I sent it back to him just as low as he did to me! Wonderful.
With the first one off my chest, I was able to relax a little more. I took the same stance and composed myself the same way as when I play catch on the Quad. He came back with another full windup, and a lollipop throw that was much better than his last one.
More of the same continued for a few more tosses. I wanted to get some power on one, but my worst nightmare was to overthrow or short hop him. I soaked up the moment, realizing I would never be able to relive this through a photo or video.
After five or so throws each, he motioned for me to keep the ball. I gave him a thumbs up as he walked back towards the dugout and I checked out my newest ball. This one is going on display for sure.
It was more interesting than I imagined it to be, but I finally got my ball in this part of the park. It was still immensely less crowded than Saturday, but the patterns stayed almost the same. At least twice as many people were getting ready for Cub homers in left field as in right.
Over in right field, I looked for a good place to position myself. There wasn't anything too great, so I just kind of wasted time for a minute or two. Then an idea popped into my head.
I spotted a ball on the warning track, just where the seats ended before the visiting bullpen where I first looked for a Glove Trick opportunity the day before. A ball was resting within reach, just eight feet below. There was one in almost the exact same spot the day before, but there was a GABP security member and a cop standing by the foul pole. This time, there was no authority figure in sight.
I scampered down to the front row to get a better look. I would be pushing my body up against a fence, but I could definitely extend my arm enough to get right over it. Also, the only reason I was able to get this close was because nobody was occupying the space in the front row. If someone WAS standing there, I wouldn't have felt comfortable pushing them out of the way.
I started to furiously dig through my bag looking for my string, rubber band and marker. I was sweating, shaking, and pumped with tons of adrenaline. Yea, it's just a glove on some string, but man is it invigorating.
I fumbled through all my markers and managed to hook everything up while leaving all of my belongings scattered in numerous seats and the aisle. This season, instead of keeping 30 feet of string in my glove at all times, I tried a new strategy with a little carabiner. Now I can connect a really long piece of string to the much shorter loop that's attached to my glove. This makes it a lot easier to connect and disconnect the extra string, and allows me to separate the materials to look even less suspicious.
I leaned out to drop the glove down before immediately realizing my string was too tangled. I sat down and got most of it untwisted before trying again.
I was more nervous than I should have been. I've done it before and had plenty of success. However, this is the first time I've been in a real situation with New Glove Jr. and I haven't practiced much. Even though it was the exact same model as the one I had before, the rubber band and marker never fit quite perfectly.
I lowered it down without drawing attention to myself. That was good for what I was trying to do, but it's a lot less fun when nobody else is watching. I was able to hover right over it and drop the glove down pretty quickly. It almost was too easy, and I thought I stretched the rubber band around the fingers too much. I began to pull it up, still without anyone noticing, and somehow managed to keep it in the glove. The ball wasn't quite as snug as I would like it to be. But hey, it definitely got the job done.
After that picture, I pulled myself together and took a minute to gather my stuff that was scattered across the 10 foot area all around me. I kept that yellow rubber band around my wrist and the marker in my pocket. I wasn't going to stop until someone told me to. I saw four more sitting on the warning track in left field, and already knew that's where I would go next.
I haven't mentioned, yet, the kid that was standing next to me as I was pulling this off. He was the only one watching me. He had to be about 10, and had a friend with him. As I was setting up, he kept saying how excited he was that this ball was right there in front of him. He was waiting oh so patiently for someone to come over and throw it to him.
I single-handedly took this kid's excitement away from him. After I put my stuff away, I just hopped over a seat and left without saying a word to the kid whose day I just ruined. I was happy for myself because I pulled it off at this new park, and happy that I would have more balls in a few minutes, but it still really bugged me.
I didn't want the balls as much as I wanted the attention. I was hoping people would see me pull it off and be impressed. I would be able to show them how I did it, tell them I was approaching 50 balls, and give out a bunch of business cards. I wanted to be the center of attention in left field.
I was thinking of the possible fame from the situation and the kid from before as I got behind the seats in left field. By this time, plenty of people had shown up and every inch of the front row was taken up. I wasn't going to shove people out of the way, steal a ball, keep it for myself, then walk away. That's just rude and selfish.
The first kid. The attention. The opportunities. The lack of space. My 45 lifetime balls. It was time.
I first went to the foul pole, where two were relatively close. One was automatic, but the other one was a little ways away. I stood behind a man for a minute who was with his wife and four young kids. I took a deep breath as my heart raced, and then tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir...If you guys could move over and give me some space, I'll try to grab that ball and give it to one of your kids" I said pretty timidly as I held out my string to show him exactly what I meant.
"Oh...yea sure", he replied before telling his kids to scoot over. When I climbed over into the first row and took a seat to set up, he explained to his children that I "got some sort of fishin' pole!"
The kids eagerly leaned over the wall as I lowered it down for my first try. I wasn't paying attention to the outfield seats as much as I the kids who would eventually have the ball. I got it in there without any trouble and started to pull it up. The kids were quietly and cautiously excited that I managed to get it.
About two thirds of the way up, my glove instantly got lighter as I saw my ball plummet back to the dirt. A cute "OOOOOHHH!" came from the little guys. I think I heard a few from other fans too. This was my worst fear with the Glove Trick. If someone in the seats saw me doing it, I could get yelled at for trying it. If someone on the field noticed, they may come over and retrieve the ball that was almost taken against their will. I decided not to fool with it, and quickly pulled my glove up to re-position the rubber band.
Back down, nice and snug, all the way up. Bingo.
The kids cheered and held out their hands. I reached over all of them and handed it to Mom. "You get to choose", I said.
Pics or it didn't happen, you say?
I didn't have a reaction right away to how I felt about it. There was obviously a Thank You from all of them, but no repeated gratitude like I sometimes hear about when Ballhawks give them away. I was focused on moving to my next spot rather than thinking about it too much.
I never caught up with the dad to give him a card, but I don't think he would have been that interested anyway. Regardless, I made a family happy. That's a pretty good start.
Before leaving, I removed my marker and rubber band and tried to knock the other one a little closer. I felt like four kids deserved at least two balls to split between them. Thanks to the wall right under me, I wasn't able to get enough power and accuracy on the backswing. I tried to get Edwin Jackson's attention as my glove was laying on the dirt, in hopes to spark his interest, have a conversation, and STILL get the the ball. He didn't even look, and I had to tell the kids it wasn't going to happen.
I left that area and moved to the middle of left field. I approached a group of four kids about the same age as the first set. I repeated the same exact thing to them, and without as much excitement, they squished together. Instead of typing the whole process again, lets just say I got it just as easy as the first one.
Feeling all high and mighty, I grabbed the ball and asked them "Alright, who are you guys here with?", trying to have the parent make a decision again. After looking at the kids and the other people around me, I realized two kids were together, and the other two didn't know each other.
I dug myself a hole and had three options. I looked around for some guidance on what to do. It was ultimately my choice, but I still wanted to be fair.
Thinking on his feet, one of the boys immediately said "Pick me! I'm wearing Cubs stuff!". I can't remember if I still had my sweatshirt on, or if I was wearing my hat, but I must have been since he knew that was the thing to say. I looked at him and said "You certainly are, buddy", as I placed the ball in his glove. The fact he had a glove made it an easy choice, too.
I looked over the edge again to see where to go next. There was one more farther down towards center. I started moving up the aisle right behind the little guy I just gave the ball too. Perfect, I thought. I wanted more documentation, but wasn't going to take a picture of him without asking someone. Sure enough, he went right up to his dad, who was confused as too how his son managed to get one. I showed him the trick, and asked for the picture.
I tried to sell myself a little more, and actually gave him a card. I told him this was number 47 of my life, and number 7 in the past two days. He didn't seem all that interested either, but what can I do? There wasn't excessive Thank Yous this time as well, but that's not the only reason I did this.
I went back for the last one, and actually found some free space. Since I didn't have to make anybody move and the feelings I had about the last two that I gave away (which I'll discuss more later), I decided this one would be for me.
I leaned over, only to see nothing. "Yea, someone came and got it just a minute ago" said another guy in the first row, closer to my age. I was about to walk away when he caught my attention "So you probably got that idea from Zack Hample, right?"
He was indeed watching my attempts, and was actually trying to catch a ball himself. He was wearing a pinstriped Cubs jersey, and explained he was from Michigan and came down with his dad for the weekend. I immediately gave him a business card and asked about his Ballhawking experience. He started reading Zack's blog just a month prior, and thought he should give it a shot. He hadn't caught one yet, and I gave him as many tips as I could on how to get his first. For once, I was talking Ballhawk to Ballhawk while being the more experienced one. It felt great to try to help a beginner. I wished him luck and took off towards right field again.
Look at the mess I just left:
It came a little later, but Sunday clearly had a larger early arriving crowd.
Finally, I want to explain what makes this park so tough. Last entry, I commented on the overall small area of the left field side, only having 11 rows susceptible to fly balls. There's also a wall that separates the outfield from the foul line seats, so in order to switch over, you have to run up one aisle and down another to move three feet. Right field was even less connected, having the stairs to go up and down.
That's not even the whole story. Every single aisle in the park had these railings:
What did that mean for me? Not only did I have to maneuver around other fans, but also limit my chances by standing in an aisle that had a pole in my way. The odds of finding an empty row were slim, but to have two empty rows in the SAME row as one of those gaps was nearly impossible.
Besides those little issues, I loved everything else. It was a solid park that I had a great deal of success in. I've seen the Moon Deck on TV while watching games for the past decade, and it was a cool feeling to be navigating them after so long.
Dad was waiting in the SRO area in the right field corner. I once again recapped how insane my day was. Catch with a major leaguer, speaking Japanese, three glove tricks, and two balls given away. I really did it all.
My experiences and the skills I noticed I had over the past couple days really made me proud. On back to back 40,000 plus attendance days, I had seven balls total. I saw first hand how far ahead I was of the average fan. I really feel like I'm at a high enough level to call myself a successful and talented Ballhawk.
Back to how I felt about giving the balls away; I didn't like it at all. I think I was a little too caught up in the moment and acted a little irrationally. Giving one away was one of my season goals. Not hard to achieve, but something I wanted to do. The only reason I was willing to do it in the first place was because my collection was incomplete to start with. Zack Hample's signature is on my 7th career ball, which I have displayed, and my 29th was stolen with my bag last year.
The universal Ballhawk rule is to count these, which I will, but it really didn't feel right. I had them in my hands for five seconds, didn't number them, and will never see the balls or people involved ever again. It's like it didn't even happen. When I realized they were gone forever, I started panicking. I was approaching my 50th lifetime, and maybe more milestone balls. I didn't give number 50 away, did I?! Or my first from this park? Or my Fujikawa ball somehow? The shock and fear of not knowing which ones were important was enough to convince me to keep every one; at least until I was POSITIVE it wasn't even the least bit important.
One hundred is my short term goal, so missing just a couple more wouldn't hurt. The 100th ball I catch will obviously be important, but I won't feel like I got there until I have 104. Until I have 100 balls in my shoe boxes, my goal won't be reached.
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Now it was time for more stadium scenery, starting with Florence, Kentucky, right across the Ohio River.
The weird building is called Inversion. "Is it a requirement that all NL Central stadiums have some sort of weird building?" questioned Dad, referring to the building with a hole in it from Pittsburgh.
Today, we were sitting in the upper deck, right behind the plate. This year, I'm trying to sit on opposite sides of the park whenever I see a new one to get the most viewpoints as possible. Since yesterday was the lower left field bleachers, today was high up on the infield.
I really like this shot of the late arriving fans I got while walking up the ramps:
And here's our seats for the day:
Yup. Definitely like the upper deck the best. Again, I'm mostly here to see the park, not so much the game, so distance from the field isn't a huge issue for me.
First pitch from Reds' ace Johnny Cueto to David DeJesus:
Close ups of Cueto and Matt Garza:
Two years ago, I would have been ecstatic to see Garza out there. Now? Whatever. He was just another pitcher to me. He'll be injured again in another three weeks, and not blow anyone away with any of the starts in that time.
Remember how great I thought the scoreboard that helped me keep score was? They used it for ANOTHER practical purpose:
So smart. I love it.
The game was scoreless until the Reds had a small offensive explosion of four runs in the 4th that started with a Jay Bruce homer, followed by RBIs from Ryan Hanigan and Zack Cozart .
After the Cubs batted in the 5th, it was time to explore the upper level.
You can fully see the statues and baselines by the home plate entrance from up here.
Now it's easy to see that it's probably too small to be a real replica of a field.
The concourse was pretty open, and just like most of the modern stadiums I've seen the past couple years like Yankee and Busch.
There was nothing interesting to see in the upper concourse, until we got all the way to the corner. This offered a better view of the river and Florence.
Also, for those total sports fanatics, a good view of Paul Brown Stadium.
And the field, from the farthest reaches of the upper deck:
I'm a big fan of the view from here.
We made it back to our seats just in time to watch the Cubs start their comeback. Luis Valbuena knocked in Alfonz in the 8th. Rizzo knocked in Castro in the 9th, then Alfonz immediately followed with a two run game tying homer!
As this was happening, my new best buddy did a good job and held the Reds at four runs in his 1.2 innings.
Two days after this game, he was placed on the DL and his season was over. That's really sad, because the Cubs wasted $4 million, and I don't get to see him for the rest of the year. I hope it wasn't my fault.
The already obnoxiously long game was going to extra innings. I wanted the Cubs to win, but I was totally over sitting out in the sun. I definitely got my money's worth with over these two days. Thankfully, Wellington Castillo ended this marathon quickly by ripping a double past Todd Frazier at third base to bring in Scott Hairston.
Kevin Gregg got the last out of the 8th, and continued to finish it off for the Cubs win.
I neglected to bring the W flag, and since we were so exhausted, a simple high five with Dad sufficed as a good celebration.
Me and half of my balls for the day (I just remembered again. It's been about a day since I wrote all the details about the ones I passed on. Still wish I didn't.):
Goodbye, GABP. You provided me with lots of joy the last two days. I'll miss you. There's always the smallest chance for us to be reunited in mid-July of 2015. Never know what's going to happen.
Before we left the stadium for good, I picked up my souvenir ball.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find anything that had the park's name or logo. I still feel like this is the next best thing. Brent turned me on to the idea, and I think it's a good substitute.
I neglected to show my balls yesterday, especially one in-particular that's a first in my collection:
I've seen hand stamped balls with PRACTICE on the sweet spot, but never one where it was part of the original logo.
And all of them together:
Twenty three to go.
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After 20 minutes in there, we took off to get in line and wait for the gates to open. You may have seen yesterday, but there were statues, dirt, baselines, and bases on the grass areas in front of home plate.
Doesn't look like it. This is kind of a dead end story, and all of that decoration remains a mystery.
The difference in the amount of people from Saturday to Sunday was shocking. It was still two hours before the game, but I would guess only a quarter of the amount of people. I took the following picture from our approximate spot in the Season Ticket Holder line:
Remember, yesterday we managed to be pushed all the way back to the fan shop and beyond, just in front of this giant Johnny Cueto:
All of this was swinging in my direction so far. Less people meant less to move around and more overall chances for me.
The beginning was just about the same as yesterday. Got through the line and past the ticket scanners pretty quickly. Instead of just walking fast, I started jogging to right field as soon as I made it past most of the fans that were just standing around. Seeing how small the crowds were compared to yesterday got me more pumped up than I could have ever done for myself. After my confidence boost from a successful first game and doing a good job of scoping out the park, I was ready to have a monster day.
I took the same path as the day before, and was so sure of where to go that I didn't even look at the field. Just as I was about to go down the stairs that led to the Moon Deck, I heard an usher mention loud enough for me to hear, "HEY! NOBODY'S HITTING!". He didn't have a rude tone, but I give him credit for somehow making himself heard to me when I was so concentrated.
Sure enough, I turned around and saw nothing on the infield. NOOOOO! Almost instantly, my hopes of a monster day were dashed. I could still have a good day, but I still had the mentality in the back of my head that just one would be enough. I really wish I would stop thinking like that for some games and have more confidence in my abilities.
I slowed to a quick walk and continued to right field since I was basically already there. (Sorry for the lack of pictures for the last five minutes of my life. I don't know why I didn't pull the camera out to get any of this.)
I went down to the front row to see a couple guys in Cub uniforms mulling about in right center. Thanks to Mat Latos the day before, I wore one of the red colored t-shirts I packed to make myself look a little more neutral. It was that weird sort of cloudy and groggy warm out; not exactly hot. I would survive with my bright blue Cubs sweatshirt, but it would get uncomfortable after a while.
As soon as I put it on, I confidently made the decision to go to left field. I made a big mental note during the first game that there appeared to be no restrictions on where season ticket holders could go. I swiftly walked up the ramp, around the outfield seats, and down to the wall along the left field line.
This was going to be too easy. I had my blue on, and there was not a single soul within 500 feet of me. That is, if you don't count the Reds employees cleaning up peanut shells from the night before.
I got right behind a couple of them, hoping for an overthrow into the seats to make things even easier than they already were.
This season, I am absolutely awful with the names of the pitchers for my own team. Rafael Dolis was out here without a jacket and his number visible, so I know for a fact it was him. I had no idea he was on the big league team again. If someone told me that they released him last week, I would have believed them, no questions asked.
That passiveness and lack of awareness came back to haunt me. As more guys finished up, I wasn't sure who they were. All I could do was hold up my glove. Even with being the only one there, some of the guys required a bit more than that to cough up their ball.
A quick look to my right yielded me a beautiful sight.
The cage was being set up, and the rest of the Cubs were stretching. Besides me having a hell of a time with the relievers, all was good in the world.
The group dwindled more and more every minute, and I remained dumbfounded. I called James Russell and Micheal Bowden by name, but they didn't even turn their head. This was ridiculous! How has nothing happened yet?!
Unfortunately, I'm back to not having any pictures. I guess I figured I got enough shots of the park the day before and just didn't have it turned on as much.
What I'm about to tell you is completely, 110% true. It kills me to not have any sort of documentation of it. I hope the respect you have for me as a Ballhawk is enough to earn your trust and for you to believe the following story.
I was almost out of options, and more importantly, time. The Cubs would be hitting soon, but it would be pathetic to screw this up. The damn peanut shell people were still sweeping!
If you've been to Wrigley this season, you may have noticed Kyuji Fujikawa has a translator. They seem to be connected at the hip; he follows Fuji everywhere. He even gets to go out to mound visits. I've seen them hanging out plenty of times so far this season.
He and the translator were goofing around after Fuji got done throwing with another pitcher who went in already. They were pulling behind the back catches, exaggerated lobs, throws between the legs, stuff like that. One thing was for sure though, the translator was awful at throwing a baseball. It got the job done, but his motions and how he propelled the ball was just weird. Any moderately athletic guy could have thrown more directly with much more velocity.
Anyway, I was working on my rosters for my game at the Cell the week before when I realized the Red Sox had two Japanese relief pitchers. Rain was already in the forecast, so it looked like chances were going to be slim for that game. So what did I do? Hit up Google Translate.
I knew I would put it to good use if I spotted them, and figured I could use it on Fujikawa for the rest of the season until he gave me a ball. The whole sentence for "Can I have a baseball, please?" was much too long and hard to remember. I cut out all the unnecessary fluff and broke two single words down individually (spelled phonetically): baseball ("Yak-you") and please ("She-tay coo-da-sy"). That would get the point across, right?
I wasn't going to be passive about this. There was no way he wasn't going to hear me. He seemed like a friendly guy, and I was hoping that my extremely poor language skills would show him I put in a little extra effort to communicate with him.
Once he was done, I said it two or three times. It wasn't getting any reaction from him OR the translator. Am I invisible or something?
At this point, I was standing in the fourth row. He was about 25 to 30 feet away from me in left field. After what seemed like forever, he finally noticed me. Thank God, I thought. Plus, I was pretty happy that my Japanese may have worked.
Instead of doing the underhanded flip or an easy throw like most guys do when they toss balls to fans, he stopped dead in his tracks. I froze. I had no idea what he was doing.
He moved his right foot back and began his super Asian windup. It only took me a second to realize what he was doing. I bent my knees and crouched down as much as the seats would allow me to. I held out my glove like a catcher with my hand behind my back. He went through his entire motion, and lobbed the ball over to me.
I saw immediately it was falling short. I stood up and leaned over the row in front of me so the ball wouldn't hit the seats and roll away. Number 44 was in my posession.
In an effort to try to have a little fun, I motioned with my hands a calm down sort of gesture and said fairly loudly, and in English, "Hey man, that's a little low! You gotta bring it up!". I smiled, he smiled. Then he held up his glove like I do dozens of times a game when I ask for a ball from a player. This time, he was asking me.
HOLY CRAP. HE WANTS TO PLAY CATCH. My mind ran wild as I stumbled to get into the aisle to have more room. I held up my finger to tell him to hang on a minute as I tried to take off my bag and leave it in a seat.
Once I was ready to fire back, I prayed that I wouldn't make a fool of myself. I wasn't prepared to throw a baseball, and certainly wasn't expecting this. I wound up and threw like I always do, but with a little less power. He was able to grab it, but he had to bend down and bring it up from his kneecaps. I sent it back to him just as low as he did to me! Wonderful.
With the first one off my chest, I was able to relax a little more. I took the same stance and composed myself the same way as when I play catch on the Quad. He came back with another full windup, and a lollipop throw that was much better than his last one.
More of the same continued for a few more tosses. I wanted to get some power on one, but my worst nightmare was to overthrow or short hop him. I soaked up the moment, realizing I would never be able to relive this through a photo or video.
After five or so throws each, he motioned for me to keep the ball. I gave him a thumbs up as he walked back towards the dugout and I checked out my newest ball. This one is going on display for sure.
It was more interesting than I imagined it to be, but I finally got my ball in this part of the park. It was still immensely less crowded than Saturday, but the patterns stayed almost the same. At least twice as many people were getting ready for Cub homers in left field as in right.
Over in right field, I looked for a good place to position myself. There wasn't anything too great, so I just kind of wasted time for a minute or two. Then an idea popped into my head.
I spotted a ball on the warning track, just where the seats ended before the visiting bullpen where I first looked for a Glove Trick opportunity the day before. A ball was resting within reach, just eight feet below. There was one in almost the exact same spot the day before, but there was a GABP security member and a cop standing by the foul pole. This time, there was no authority figure in sight.
I scampered down to the front row to get a better look. I would be pushing my body up against a fence, but I could definitely extend my arm enough to get right over it. Also, the only reason I was able to get this close was because nobody was occupying the space in the front row. If someone WAS standing there, I wouldn't have felt comfortable pushing them out of the way.
I started to furiously dig through my bag looking for my string, rubber band and marker. I was sweating, shaking, and pumped with tons of adrenaline. Yea, it's just a glove on some string, but man is it invigorating.
I fumbled through all my markers and managed to hook everything up while leaving all of my belongings scattered in numerous seats and the aisle. This season, instead of keeping 30 feet of string in my glove at all times, I tried a new strategy with a little carabiner. Now I can connect a really long piece of string to the much shorter loop that's attached to my glove. This makes it a lot easier to connect and disconnect the extra string, and allows me to separate the materials to look even less suspicious.
I leaned out to drop the glove down before immediately realizing my string was too tangled. I sat down and got most of it untwisted before trying again.
I was more nervous than I should have been. I've done it before and had plenty of success. However, this is the first time I've been in a real situation with New Glove Jr. and I haven't practiced much. Even though it was the exact same model as the one I had before, the rubber band and marker never fit quite perfectly.
I lowered it down without drawing attention to myself. That was good for what I was trying to do, but it's a lot less fun when nobody else is watching. I was able to hover right over it and drop the glove down pretty quickly. It almost was too easy, and I thought I stretched the rubber band around the fingers too much. I began to pull it up, still without anyone noticing, and somehow managed to keep it in the glove. The ball wasn't quite as snug as I would like it to be. But hey, it definitely got the job done.
After that picture, I pulled myself together and took a minute to gather my stuff that was scattered across the 10 foot area all around me. I kept that yellow rubber band around my wrist and the marker in my pocket. I wasn't going to stop until someone told me to. I saw four more sitting on the warning track in left field, and already knew that's where I would go next.
I haven't mentioned, yet, the kid that was standing next to me as I was pulling this off. He was the only one watching me. He had to be about 10, and had a friend with him. As I was setting up, he kept saying how excited he was that this ball was right there in front of him. He was waiting oh so patiently for someone to come over and throw it to him.
I single-handedly took this kid's excitement away from him. After I put my stuff away, I just hopped over a seat and left without saying a word to the kid whose day I just ruined. I was happy for myself because I pulled it off at this new park, and happy that I would have more balls in a few minutes, but it still really bugged me.
I didn't want the balls as much as I wanted the attention. I was hoping people would see me pull it off and be impressed. I would be able to show them how I did it, tell them I was approaching 50 balls, and give out a bunch of business cards. I wanted to be the center of attention in left field.
I was thinking of the possible fame from the situation and the kid from before as I got behind the seats in left field. By this time, plenty of people had shown up and every inch of the front row was taken up. I wasn't going to shove people out of the way, steal a ball, keep it for myself, then walk away. That's just rude and selfish.
The first kid. The attention. The opportunities. The lack of space. My 45 lifetime balls. It was time.
I first went to the foul pole, where two were relatively close. One was automatic, but the other one was a little ways away. I stood behind a man for a minute who was with his wife and four young kids. I took a deep breath as my heart raced, and then tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir...If you guys could move over and give me some space, I'll try to grab that ball and give it to one of your kids" I said pretty timidly as I held out my string to show him exactly what I meant.
"Oh...yea sure", he replied before telling his kids to scoot over. When I climbed over into the first row and took a seat to set up, he explained to his children that I "got some sort of fishin' pole!"
The kids eagerly leaned over the wall as I lowered it down for my first try. I wasn't paying attention to the outfield seats as much as I the kids who would eventually have the ball. I got it in there without any trouble and started to pull it up. The kids were quietly and cautiously excited that I managed to get it.
About two thirds of the way up, my glove instantly got lighter as I saw my ball plummet back to the dirt. A cute "OOOOOHHH!" came from the little guys. I think I heard a few from other fans too. This was my worst fear with the Glove Trick. If someone in the seats saw me doing it, I could get yelled at for trying it. If someone on the field noticed, they may come over and retrieve the ball that was almost taken against their will. I decided not to fool with it, and quickly pulled my glove up to re-position the rubber band.
Back down, nice and snug, all the way up. Bingo.
The kids cheered and held out their hands. I reached over all of them and handed it to Mom. "You get to choose", I said.
Pics or it didn't happen, you say?
I didn't have a reaction right away to how I felt about it. There was obviously a Thank You from all of them, but no repeated gratitude like I sometimes hear about when Ballhawks give them away. I was focused on moving to my next spot rather than thinking about it too much.
I never caught up with the dad to give him a card, but I don't think he would have been that interested anyway. Regardless, I made a family happy. That's a pretty good start.
Before leaving, I removed my marker and rubber band and tried to knock the other one a little closer. I felt like four kids deserved at least two balls to split between them. Thanks to the wall right under me, I wasn't able to get enough power and accuracy on the backswing. I tried to get Edwin Jackson's attention as my glove was laying on the dirt, in hopes to spark his interest, have a conversation, and STILL get the the ball. He didn't even look, and I had to tell the kids it wasn't going to happen.
I left that area and moved to the middle of left field. I approached a group of four kids about the same age as the first set. I repeated the same exact thing to them, and without as much excitement, they squished together. Instead of typing the whole process again, lets just say I got it just as easy as the first one.
Feeling all high and mighty, I grabbed the ball and asked them "Alright, who are you guys here with?", trying to have the parent make a decision again. After looking at the kids and the other people around me, I realized two kids were together, and the other two didn't know each other.
I dug myself a hole and had three options. I looked around for some guidance on what to do. It was ultimately my choice, but I still wanted to be fair.
Thinking on his feet, one of the boys immediately said "Pick me! I'm wearing Cubs stuff!". I can't remember if I still had my sweatshirt on, or if I was wearing my hat, but I must have been since he knew that was the thing to say. I looked at him and said "You certainly are, buddy", as I placed the ball in his glove. The fact he had a glove made it an easy choice, too.
I looked over the edge again to see where to go next. There was one more farther down towards center. I started moving up the aisle right behind the little guy I just gave the ball too. Perfect, I thought. I wanted more documentation, but wasn't going to take a picture of him without asking someone. Sure enough, he went right up to his dad, who was confused as too how his son managed to get one. I showed him the trick, and asked for the picture.
I tried to sell myself a little more, and actually gave him a card. I told him this was number 47 of my life, and number 7 in the past two days. He didn't seem all that interested either, but what can I do? There wasn't excessive Thank Yous this time as well, but that's not the only reason I did this.
I went back for the last one, and actually found some free space. Since I didn't have to make anybody move and the feelings I had about the last two that I gave away (which I'll discuss more later), I decided this one would be for me.
I leaned over, only to see nothing. "Yea, someone came and got it just a minute ago" said another guy in the first row, closer to my age. I was about to walk away when he caught my attention "So you probably got that idea from Zack Hample, right?"
He was indeed watching my attempts, and was actually trying to catch a ball himself. He was wearing a pinstriped Cubs jersey, and explained he was from Michigan and came down with his dad for the weekend. I immediately gave him a business card and asked about his Ballhawking experience. He started reading Zack's blog just a month prior, and thought he should give it a shot. He hadn't caught one yet, and I gave him as many tips as I could on how to get his first. For once, I was talking Ballhawk to Ballhawk while being the more experienced one. It felt great to try to help a beginner. I wished him luck and took off towards right field again.
Look at the mess I just left:
It came a little later, but Sunday clearly had a larger early arriving crowd.
Finally, I want to explain what makes this park so tough. Last entry, I commented on the overall small area of the left field side, only having 11 rows susceptible to fly balls. There's also a wall that separates the outfield from the foul line seats, so in order to switch over, you have to run up one aisle and down another to move three feet. Right field was even less connected, having the stairs to go up and down.
That's not even the whole story. Every single aisle in the park had these railings:
What did that mean for me? Not only did I have to maneuver around other fans, but also limit my chances by standing in an aisle that had a pole in my way. The odds of finding an empty row were slim, but to have two empty rows in the SAME row as one of those gaps was nearly impossible.
Besides those little issues, I loved everything else. It was a solid park that I had a great deal of success in. I've seen the Moon Deck on TV while watching games for the past decade, and it was a cool feeling to be navigating them after so long.
Dad was waiting in the SRO area in the right field corner. I once again recapped how insane my day was. Catch with a major leaguer, speaking Japanese, three glove tricks, and two balls given away. I really did it all.
My experiences and the skills I noticed I had over the past couple days really made me proud. On back to back 40,000 plus attendance days, I had seven balls total. I saw first hand how far ahead I was of the average fan. I really feel like I'm at a high enough level to call myself a successful and talented Ballhawk.
Back to how I felt about giving the balls away; I didn't like it at all. I think I was a little too caught up in the moment and acted a little irrationally. Giving one away was one of my season goals. Not hard to achieve, but something I wanted to do. The only reason I was willing to do it in the first place was because my collection was incomplete to start with. Zack Hample's signature is on my 7th career ball, which I have displayed, and my 29th was stolen with my bag last year.
The universal Ballhawk rule is to count these, which I will, but it really didn't feel right. I had them in my hands for five seconds, didn't number them, and will never see the balls or people involved ever again. It's like it didn't even happen. When I realized they were gone forever, I started panicking. I was approaching my 50th lifetime, and maybe more milestone balls. I didn't give number 50 away, did I?! Or my first from this park? Or my Fujikawa ball somehow? The shock and fear of not knowing which ones were important was enough to convince me to keep every one; at least until I was POSITIVE it wasn't even the least bit important.
One hundred is my short term goal, so missing just a couple more wouldn't hurt. The 100th ball I catch will obviously be important, but I won't feel like I got there until I have 104. Until I have 100 balls in my shoe boxes, my goal won't be reached.
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Now it was time for more stadium scenery, starting with Florence, Kentucky, right across the Ohio River.
The weird building is called Inversion. "Is it a requirement that all NL Central stadiums have some sort of weird building?" questioned Dad, referring to the building with a hole in it from Pittsburgh.
Today, we were sitting in the upper deck, right behind the plate. This year, I'm trying to sit on opposite sides of the park whenever I see a new one to get the most viewpoints as possible. Since yesterday was the lower left field bleachers, today was high up on the infield.
I really like this shot of the late arriving fans I got while walking up the ramps:
And here's our seats for the day:
Yup. Definitely like the upper deck the best. Again, I'm mostly here to see the park, not so much the game, so distance from the field isn't a huge issue for me.
First pitch from Reds' ace Johnny Cueto to David DeJesus:
Close ups of Cueto and Matt Garza:
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| Yes, that's really how he pitches. And please forgive the man with the giant head that was sitting in front of me. |
Two years ago, I would have been ecstatic to see Garza out there. Now? Whatever. He was just another pitcher to me. He'll be injured again in another three weeks, and not blow anyone away with any of the starts in that time.
Remember how great I thought the scoreboard that helped me keep score was? They used it for ANOTHER practical purpose:
So smart. I love it.
The game was scoreless until the Reds had a small offensive explosion of four runs in the 4th that started with a Jay Bruce homer, followed by RBIs from Ryan Hanigan and Zack Cozart .
After the Cubs batted in the 5th, it was time to explore the upper level.
You can fully see the statues and baselines by the home plate entrance from up here.
Now it's easy to see that it's probably too small to be a real replica of a field.
The concourse was pretty open, and just like most of the modern stadiums I've seen the past couple years like Yankee and Busch.
There was nothing interesting to see in the upper concourse, until we got all the way to the corner. This offered a better view of the river and Florence.
Also, for those total sports fanatics, a good view of Paul Brown Stadium.
And the field, from the farthest reaches of the upper deck:
I'm a big fan of the view from here.
We made it back to our seats just in time to watch the Cubs start their comeback. Luis Valbuena knocked in Alfonz in the 8th. Rizzo knocked in Castro in the 9th, then Alfonz immediately followed with a two run game tying homer!
As this was happening, my new best buddy did a good job and held the Reds at four runs in his 1.2 innings.
Two days after this game, he was placed on the DL and his season was over. That's really sad, because the Cubs wasted $4 million, and I don't get to see him for the rest of the year. I hope it wasn't my fault.
The already obnoxiously long game was going to extra innings. I wanted the Cubs to win, but I was totally over sitting out in the sun. I definitely got my money's worth with over these two days. Thankfully, Wellington Castillo ended this marathon quickly by ripping a double past Todd Frazier at third base to bring in Scott Hairston.
Kevin Gregg got the last out of the 8th, and continued to finish it off for the Cubs win.
I neglected to bring the W flag, and since we were so exhausted, a simple high five with Dad sufficed as a good celebration.
Me and half of my balls for the day (I just remembered again. It's been about a day since I wrote all the details about the ones I passed on. Still wish I didn't.):
Goodbye, GABP. You provided me with lots of joy the last two days. I'll miss you. There's always the smallest chance for us to be reunited in mid-July of 2015. Never know what's going to happen.
Before we left the stadium for good, I picked up my souvenir ball.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find anything that had the park's name or logo. I still feel like this is the next best thing. Brent turned me on to the idea, and I think it's a good substitute.
I neglected to show my balls yesterday, especially one in-particular that's a first in my collection:
I've seen hand stamped balls with PRACTICE on the sweet spot, but never one where it was part of the original logo.
And all of them together:
Twenty three to go.
STATS
- 4 balls at this game
- 15 balls total this season
- 12 consecutive games with a ball
- 47 lifetime balls
- Time spent at game: 7 hours, 15 minutes
- Total time spent at games: 47 hours, 28 minutes
- 4 balls X 41,321 = 165,284 Competition Factor
****
Right after the game, we walked a few blocks to the Taste of Cincinnati. It was pretty packed, and I'm sure many people from the game took the short walk over.
I sampled a German meatball sandwich on a pretzel bun, some Buffalo Mac and Cheese, and a fried pickle even though I'm not too fond of them. Pretty good across the board, but nothing to rave about, really.
The more important meal was back in Sharonville later that night:
IT'S SKYLINE TIME!
It turns out there's a Skyline at every corner in Ohio. I didn't know what to expect walking in, but it was a weird mix of a sit down and carry out restaurant. Our drinks were in to-go cups and the food took less than five minutes to come out, yet we had a waiter. Odd.
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The thing that made it so original was the chili being served over a bed of spaghetti. Who thought of that combination?
I had the 5-Way, which included the spaghetti, chili, onions, beans, and way too much cheese. The chili was pretty sweet and contained no meat. It was almost like a sauce they poured over the pasta. It was pretty good regardless, and very filling, which is all I could ask for after such a long day.
****
I really can't remember when we checked out on Monday morning, but I have just a couple more pictures.
Indianapolis was right on the way back to Chicago.
We took a couple minute detour to pass one of the most famous things I've never seen- Indianapolis Motor Speedway.
Dad had been there before to see motorcycles race at the American circuit of the MotoGP in 2009, so he knew right where it was.
The place was massive. Since it was built more than 100 years ago, everything developed around the track. The straightaways ran with the street as far as the eye could see.
Just 24 hours before, 257,000 (!!!!) people were inside watching the Indy 500. Today, it was a ghost town. There was a ton of garbage left and a few RVs in open fields, but that's about it. I can add one more thing to the list of historical buildings I've seen. I bet seeing the inside is much, much cooler.
Also, Lucas Oil Stadium, home of the Colts.
We pulled into our driveway at 3:30 that afternoon, and I started getting caught up on the three games I still had to write entries for.
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