At Wrigley, when the opposing team hits a homerun, the ball is thrown back onto the field. It’s the perfect “get your shit out my house” move. Even though I’m not a Cubs fan, it’s my favorite baseball tradition. My second favorite? The Yankees blaring of Cotton-Eyed Joe during the seventh-inning stretch. When someone composes a more perfect song, you let me know.
Yesterday, however, while watching the Cubs/Diamondbacks game, my baseball heart was broken. Travis Snyder hit a homerun off of Ted Lilly. A few seconds after the ball landed, it was launched from the bleachers onto the outfield grass. The crowd cheered and I smiled. But a replay showed that we’d been fooled: the guy who caught it put it in his pocket, was handed a different ball by a fellow fan, and threw that ball onto the field.
What!?
Surely this was an isolated incident (The name of my high school band, by the way. But of course you remember us from the GCHS 1995 Battle of the Bands and Katie Pezzula’s 16th birthday party .)
Surely they usually throw the actual homerun ball onto to the field.
Surely I am an idiot.
My initial reaction was the infantile, “This is why your team is cursed.” and “The Friendly Confines? More like the Fraud-ly Confines.” (The proposed name of my first improv team at IO Chicago. Charna told us it was terrible, and then said that my hair was weird. Hands down the best day of my life.)
After some consideration, I realized that the most galling thing was not his behavior, but my naivete. Even though my belief in the purity of baseball has been shredded by steroids, the All-Star game tie, and everything A-Rod does, I always assume that that’s it. All the lies have been revealed, and all that’s left is the perfect game. But no. The sacred continues to be desecrated. Another part of my faith was tossed onto the field with that impostor ball. But it’s my fault for still having faith at all.
At least one thing remains true: If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eyed Joe, I’d been married a long time ago. You said it, Rednex. You said it.
