Sure, but the total let down in his voice belies that he was rooting pretty hard for Stanton in that spot.
I think you just stick your hands up out of self-protective instinct. I think it would be really hard to look down to see where Profarās glove is when a ball could potentially hit you in the face.
Thatās interesting to me, because I think of him as a St. Louis guy and IIRC you hate all things St. Louis.
I really liked his talk show way back in the day. He was really good at getting celebrities and public figures to tell their best stories.
Also this story from Joe Posnanski about Costas critiquing his writing when he was first starting out:
tl;dr - Pos wrote a really sappy column about an old-timers game Costas was at. When he asked Costas what he thought, Costas told him the truth. Pos was crushed, but eventually wrote Costas a letter saying (paraphrasing) āYou donāt know me, Iām going to go on to be a great writer, youāll see.ā Costas called Pos to tell him the letter was so eloquent and well-thought-out that he knew Pos would go on to be a great sportswriter (which he has, one of the best).
The whole story is worth reading.
Seems like Costas is a good guy who cares deep down. Heās just kind of an ass.
No doubt itās hard in the moment. Itās instinctual, just like all the folks who flinch at foul balls behind the plate when they are fully protected by the netting. By darn it if I havenāt convinced myself that if Iām ever in that situation, especially in the playoffs, Iām doing everything to keep that fielder away from the ball.
And youāll achieve meme immortality when the ball hits you in the face.
Don Sutton made fun of me on the Braves broadcast for missing a foul ball. In my defense, I was first row of the upper deck and had to lean over the rail. I didnāt want to lean too far and was more concerned with staying on the correct side of the rail than catching the ball.
Iād like to think someone doing this would achieve meme immortality by physically preventing an opponent from catching a ball. I guess youād have to work something out with a seatmate that if the fielder is coming right at you, one is the blocker and the other is on ball-protection duty.
Hereās true meme immortality: you go for the glove, whiff, he still catches the ball as the camera catches the glove smashing hard into your face in glorious super-slow-mo.
In the blue seats at old Riverfront one time a major league pop up came down dead on me. Everyone just mindlessly reached up bare handed. Being 6ā3" I got first touch. All I got was a large red welt on the palm of my left hand from where the ball bounced dead off it. I did get to see myself on the Jumbotron shaking my hand in pain
I caught a foul ball about 10 feet off of the left field foul pole. It was headed towards my sister, but I leaned over and caught it on the fly. It stung a little.
At a different game, before the nets went up, my BIL and I stood as a line drive foul went just over our heads. I turned around to see where the ball went. A guy behind us was shaking his hand in pain, but I didnāt see the ball. As we sat down, my sister held up the ball that landed in her lap.
I got a foul ball that landed two rows above me. Everyone else was looking up, and I just looked down at the floor of the row above me, knowing the only chance I had was if the ball trickled out there. Which it did. I snagged the ball with my left hand right as another guyās hand converged on it. He was pissed that he didnāt get it.
My only regret is not giving it to a kid. I was 19. I still have that ball but it would have meant a lot more to give it to a kid.
Iāve given other foul balls to kids, but there werenāt any kids around when I caught the one behind the foul pole.
My sister offered me the one that landed in her lap. I told her no. I donāt want a foul ball my sister caught. She gave it to our dad.
I caught a foul ball at Dodger Stadium many years ago, off the bat of James Loney. I gave it to my kid, I think that counts.
LFGM
playoff baseball is so much fun
first GRAND SLAM iāve watched live in a while
Fuck yeah Fathers, finish it