I have been to over 1,500 games and never caught a ball. Here in Philly they have taken up the Cubs tradition and throw back the visitors home run balls. If one ever came my way I would keep it. I would also not give it to the snotty little kid near me.
From the New York Times Magazine
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/29/ma...1&ref=magazine
Foul Ball
By CHUCK KLOSTERMAN
At a baseball game in San Francisco, my friend Fritz managed to catch a foul ball. A kid sitting a few rows behind my friend was also among those scrambling for the ball. Urged on by 50 surrounding fans, my friend gave the ball to the kid. The fans cheered. Not two minutes later, a rival fan showed up and offered the kid $100 for the ball. With his parents’ encouragement, the kid exchanged the ball for the cash. My friend was outraged. Should the kid have refused the cash, split the money with my friend or given all the cash to Fritz? JEFF MCNEAR, LARKSPUR, CALIF.
When your friend surrendered his foul ball to the kid, he gave him an intangible gift: the ball itself is real, but the symbolic meaning is impossible to quantify. It’s a memento from a live event that can’t be replicated, an expression of camaraderie between two people who (in theory) love the same game, and the physical representation of a unique memory. When the rival fan showed up with his wallet, the ball’s value suddenly became depressingly tangible — it was now a commodity with an unambiguous price tag. So what this kid (and his opportunistic parents) did was trade something of incalculable value for a fast $100. It was a bad exchange and an unethical exchange. He should have refused the cash.
The way the ball was acquired really matters. Look at it like this: Let’s say a man finds a wristwatch in his deceased parents’ attic. If this watch is worth $100, the man can decide whether he wants to keep it or sell it on eBay. It’s just an item that came from somewhere unexpected; there’s no emotion embedded within the object. But let’s say that same watch had been a gift from his dying father, handed over on his deathbed. Let’s also assume the son had always coveted the watch and the father wanted him to keep it as a family artifact. Selling it for $100 would now be profoundly depraved. Because now it’s not just a wristwatch — it’s something else entirely. It’s a conscious connection to another person. To immediately monetize its significance is wrong. It’s the difference between regifting a mixing bowl you didn’t even list on your bridal registry and pawning your wedding ring when your wife is on vacation.
Had the kid caught the baseball on his own, he could sell it to whomever he desired (and for any price). Your friend could have done the same, had he hung onto it. But that’s not what happened. The boy wanted the ball for motives that had nothing to do with its resale value (unless this kid is some kind of sublime con artist who exclusively operates out of Major League ballparks). Your friend gave him the ball as an act of good will. He probably thought, This young person will appreciate a baseball more than I would, and giving it to him in public will set a good example. Though the family had every legal right to sell this gift, it was wrong of them to do so.
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