Gone Afoul

No one believed me. No one. But my confidence could not be shaken.

I told the kids today was the day I would catch a foul ball.

“You always say that, Dad.”

Well, I do always say that. But this time I meant it.

It was a quintessential spring day in Utah. Ice cold in the morning — we just about froze to death during Curd’s 8:00 am soccer game — and gorgeous in the afternoon.

A perfect day for a Utes baseball game with Grandma and Grandpa.

At first pitch, there were only about 200 people in the 14,000-seat stadium.

Which meant Curtis, Tate, and I could each sit in our own section, separated by hundreds of seats.

To increase your chances of snagging a foul ball, it’s best to spread out.

(To decrease the likelihood of your kids driving you nuts, it’s also a good idea to separate.)

In the second inning, I made good on my promise.

O ye children of little faith.

Behold, the foul ball.