We Won

I went to a baseball game recently. Mind you, I am not a sports fan, nor was I looking forward to this particular outing. I had even tried to back out at the last minute. However, I am really glad that I went. This is why.

For charity, there is a fundraiser the stadium sponsors. After the game, there are large targets placed around the baseball diamond. Fans are able to purchase a tennis ball and write their name on it. Once the signal is given, the fans get to throw these balls. The ball that lands closest to any particular target wins that prize. Everyone seemed pretty excited about this event.

Also of note… there is a net erected around certain sections where we fans sit. It is there to prevent us from getting hit with a wild foul ball during gameplay. This net is not lowered for the charity event. Depending on where your seat is, this net could present a problem.

For the guy in our section, a couple of rows in front of us, this problem became distinctly his.

The man’s first throw bounced off the net about midway and came back to him. His second throw was not much better and bounced away. He ran after and clumsily retrieved it from under someone's seat. People began to point at him. They laughed and booed.

This stranger's continued failures began to reveal an interesting cross-section of humanity within our microcosm:

The hecklers (the loudest, of course):

“WEAK!”

“Stop embarrassing yourself!”

“Guess who's dad never played catch with him?”

The analysts:

“He just needs to move back about 15-20 feet.”

“His mechanics are all wrong— he'll never make it over.”

The commentators:

“Well folks, it looks like he is going to try again. Unbelievable.”

The encouragers:

“He's got this! He's gonna make it this time.”

Then, right around his twelfth attempt (and failure), something in our section palpably shifted. We were now invested in this stranger. Maybe we began to see him as a fellow human trying his best, as awful and humiliating as that was. Perhaps his public struggle somehow became representative of our own personal struggles, whatever they might be. I don't know, but for some reason, it now mattered that he succeeded at the daunting task before him. He could not give up. We wanted— no, we needed him to not give up. Pretty soon, even the hecklers were on their feet, loud as ever, but now earnestly cheering for him.

Finally, the man threw the ball just enough to clear the top of the net. It fell over and unceremoniously bounced in the orange dirt far behind home plate. The ball landed nowhere near the targets where he might win a prize. But to us? He had just won it all. It was glorious.

We went absolutely crazy. You’d have thought we were Houston's control center during the moon landing. Our entire section exploded in cheering, stomping, and clapping. Beer was sloshed from raised cups and high-fives were given all around. The professionals we had all paid to watch play were forgotten. We had just witnessed true greatness.

Many made their way over to the tired and embarrassed looking man to shake his hand and pat him on the back in sincere congratulations. Later that night, as we filed out of the stadium, I couldn't keep from smiling. I left feeling like we, as a whole, had somehow won.

Yes, we had won. Big.