“Steve,
they called your name! Go down to the field!”
“What?”
I said to my wife Donna as I looked for my seat at the
ballgame.
“When
I came in, I signed you up for a contest. I guess they
picked your name!”
Incredulous,
I made my way to the dugout. Seven other fans were there
along with the professional ballplayers. “What’s going
on?” I asked, trying not to appear completely ignorant.
“In
between innings all of you will try to throw a strike.
One of you will win two tickets to the
World Series,” said the contest spokesman.
“Are
they serious?” I thought. “The real World Series? Free
tickets just for throwing a strike? They must be kidding!”
Several
thousand people in the stands. No warm‑up.
Jumping
stomach. First in line. “Relax and throw,” I thought.
I
did, and ¼ completely missed the target. The crowd let out a collective
moan.
Fortunately,
no one else was any better. The second time around, the
ball barely squeaked in for a strike. I waited. It was
the only strike any of us threw.
They
took me to the head office and, sure enough, I was to
leave three days later for a real World Series game.
The
experience was surreal. Tuesday morning my son and I boarded
a plane for Cleveland on the promise that if we took a
taxi to a certain hotel, our name would be on a pair of
World Series tickets.
I
remember thinking, “Can this be real? What if our name’s
not on the list? How can I know for sure?”
In
truth, I couldn’t. I simply had to take the club representative
at his word and act in faith.
When
it comes to issues of faith, by the way, it seems there’s no getting around, well ¼ faith.
Given our best assessment of the evidence, we take a risk
and hope it turns out all right.
That
day, it turned out great: Our tickets were waiting for
us in Cleveland. We took our place amid thousands of fans
in what had to be the coolest World Series game ever.
It even snowed! It was a raucous evening as the hometown
fans celebrated victory.
Every
year during baseball season I get wistful, remembering
the time Major League Baseball (and my wife) gave my son
and me the memory of a lifetime. I’d done nothing to deserve
it. I merely showed up, threw a strike (on the second
try), flew to Cleveland at baseball’s expense, and trusted
that my name would be there on the list.
