Cleveland first baseman Ryan Garko was in the batter's box at Fenway with his team down 12-2 in the ninth. He was in a god awful spot. Only a few days earlier, Garko and his team had a commanding 3-1 series lead, and now here he was, listening to Red Sox fans scream for the two outs that would would send this championship series into game seven.
A foul ball dropped in Garko's direction. If there was ever a time to get away with being less than gracious, this was it.
Sure, maybe you toss it into the crowd, but to seek out a kid to hand the ball to, even though he's a fan of the team that's crushing you?
That's class.
In a sports world littered with self-absorbed superstars who won't even glance at a fan unless they're paid, Garko's gesture seemed strangely dated, almost quaint.
Maybe the boy reminded Garko of his youth. Or maybe he's just a helluva nice guy, who knows.
What I do know is that when the most heartwarming exchange between fan and athlete in recent memory is Ocho Cinco invading the Dawg Pound and getting beer poured over his head, this felt kinda good.
Yes, it was just a moment.
But for that moment, all was right with the world.
(I swear to God, if I see this ball on eBay next week, I will find the kid and throttle him.)
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4 comments:
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