I am a dinosaur. I love baseball and going to baseball games. I do not, however, enjoy catching foul balls. 1) They hurt. 2) Catching one looks cool on tv, but is terrifying in person. I meant, unless you’re 12 and remembered to bring your mitt, you’ve got no chance. And I’m not talking about hard line drives. Even balls that are fouled up way high in the sky. They hurt too. And 3) Did I mention they hurt?

A couple years ago I went to a Mets game and since they weren’t playing that well, the seats were going for less on the secondary market. I went to an afternoon game and one of my favorite Mets at the time, Juan Lagares, a great centerfielder but not such a great hitter, hits a foul ball way up into the air. As it was descending I thought, “Oh good, that’s coming right to me.” Followed by, “Oh sh*t, that’s coming right to me!!!” I put up my hands defensively, as much to protect my head as to catch the ball. As it came hurtling down with mind-numbing velocity (hey, we’re writing the blog so we can make it look as heroic as possible) the ball missed my hands entirely (phew) and came down one seat to the right of me, hitting the concrete floor and bouncing underneath the empty chair. I leaned over, picked up the scuffed ball and took it home, where it resides to this very day. If you ask me how I caught it, I’ll tell you it was a screaming line drive coming right at me and I barely blinked an eye. I just stuck out my left paw and made a one-handed grab while simultaneously holding a Nathan’s hot dog with mustard and sauerkraut in the other. Another few weeks go by and I go to another game and at this one, former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie was sitting a few rows ahead of me. Same deal, foul ball goes way high up and comes hurtling down in his direction. He puts his hand up, misses the ball. Said ball then crashes into the concrete step next to him, bounces up softly, and he grabs it out of the air. Turning towards the crowd with his arm, foul ball in hand, raised triumphantly to the crowd and the tv cameras as if he caught the ball out of the air in the first place. But I know the truth governor. And I’m spilling the beans.

The other great summer activity is swimming. There’s swimming in the lake, the ocean or the swimming pool. In this case Sam went the bargain route and bought the backyard, inflatable version of a swimming pool. You know the type. Little kids love to splash around in them and it will keep them occupied all day. Unless there’s a big, hairy, slightly porky old man taking up all the space. John also bought a backyard, inflatable pool. Now I’m not saying he takes up all the room in the pool and meanwhile his kids are big enough to toss him out, but trust me, little kids see us much differently than we see ourselves. I once went into an outdoor hot tub in a California hotel. It was peaceful, quiet and I could see the stars out over the Pacific Ocean. Just then a mom came in with her toddler. The kid takes one look at me and says, “Look mom, why is that man so hairy?” Followed by, “Why does he not have any hair on his head/” The mom giggles and apologizes, and I told her not to worry about it. And then I submerged her kid underwater for the next 15 minutes. Okay, I didn’t touch the kid, but I had evil thoughts.

As Porky Pig used to say,” th-th-th-that’s all folks.” We’ll be back next week with two new ones and until then, if you’ve got an inflatable pool, try getting out and giving the kids a chance.

Andy and John