Last night as the Riverdogs were playing Hickory, I commented to my friend Josh that our seats seemed to be in good foul ball territory. Mid-way down the third base line, just past the covered pavilion.

Then just as our boys were cracking open juice boxes, it happened - A crack and the ball was coming our way. It took a hard bounce down low, then landed three rows in front of us. Everyone kind of froze.

I made my move, and before I knew it the ball was in my hand. I instinctively raised my fist high with its trophy, and my crew howled.

I gave it to the boys, and realized after 34 years, I finally had my first foul ball.

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