Autograph Hound

About a month ago I had asked a friend, whose son pitches for an east coast team, if his team would be coming out anytime soon to play against any west coast rivals.  Sure enough, he was scheduled to play the S.F. Giants right after school got out.

Once I told Connor, who happens to be a Giant Giants fan, he was convinced it was destiny that we get tickets and head to San Francisco and watch the game.

Not only did he and his friend Severin decide they wanted to go to the game,  they decided to make a scheme of all 11-year old schemes...see if they could get our hometown hero to sign a bunch baseballs.

I wasn't about to tell them there were two major problems with their idea.

First, I'm not really a fan of stalking stars.  I'm just not the kinda gal that would ask anyone famous for their autograph.  No matter who it is.  But I've discovered that when it involves my son's love affair for autographed baseballs, I end up becoming the thing I loath the most: An Autograph Hound.

The second problem with their plan, as anyone who's a fan of baseball knows, is that this isn't always an easy operation to carry out.  Most of the time you can't get close to the players unless they come to you-which they hardly ever do.  And when they're on the field, they've got their game faces on-so scream as you might, they tune everything out.

But Connor and his buddy Sev were undeterred.  Mostly due to the fact that Connor had obtained signed balls with an accompanied high-five from not one but TWO of his most favorite players the last time we took him to a game.  Though I have assured him ever since, that it was an extreme fluke, a total stroke of luck, but he still doesn't believe me.

The morning of the game, we loaded "The Beast" full of boys and headed south with only a weak plan of attack: 7 brand new baseballs, a lame idea, and a Sharpie.

Along the way we made a classic stop for lunch:

I'm not really sure what this pose is about.  Perhaps they were trying to see what In-N-Outs arrow was pointing at...

Then it was back on the road and off to San Francisco for apparently a few more weird poses.

San Francisco's not the place where "The Beast" fits in.  Our quick jaunt down Lombard Street  seemed to seize fear into the hearts of  tourists who fled for their lives to the safety of the meager sidewalks that edged the famous street.

Then this parking structure seemed to confirm our car's epic large-ness.  As you can sorta-see from the picture of our beastly Ford Excursion trying to squeeze itself under a parking structure (the top of our car had three inches of headroom to spare):

During our tour of San Francisco, Severin proudly spots something close to home...fenders.  Here Sev, Connor, and Mark proudly pose with the bright red fenders his father made for the trolley buses in San Francisco:

Then, its off to the serious business of becoming (gulp)...an autograph hound :

First, you must stand out from the crowd and make yourself visible.  This means making it perfectly clear you're a huge baseball fan:

Next, scope out the field for your player:

Unfortunately, our player happens to be in the center of this pic.  Very far away.  But the boys are undeterred.

Then when our victim moves to left field so the boys follow their prey:

Connor and Sev have posted themselves right in front of the crowd and luckily stick out wearing their bold orange and black uniforms.  But the lady glaring from the field doesn't look like she is gonna be much help in their pursuit of a signed ball.

Sometimes luck just doesn't go your way.

Unless you have mother has an uncanny knack for loudness.  This under appreciated talent of mine finally got to shine.

When I arrived down where the boys were at they'd been screaming our player's name without so much as getting a sideways glance.  Sev's dad Brett said that no matter what they tried they just couldn't get his attention.  Here's four of the boys wondering what to do next.

A sinister smirk spreads across my face.

For years I have searched for a talent that I can call my own.  I can't play a musical instrument or sing in tune.  I'll never be a champion at sports or brain bowls.  I've just always lacked a definitive talent.  So a few years back I got tired of being undertalented and decided to make up my own classifications in what should/could be considered a talent.  I certainly wasn't gonna be an achiever of any sort in the traditional talent categories.   It was then that I came to appreciate some of my awkward skills that have been largely under-cherished and decided that I am an undisputed holler champion and even a grand champion when it comes to clapping.  I can clap so loud I can start standing ovations at any event I attend-my favorite pastime is starting a round of awkwardly mis-placed ovations.

And here, suddenly, my talent found the place to shine.  Under the bright lights of a crowded baseball game.  All I had to do was wait for our hometown boy to come within my voice's unfortunate but legendary range of fire.

Then, the final step in getting a player's autograph is to use the secret weapon:  You gotta yell something only the player knows...

...and sure enough, I yelled two simple words (the exact words are a trade secret-wouldn't want you to out autograph hound me at the next game) and then we suddenly had ourselves a player!

And a bunch of signed balls.

A big thanks to J. for coming over and giving our kids the ultimate highlight to any baseball game.  He was kind enough to come over and say hi,  give us a hearty round of high-fives, and even come back after warming up and sign more balls.  He didn't even mind that the boys were wearing the wrong logos on their orange and black uniforms!

At this point, now that Connor and Severin were basking in their fait accompli, with Connor knowing another signed ball will be protected in a little plastic case and sit on a dusty shelf somewhere in his room, I can only hope my son will one day repay my reckless support of his childhood dreams by bringing me boxes of chocolate when I'm aged and withering away in an old folks home.

Till then, I have to settle for being a loud mouth who can clap real loud.  Not a pretty picture but the only talent I've got.