Commentary: Why Mariners’ Foul Ball Guy illustrates baseball’s big, dumb beauty

SEATTLE – Back in 2008, beloved media figure and occasional philosopher Tim Kurkjian wrote, “Baseball is the best game in part because every night you go to the ballpark, you might see something you’ve never seen before.”

While I appreciate the sentiment, there’s an infinitesimal flaw in Kurkjian’s premise.

On Monday, Josh George didn’t see something he’d never seen before.

The Poulsbo, Washington, product did it.

Specifically, he filed into T-Mobile Park with his grandfather, claiming seats down the left-field line. He donned a teal Mariners jersey and a Kraken hat – a lucky onlooker, a fourth outfielder, a man of his unwavering word.

“Before the game, my grandpa and I are talking, and he’s got bad eyesight,” George told reporters less than a day later. “So he’s like, ‘If a ball comes our way, I’m ducking. You’ve got to catch it.’ Sure enough, the (second) pitch of the inning came right to us, and I did exactly what he said. He’s going to duck, and I’ll catch it.”

After Mariners starter George Kirby stranded the bases loaded in a scoreless first, third baseman Josh Rojas led off the bottom of a fateful frame. With a 1-0 count against Royals righty Brady Singer, Rojas sliced a 93-mph sinker down the left-field line. The ball looped lazily out of play before lodging in the crook of George’s left elbow, an unlikely landing place.

“You talk about a basket catch in its truest form!” Mariners broadcaster Aaron Goldsmith marveled on the Root Sports telecast. “Hot start for that guy out there.”

Hot, and getting hotter.

Because, when Singer unfurled the following pitch, the same script reset.

Same sinker.

Same spot.

Same speed.

Same swing.

Same unintended target.

“I was still shocked about the first one,” George recalled. “I was texting my friend, who was here (at the game) as well. As soon as I’m looking at my phone, the crack of the bat (happens), and everybody around me stands up. I’m like, ‘Oh, man.’ I had to drop my phone, because the ball is more important. I didn’t quite make the second catch, bobbled it a little bit but still came down with it.”

George collected consecutive souvenirs, lifting both baseballs above his head, presenting projectile proof.

“He got both!” Goldsmith bellowed in disbelief. “He got ’em both!”

According to MLB, the odds of a fan snaring foul balls on back-to-back pitches is 0.00001%.

Or, as Lloyd Christmas concluded in “Dumb and Dumber”: “So you’re telling me there’s a chance.”

To paraphrase Kurkjian’s hypothesis: On any night, in any park, there’s always a chance. On June 10, 2018, an A’s fan caught foul balls on consecutive pitches against the same Royals. In 2009 and 2019, fans snared separate foul balls (one or two pitches apart) during the same at-bat.

Of course, the final scores were forgettable snowflakes in an annual avalanche, lost to history. Likewise, no one will remember that Rojas flew out to center field two pitches later. Or that Kirby tossed seven scoreless innings in a 6-2 Seattle win. Or that 14,983 other fans spent 2½ hours at T-Mobile Park on Monday night.

They’ll remember Foul Ball Guy.

Which is why George threw the ceremonial first pitches – two pitches, for two foul balls – to Rojas on Tuesday night. And why Rojas smiled and signed both baseballs for posterity. And why a formerly anonymous fan was inundated with interview requests.

Because baseball’s big, dumb beauty comes from its quirks.

This is the sport that hailed a beekeeper as its conquering hero, after Matt Hilton removed thousands of bees from the home-plate netting in Arizona on April 30, ending a nearly two-hour delay. The sport where the Houston Astros once decided it was a good idea to stick a hill in center field. Where hitters cheat by hollowing out baseball bats and filling them with bouncy balls.

This is the sport where Seattle starter Bryce Miller borrowed the bat boy’s pants, then tossed 6⅓ scoreless innings. Where stubborn managers still wear uniforms, old men in striped socks.

This is the sport where Turk Wendell ritualistically chewed four pieces of black licorice while he pitched, spit them out after every inning and brushed his teeth in the dugout. Where bambinos, billy goats and boogeymen curse entire teams. Where rally caps and shoes and monkeys coax comebacks.

This is the sport where, just last week, the Mariners attached hot dogs to parachutes and rained them on fortunate fans – dubbing the delicious weather event “Hot Dogs from Heaven.”

This is the sport where a foul ball can make you famous.

(Or, in the case of former Cubs fan Steve Bartman, infamous.)

“Baseball is a universe as large as life itself, and therefore all things in life, whether good or bad, whether tragic or comic, fall within its domain,” novelist Paul Auster once wrote.

Baseball can be good, bad, lucky, dumb or beautiful – depending on the night.

“I don’t know if it’s lucky or just crazy,” George said of his sudden foul-ball fame. “It’s one in a million. I used up all my luck for my life right there.”