misplaced priorities

When the Houston Astros defeated Atlanta after an 18-inning marathon, little did anyone suspect that the game's length would be only the second most interesting record set that evening. Houston fan Shaun Dean caught the winning homer, which complemented the grand slam ball he had caught 10 innings earlier. In the most unlikely of scenarios, the same fan caught two home run balls in the same game.

With all the homers churned out during this era of live balls and juiced players, you wouldn't think home run balls would be a hot commodity. But this is also the era of the collectible anything, so somewhere, someone is willing to pay big bucks for the right home run memorabilia. It might not be Mark McGwire's 62nd home run ball (a relatively poor investment given the home run derby years that followed), but same-game dingers from a Divisional Series victory might net a tidy sum from the right Astros fan with more money than sense.

It's in this environment that the Baseball Hall of Fame approached Shaun Dean about reclaming the balls for a special exhibit in Cooperstown. Dean, in return for signed jerseys and paid trips, relinquished the dual dingers for posterity. His willingness to part with the unlikely trophies netted this gushing from Hall of Fame representative Jeff Idelson:

"Think about trying to find anybody who caught two home run balls in the same game, and I don't think you can find anybody," Idelson said. "Put it in the context of the historic game played here, and it's really amazing. Shaun's gesture is the ultimate act of selflessness." [emphasis added]

Dean was originally going to keep the balls as souvenirs for his son, and I would respect someone keeping commemorative items when they have such a personal association with the event. So it's cool that he is willing to turn them over to an establishment representing the game itself, so that others may enjoy the story for years to come. It shows a non-monetary appreciation of sports that is being smothered by loudmouth late-night hucksters on home shopping networks.

But Jeff Idelson, and perhaps a few other cronies at the Hall of Fame, need some perspective drummed into their tiny heads. Returning a couple of $2.89 baseballs, no matter who hit them and when, is not the ultimate act of anything, except perhaps normalcy. Grandiose assessments of selflessness are normally reserved for people who die for the good of another, not those who donate sports equipment to a museum. Soldiers and cops pay the ultimate price for far less gratitude than the Hall of Fame has shelled out to the Dean family, and with far fewer column-inches devoted to their plight. Jeff Idelson better hope he never needs someone else's ultimate act of selflessness to save his hide, lest he get pelted with baseballs when he needed a heart transplant or a grenade cover.