If you want it, here it is, come and get it

Last night, like most summer nights, Mrs. P and I settled down in front of our TV to watch a Phillies game. The Fightin' Phils were playing the beleaguered Miami Marlins in Miami, coming off a series win against the league leading Brewers up in Milwaukee. The always unpredictable Phillies kicked off the game with an early lead on a Bryce Harper RBI single. 

In the top of the fourth inning, hirsute outfielder Brandon Marsh cranked a two-run shot to right centerfield making the score 4-1 in favor of the Phillies. The next batter, newly-acquired centerfielder Harrison Bader, took a 1-1 pitch from Marlins reliever Lake Bachar and sent it 410 feet into the left field upper deck of LoanDepot Park. The Marlins, who have not been doing particularly well this season, only managed to draw a little over 15,000 spectators to a stadium that holds over 37,000. Needless to say, each section boasted more empty seats than ones with fans in them (if there are, indeed, any Marlins fans). But, as with any ball - fair or foul - that finds its way into the stands, a small crowd gathered quickly around the spot where the ball landed. There was a bit of a scramble as a knot of fans reached and grabbed — until one lucky fellow in a red Phillies t-shirt emerged from the melee with the homerun ball held tightly in his fist. He made his way back to his seat (one section over from "Ground Zero") and presented the ball to his son, also decked out in Phillies red and sporting a large baseball mitt on his left hand. A few other folks, seated on either side of the man and his son — also in Phillies colors — lauded the boy with congratulatory shoulder pats. Dad gave the boy a warm "father-son" hug. Everyone was happy for this kid.

Well, almost everyone.

Just as Dad was basking in a moment of satisfying familial bonding, this angry woman from one section over came to voice her outrage. Apparently, she was one of the people in hot pursuit of the Harrison Bader homerun ball. (She can be spotted and identified by her distinctive hairdo in the crowd photo above.) She shrilly interrupted a serene "father-son" moment with harsh words, flailing arms and a vindictive attitude. (I'm guessing a Delco transplant or just in South Florida for a visit.) She startled the man and evoked a look of horror from the boy. Even without sound, her little game of "Outraged Charades" could be clearly understood. She was obviously of the belief that the ball was rightfully hers. After all, she held a ticket for a seat in Section 135, entitling her (if she interpreted the agreement printed on the back of her ticket correctly) to "all baseballs that land anywhere in a fifteen foot radius of her seat." The woman pressed closer to the man, scowling and pointing to accentuate her case. Exasperated and defeated (and just wanting this woman to leave), he relented. He pulled the ball out of his son's protective glove and handed it over to the woman. She snapped it out of his hand and she stomped away. Her exit was accompanied by a rousing chorus of "boos" from the surrounding crowd.

Now, I don't know if you've ever been to a baseball game and I don't know if you've ever had a ball land near you, but there are a few things you should know. First, a hit baseball comes off a player's bat as though it was fired out of a cannon. If you feel that you are in the ball's trajectory, your first inclination is to duck or otherwise get out of the way for fear it may — very well — take your head off. Second, there are unwritten rules among fans regarding any ball that finds its way into the seating area. And those rules are... there are no rules. It's every man (or woman) for themselves. No matter who grabbed or touched or saw the ball first. No matter where your seat is in proximity to the ball's landing point. No matter how many games you've been to or how long you've been a baseball fan. Whoever walks away from those reaching for the ball... gets the ball. The end. No further discussion. One exception, as per the same unwritten baseball etiquette, is: if you are an adult, give the ball to a kid, for chrissakes!

Did you understand all that? Because Two-Tone Tessie sure as hell didn't get the memo. Her relentless badgering of this poor man was... was... embarrassing, uncomfortable and went against everything baseball and human decency has taught us. For the remainder of the game, she sat in her seat, gripping the five-ounce, leather-covered, 216 red-stitched hunk of cork, and got "booed" and jeered and heckled by everyone within earshot. At one point, she even stood up and gave the crowd "the finger" with the same hand in which she held the spoils of her triumph.

Meanwhile, someone in the Marlins organization got wind of the situation. They sent a team representative up to the boy's seat and presented him with a big bag filled with baseball and Marlins promotional merchandise. The elation on his face when the team rep handed over the bag revealed the return of a good mood to the boy and his family.

But, things didn't end there. The broadcasters rarely acknowledge anything of this nature during a game, but Ruben Amaro Jr, a former Phillies player turned broadcaster, expressed his displeasure with the whole affair — live on the air — in between his non-stop (and usually irritating) analysis of the game in progress. The immediacy of social media was instantly ablaze with viral video and acerbic commentary, along with on-the-spot video of the incident  shot from different vantage points. Commenters on various social media platforms weighed in (as commenters do), saying that the dad should have never given up the ball. Others said they would have tossed the ball back on to the field and told the woman: 'You want the ball? Go get it." Some clever internet user even referred to her as "Cruella De Phil."

The entire situation found its way to the Phillies. After the game — a gratifying 9-3 whupping of the Marlins — arrangements were made for the boy (later identified as "Lincoln" and just a few days shy of his birthday) and his family to meet Phillies centerfielder Harrison Bader. Bader, a recent acquisition from the Minnesota Twins, has already endeared himself to Philadelphia baseball fans with his infectious energy, quirky "crabwalk" when positioning himself under fly balls and his blond curls poking out from under his cap. Bader, still in his game uniform, met Lincoln and his clan in the cement depths of the stadium. He shook the boy's hand and inscribed a bat for him, saying, "Sorry you didn't get a ball, but I have a signed bat for you. Is that okay?" Lincoln's smile let Bader know it was more than okay. (Later commenters speculated that the woman would lay claim to the bat as well.) With the revolving door that has been the Phillies offense in centerfield, I think Harrison Bader may have just landed that permanent position. 

© Philly Goat

As for the woman who finally got her ball? Well, social media has promised to find out her name and make her famous in a way she would rather not gain fame. Local Philadelphia news outlets have flooded the internet with the sordid tale. National media like Newsweek and TMZ have also spread the story. And local t-shirt studio Philly Goat has already immortalized her and the incident has already taken its rightful place in Philadelphia sports history...  alongside throwing snowballs at Santa Claus and making death threats to Mitch Williams.

Go Phils. Go Birds. Yo.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

back in your own back yard

We had another of our famous (well, famous throughout our neighborhood, anyway) yard sales. A Pincus yard sale is a complicated undertaking. Mrs. Pincus, who was born under the zodialogical sign of the "cash register," has retail in her blood. She methodically, and with great conviction, gathers and catalogues and organizes a plethora of.... um..... items that have been accumulated in our house since the last yard sale. She supplements household cast-offs with a selection of stock from her eBay store (No, she won't sell your items. Don't even ask.) A week or so before our scheduled yard sale, our living room and dining room look like a mini Amazon warehouse, with various piles of boxes and crates and stacks of things in somewhat neat rows, waiting to be placed in a prominent spot on our lawn or driveway when the weekend arrives... and hoping to occupy that space for a short while, until a nominal amount of cash makes this stuff someone else's problem.... er.... dream come true.

During the gathering process, Mrs. P posts ads in our local community's Facebook page, as well as local pages on the notorious Craigs List, specifically in the "Philadelphia Suburbs" yard sale section. We also hang signs all over the neighborhood.... and I do mean all over! Pre-sale, our front lawn displays large signs alerting folks of the coming sale. As soon as the first ad is posted, as soon as the first sign is tacked to a utility pole, the questions begin....

Come and get 'em!

Mrs. P got a Facebook message from one interested party. "Can you text me the addresses of all of the families that are participating in your 'Multi-Family' yard sale? I'd like to put them into my GPS." My wife politely replied: "Some people are not comfortable with having their address displayed and were content with just my address in the ad. If you come on Saturday, you will see other people on my block set up at their respective homes." This person was not content with that answer and pressed on with "Well, how many are on your block?" My wife politely responded to that question, too. Later in the day, another question arrived via Facebook, asking — specifically — about the types of records that would be available. Mrs. P replied, explaining that their are a variety of genres and artists represented. A follow-up from the questioner wanted a list of those artists, as well as a list of album titles... just to see if it was worth his while to drive all way the over from Glenside, which is a community less that five minutes from our house. I suggested that she tell this guy that we have a dozen Beatles "butcher covers" and tell him that they all sold for a dollar when he arrives. This is the reason that I don't answer "yard sale" related questions.

Yes, I know what you mean.

Another woman asked if we had one of those things that goes over a cabinet door to dry towels. My wife — again very politely — replied that we do not. The woman continued, explaining what the apparatus was and what she intended to use it for. "I have a lot of padded drying mats and I need a few of those things to drying my mats on." My wife — again, politely — explained that we do not have this item. She continued to tell of how she washes her kitchen utensils, pots, pans and dishes by hand and sets them out on these pads to dry. Now she needs something to hang the mats of so they can dry. For the third time, Mrs. P — politely — stated that we do not have this item she is seeking. (They are readily available, in a variety of configurations, from Amazon starting at $7.99)

Three bucks!

With the front of our house looking like the marketplace in Raiders of the Lost Ark (sans the big guy with the scimitar), the questions continued. People asked for specific items, as though they were browsing the internet, and we were their Google search. While the majority of people were happy and satisfied with our selection and prices (honestly, the stuff was marked really cheap!), apparently some things were not cheap enough for some people. A woman with a small child inquired about the $3.00 price of a brand-new, boxed inflatable swim ring. The woman did not want to pay three bucks for something that truly sells for twice that amount on Amazon or at a Five Below. Her accompanying child was none too pleased by the decision and she stomped off and continued to stomp along, arms crossed defiantly across her chest, as the woman perused some of the offerings at our neighbor's front lawns.

After a long day of wheeling and dealing, the crowds were thinning and the sun was no longer high in the sky. We began to slowly gather up the stuff that was strewn across our front lawn, still making ourselves available to any stragglers. We re-boxed and re-packed our unsold merchandise and relegated it to our back porch, where it will stay until our next yard sale. That stuff will, no doubt be joined by more items that we feel we no longer need.

Old Accomodating Eyes
is back.

Mrs. P casually began checking Facebook messages around 9:00 AM on Sunday morning. She received one sent through our local community's Facebook page. "Hi!," it began, "Yesterday was my daughter's graduation from college and we were unable to come to your yard sale. Do you have anything left? What kind of items do you have left? Would it be okay if I stop by to look or is the stuff all packed up?" I wondered if she phoned Elton John, explaining that she had an appointment to get her taxes filed on the night he performed at the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia on the final leg of his Farewell Tour... and would it be okay if she came down the next night and he could perform the show just for her? I wonder if Sir Elton would be accommodating?

There's a chance that we'll have a visitor to our back porch today.

www.jopshpincusiscrying.com

poor poor pitiful me

My dear wife frequents a Facebook page devoted to our small suburban Philadelphia community. This page is sort of a community “town square,” where members can ask their neighbors for recommendations on home repairs or someone to cut their grass. They can look for their contemporary's experiences in local restaurants. The page has also been used to voice opinions about happenings in the neighborhood. The operation – and eventual demise – of a local co-op market was a hot-button topic for a while. I even fueled the fire when I weighed in with my “Monday Morning Quarterback” assessment of the entire situation. 

My wife has used the Facebook page to solicit packing material and boxes to supplement her burgeoning eBay business. On any given day, our front porch can be piled high with discarded cartons, Styrofoam peanuts and various other shipping paraphernalia... along with an abundance of assorted (and unusable) shit that should have been rerouted for collection on the donator's designated trash pick-up day. But, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mrs. P happily accepts it all and just adds the useless pieces to our weekly trash. 

Sometimes, the page resembles an online yard sale. Household items are for sale from time to time or, in some cases, offered as donations. Items such as furniture or toys have been available for sale at a nominal – or sometimes exorbitant – fee. Other times, these items are just announced as “first come-first served” to be grabbed from the owner's front porch or “for curb-side pickup,” which has become a more popular practice. 

Recently, a new type of post has appeared. Not content with waiting for someone to offer goods and/or services for free, some folks have taken to brazenly asking for stuff, under the guise of being needy. Yep, they're just skipping the middle man to become their own self-sufficient charitable organization with a single beneficiary. Some requests, I suppose, are genuine – like the ones who find themselves suddenly unemployed and are having difficulty making ends meet until they can find a new source of income. These people have humbly asked for baby toys or a car seat or similar items to comfort a child who couldn't possibly understand that Mommy or Daddy are facing a temporary financial upheaval. Those are the cases that are heart-wrenching, if they are indeed sincere. (I don't trust anyone!) Others ask for wood scraps or leftover building material or surplus fabric for a possible craft project. I guess these requests are legitimate, although I have not checked out the price of pipe cleaners recently.... or ever. 

Yesterday, however, Mrs. Pincus brought this post to my attention. It started off innocently enough....

“Hello. I am in need of a new stroller for my daughter. Someone donated one to us about two years ago and has lasted for a very long time and gone through a whole lot with us. I do not have money to pay for a stroller so I am asking anyone who may have one who would be willing to donate to us. We are going to Disney World at the end of June...” 

SCREEEEEEEEEECH! What? You're WHAT? Are you fucking kidding me? You are going to Disney World and you're begging for a stroller? Disney World! Walt Disney World! In Florida? The most expensive domestic vacation there is? Where a single day admission price is over a hundred dollars? That Disney World? I just want to clarify your level of neediness. 

Where was I? Oh yeah... the plea continues... 

“...and I really need one to take with us. I am looking for one that possibly has compartments at the top by the handle, has a cup holder/place for snack infront od [sic] baby...” 

Hold on just a second there, sister! You lost me at “Disney World,” but now, your tale of woe has taken on the characteristics of a “refining your categories” Amazon search. 

Continuing... 

“...folds semi easily and has a semi large storage at the bottom. I apologize I fell in love with this old stroller that's now falling apart. Looking for one that is very similar. Thanks so much in advance. I apologize for sounding so needy. I'm just really in need. I do have 2 other strollers I can not use and will be posting to give away for free. Thanks.” 

No shame. No shame at all. I hope this person read and re-read this post before clicking the “post” button. I can only surmise that someone who would have the nerve.... the cajones... the chutzpah.... the balls to feel fully within their rights to post this, must be doing so alongside Will Byers from underneath Hawkins, Indiana or from somewhere on the outskirts of Bizzaro World. 

Here's the post.

Let's break down the situation at hand and analyze it. After the shamelessness of making stipulations about particular storage areas and the ease of folding, this person apologizes for sounding needy, but justifies their neediness by adding an off-handed “I'm just really in need.” But then goes on to say that he or she is currently in possession of two additional strollers that could be given away. Two, I suppose, that just do not make the cut of the stringent list of features a proper stroller must include. I'm actually a little bit surprised that a list of acceptable colors was not provided. The sense of entitlement here is astounding.

Well, this particular poster was not treated kindly by the people that frequent this Facebook group. A number of participants left comments berating the poster's audacity. The comments became worse and more graphic than the last. But, that's the purpose of Facebook, isn't it? It was created to bring people together, to interact with each other and to share thoughts and ideas. 

And to point on who's an asshole. 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com