Manny Ramirez's Unexpected Gesture

Okay, baseball fans -- I promised I'd post this amazing story from SixSeeds friend Bob Gordon, and here it is! 

September 6, 2005   

Mr. Lawrence Cankro

Senior Vice President of Fenway Affairs

Boston Red Sox

Dear Larry:

You probably don't remember me, but I have an autistic son and in years past have helped raise money for NAAR.  I'm a great admirer of all you do for the Sox and for the community.  I saw you the other night at the game, waved hello, and you did a nice job pretending to remember me.  Anyway, I wanted to share a story from the game.  You must hear a thousand of these, but this was truly priceless.

I took my eight-year old son Nat to Saturday night's game against the Orioles.  Nat is a Sox fanatic.  Member of Kids Nation, reads the Sports section with me every day, can't stop talking about the Red Sox, etc.  He has a particular adoration of Manny, and his bedroom is graced with Manny pictures, posters, bobble-heads and the like.  Earlier in the summer, as I began the difficult task of explaining to Nat that Manny might be being traded to another team, he almost started to cry.

Anyway, Nat was excited beyond description that we were going to the game Saturday, this time to sit in my partner's good seats in Section 162 where you saw me.  Nat pleaded that we get there early to see batting practice, and also insisted on bringing a big sign that he made me hold with him between innings that said: "I love Remdawg… But Not Like I Love Manny!!!!"  Typical kid -- wants his friends to see him on TV.

As you know, our seats were about 10 up from the front row of the left field wall -- about 4/5 of the way from third base toward the monsters.  They were terrific seats, and Manny was himself close enough to shout to and to hear us.

I had sat in these seats a few times before, and knew they were prime foul ball territory; so I decided to bring my mitt.  Now, mind you, in going to baseball games for nearly 40 years, I have never caught a foul ball.  But on Saturday, during batting practice, I got one.  It was actually thrown into the stands by an Orioles pitcher named John Maine, but I made a pretty nice grab.  Nat was thrilled.  It was all he talked about for five innings -- how his Dad had caught a ball at the game.  He asked if he could hold it, and I told him that it was our special souvenir and he should keep it in his pocket so that nothing happened to it.

During the game, mostly between innings, Nat and I are standing up and holding the Remdawg/Manny sign -- he's jumping up and down, trying to get on TV.  I still don't know if we got on.  At the start of the eighth inning, though, Nat and these two other kids sitting in our row get the idea of going down to the front row of our section, bringing the sign, and trying to get Manny's attention by draping the sign over the left field wall.  Which they did.  Nat went down with these two slightly older kids, and started shouting at Manny in his adorable little voice.  "Manny! Manny!"  (I stayed in my seat but kept an eye on him.)  Manny looks up, sees the kids holding the "But Not Like I Love Manny" sign, and smiles as he gives Nat a little wave.  You know the one:  Manny turns his glove sideways and, with the other hand, waves “hi” but with his fingers curled inward.  I'm delighted -- what a great guy, and what a nice memory for my son to have.  His Dad catches a ball in batting practice, and then he has a personal interaction with the Sox star he worships.  Beautiful.  I then expect Nat to rejoin me in Row FF.  From my seat ten rows back, however,  I see something that worries me.  Nat has his arm raised with my ball -- like he's going to throw it to Manny!  Now, I know there is no way on earth that Manny has done anything to encourage Nat to throw his ball onto the field (even between innings).  The last thing a ballplayer can get into is accommodating autograph-seekers and the like in the midst of a game.  Not to mention the well-publicized etiquette rules of the Park.  So I start to shout "No!" to try to stop him, figuring that this will get Nat (and his father) tossed from the game (and lose the ball I'd spent a lifetime waiting for).  But I was too late -- my precocious eight-year old son threw the ball to Manny.  Unbelievable!  (It turns out that Nat had interpreted Manny’s backwards-fingers wave as an invitation to have a catch with him.  “Manny wanted me to play with him.”  So sweet.)  Anyway, I see the ball roll onto left field, two feet in front of Manny, and I figure it's a goner.  In fact, I was expecting a field attendant or Security to eject us from the game, and the whole evening would end badly.  Manny then proceeds to pick up the ball, looks slightly bemused and a little surprised that Nat had actually done it, smiles right at Nat, and then puts the ball in his back pocket (where it remained for the balance of the inning).  Just like the bottle of water that time that everyone made such a fuss about.

I'm dying now, and Nat isn't quite sure what to do.  He had brought a pen to the game on the off chance we ran into someone who might give an autograph.  (Alas, Mr. Cankro was the most famous person in our vicinity, and my explanation to Nat of who you were underwhelmed him.)  But at the end of the inning, Manny runs off the field without looking back toward the stands, taking the ball with him.  Nat is now looking a little sad and worried, and the people in the stands are trying to reassure him.    Three outs later, Manny's back on the field.  We can still see the bulge in his back pocket, but he isn't making any move toward the wall.  Maybe, in a Manny-moment, he forgot all about it.  These are things you think.  So Manny starts doing his usual warm-up tosses with Johnny in the outfield.  Then the left field crowd in the stands starts chanting "Manny, the ball!"  because they'd seen the whole thing with Nat.  P.S. -- Manny comes over with the ball and tosses it up to Nat.  He’s careful not to toss it too hard (lest it go into the crowd and never find its way to Nat again), but the ball ends up hitting the wall and rolling away toward the dugout.  A ballboy picks it up and starts to head into the dugout, but Manny – God love him – calls him back and motions for him to give it to Nat.  The ballboy naturally obliges, and underhands it up to Nat.  The crowd cheers.  Nat looks at the ball, discovers that Manny had signed it between innings, and goes nuts.

My son is still talking about it.  He says it was the best night of his whole life.  Mine, too, I think.

Thanks to the Sox, and of course to Manny, for a once-in-a-lifetime memory.

Regards,

Bob Gordon