I don't know about everyone else, but I can't get the image of Shannon Stone, a Brownwood firefighter, leaning over and tumbling from the leftfield stands last night at the Ballpark.
He died, as we learned, later. By most accounts, he was conscious and talking as he was being taken to the hospital. He was with his son.
I don't know exactly what he died from. It wasn't immediate. The story notes that his head was bleeding badly and it was relatively obvious that he had fallen headfirst. I'm sure that's all concrete behind that scoreboard.
I don't know why this is getting to me. I have to admit, I'm not the most sensative of guys. Although personally mesmerized and terrified of death and all that, I have almost zero problem reading newspaper after newspaper of murders, riots, insurrections in foreign countries and wars. I see it as just one of those things that happen in life, that being death.
I go to a lot of Rangers games and my tickets are right next to a railing. If I take my daughter, the ushers always tell you to stay away from the railing and do not lean on it. I always imagine a foul ball being hit my way and how I would react. I know that if a ball came towards me and was in a downward trajectory I would reach over and attempt to get the ball.
No longer. It's sickening to think that a death of a man going to a cruddy ballgame with his kid has to remind us that there are so many more important things in this little life of ours. You can go to Academy or Dick's Sporting Goods and buy all the fucking baseballs you want. Nothing can replace what happened last night.
In my usual macabre fashion, I did think about all the variables that went into Stone and his son attending that game. The rain storm that washed out the game in order to make yesterday's make-up day happen. I think of possibly those pitchers working faster in order to get past the fifth inning and making that an official game and making last night fiction.
I think about that guy and his kid opting for different seats. I think of Conor Jackson fouling the ball off into the stands or to the ball girl in left field. Or maybe Jackson never making contact. Or hitting a home run.
I think of Josh Hamilton tossing the ball into the stands in foul territory.
I know it's ridiculous to think about all this shit. It certainly does nothing for that firefighter's son and the rest of the family. It doesn't help Hamilton or the Texas Rangers get over this. But I think that despite all of our outward manifestations and rhetoric, we are overwhelmingly terrified of death. We agonize over the small things that accumulate over a day, a week, a year or a lifetime without the ability to change them, and that, moreso, is the most terrifying thing of all.
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