My youngest son and I each went to San Francisco Giants games last week with very different attitudes about a couple of things--buying peanuts and other items at the concession stand, and catching foul balls.

Kevin went Tuesday night with a couple of tickets I'd bought him for his birthday (and he decided to invite an attractive young girl to go with him instead of his dear ol' dad ... go figure!). Anyway, I went the next night with my wife, Natalie, and her daughter Lisa and son-in-law Brian.

In talking to my kid about the game he went to, I asked him what he had to eat.

"I had a soda," Kevin said.

"That's all?" I asked.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "Do you know how much they want for a hot dog and peanuts. Hey, the soda was $5! I could get a 12-pack for less than that!"

"That's funny," I mused. "The last time you went to a game with me you got two hot dogs, peanuts, three sodas, nachos and a malt. And you never once asked how much it cost."

"Uh, that's different," he muttered. Sure, 'cause Dad was buying!

I happen to believe that, even though it's overpriced, ballpark food is part of the baseball experience. Catching foul balls is not--at least not for me anymore.

Kevin's attitude about catching foul balls is that anything hit within a section on either side of him is fair game. My attitude? If it lands in the seat next to me, I might pick it up.

He'd have no problem diving headlong into a pile of foul ball seekers to wage battle for a souvenir. The way I look at it, if I want a baseball that much, I'll stop at Sportmart on my way home and buy one.

But, then, he's 23, and I'm ... not. So the thrill of capturing the elusive baseball prize has passed me by and he's still trying to make it. It's like in the Kevin Costner movie, Bull Durham, when the young players are giving the old veteran minor leaguer a hard time about the quest to make it to the Major Leagues. He says, "Yeah, I've been to the show," and a reverent hush falls over the group as they listen to Crash Davis talk about his short stay in the big leagues.

Well, I've been to the show.

It was about 25 years ago now, when they were still playing baseball at Candlestick Park and stadiums still had names instead of sponsors. The Giants were playing the Atlanta Braves, and we were there early to catch batting practice--and maybe catch a foul ball or two. We were strolling down to the right field corner when it happened. Light hitting Atlanta catcher Biff Pocoroba (.257 lifetime average, 21 career homers in 10 seasons) ripped a line drive that was headed right for us. I put out my right hand and, splat, the ball slapped against my palm like a tenderizing hammer whapping a slab of beef ... and dropped to the ground. My buddy, Skip, quickly snatched it up and claimed the souvenir for his own as I studied the imprint of the stitches on my hand. He would later give the ball to my other buddy, Dave, who got it autographed and has it to this day sitting on a shelf in his home. All I got was a sore hand and an important lesson--don't try to catch foul balls without a baseball glove.

Giants announcer Duane Kuiper agrees and said just as much to broadcast partner F.P. Santangelo during Sunday's telecast. When F.P. asked who would catch a foul ball if it found its way into the pressbox where the two former Major Leaguers were sitting, Kuiper said, "My deal is, if I don't have a glove on, I don't try to catch it."

"So you're hiding like a little girl underneath the table?" F.P. asked.

"I go; I get out of the way," said Kuip. "I mean that's the way I was taught. My dad said, 'if you don't have a glove on, you don't try to catch it ... stay off the DL."

That's sound advice. And it's advice my oldest son, Mike, should have followed when he tried to catch a foul liner off the bat of Barry Bonds when we were in Cincinnati watching a game at ... whatever the heck they call their new ballpark.

If you think the Pocoroba's line drive hit my hand hard, you can only imagine Mike's hand after trying to catch a Bonds liner. It slapped his hand and dropped to his feet just like mine had, but there were two differences--he scrambled down to retrieve the ball, and his index finger started swelling to about twice its normal size. Hmmm, a broken finger ... to some that's a small price to pay to get a foul ball. Uh, not me, thanks.

Which brings us back to prices. We had to buy one of those $5 sodas just to get some ice to bring the swelling down.

Mike's still got that baseball sitting on his mantle at home. It's funny, but it looks exactly like the one I bought at Sportmart.

Want to talk? Give me a call at 408.354.3110, or write to dsparrer@svcn.com.