Baseball Nation - Field Stormers

12 Angry Men And Women: A Legion Of Security Guards In Pursuit Of The Minnesota Field-Stormer

2012-07-02T17:08:11Z

Friend, you and I have studied the heroics of unauthorized fans running through baseball diamonds for over a year now. This is our 18th such report, and the first to be set in Minnesota.

I don't really know what stadium security guards do during the 99.9 percent of their careers in which they aren't chasing down a fan on the field, but I'll try to break it down as well as I'm able:

15 percent of the time -- standing along the foul lines between innings, rocking their feet back and forth sole-to-heel, arms folded behind their backs, making sure there aren't any shenanigans going on in the seats

3 percent -- giving the business to kids with laser pointers and other such no-gooders

0.1 percent -- chasing squirrels off the field

81.8 percent -- ????

Please don't misunderstand me, I'm not knocking the profession, nor the professionals. The security industry is vital to the stability of modern society, and the hours and hours of standing around just sort of go along with that gig.

I mean only to underscore how ready they are to tackle a fan on the field. Suppose you're about to run on the field. How long have you been mulling this over? Five seconds? Five minutes? A few hours? Well, the folks you're going up against have been sitting on their plastic-backed folding chairs and daydreaming about you for months. They have never met you, but they already know you.

And soon, you will know them. And in great numbers.

(As luck would have it, Baseball Nation's own Wendy Thurm was in attendance Friday night, and was able to catch a good portion of the run. Her video is here, and the following graphic was taken from said video. Thank you, Wendy, for springing into action and helping the cause.)

Normally, though, the numbers are not this great. We have a new record, friend. Never have we tracked 12 security agents on the field during a single field-storming. (In fact, this shatters our previous record of eight.)

Based on the studies we've conducted, it seems as though two or three security guards will usually suffice. Unless the field-runner is a true athlete -- of whom we have seen a few -- all you really need to bring him or her down is an agent in direct pursuit, a second agent staggered off and to the side to execute a close-range swarm, and a third agent on the other side of the fan to execute a flank and herd him or her against the wall.

But ... 12, huh? A dozen? **** y'all gonna do with a dozen people? Man, y'all were chomping at the bit. One more second without a fan on the field would have been one too many. I wouldn't dare scold or mock your over-eagerness, but I will have a laugh.

I shouldn't laugh. These are professionals; I'm sure they were employing a strategy. This was said strategy, as far as I can reckon:

Guard No. 1, as labeled above: The point of the spear. Essential to any field-runner recovery effort. Often times, this guard will not actually perform the takedown. This time, she did.

No. 2: The wingman. God. Frat kids really ruined this term, didn't they? "Wingman" used to be such a cool piece of terminology. Anyway. This fellow provides support.

No. 3: The second wingman. This fellow is useful for helping to pin the target against the wall and close the back door.

No. 4: The alternate. Just along for the ride, for the most part. Ready to step to the front line in case Nos. 1, 2 or 3 twist an ankle or something.

No. 5: Uh ... second alternate, I guess.

No. 6: Hmm. Honorary Field Sheriff? How's that sound, little buddy? Think I might have a "Junior Sheriff" badge for ya. What do you think about that, huh?

No. 7: The flank. No. 2 mostly has this covered, but this fellow is ready in the event of a sudden turn toward the infield.

No. 8: Has a backpack full of oranges, string cheese and pouches of CapriSun in case this thing turns into a siege.

No. 9: Is there to help punch the straw into the CapriSun pouches because No. 8 sucks at it.

No. 10: The finish line. Ensures that if the fan makes it to left field, the spectacle will end there.

No. 11: Yeah, no, dude. Could you go back and sit on that folding chair? We don't want it to get stolen.

No. 12: Treasurer.

And there you have it. To the stats!

Estimated run time: 25 seconds
Estimated run distance: 200 feet
Evasions: 0
Indignant gestures: 0
Security guards in play: 12 (NEW RECORD)

That record might be unbreakable. How many security guards can a team possibly employ at one time, anyway? I would be surprised. Then again, the field-storming industry is one that manufactures surprises, time and time again. Good work, fan. Good work, security. Good show, everyone.

UPDATE! In the comments, myjah correctly notes that there were actually 14 security guards on the field. I somehow missed the two guards standing next to one another on the warning track. I deeply regret the error, and will work to ensure that further lapses do not occur in the future. Wow, 14. This unbreakable record just got a little more unbreakable.

Click here to read further adventures in field-storming.

The Field-Storming 6, Or, Chaos In Omaha

2012-06-27T16:29:54Z

It's a mess. It's just a grand old mess, friend. But you and I are going to sit down and sort it out.

Monday evening in Omaha, NE, several fans ran on the field on the same time. My associate, Brian Floyd, reported seven. There were, in fact, only six field-runners, but depending on how we choose to look at it, there may have been seven field-runnings. We'll get to that.

The atmosphere was so chaotic that our citizen journalists were only able to capture video documentation of three of said field-runners. Here they are:

To the video:

I would like to extend a personal note of thanks to YouTube subscriber eforcemanwonder, who has delivered what is perhaps the most interestingly-filmed piece of footage we have yet come across in our field-running studies. The camera sways and pivots from shot to shot, in a manner that resembles Radiohead's "Karma Police" video, before finally closing with a pan through the crowd and a hold on the crescent moon. Delightful.

I do regret that I was only able to chart the trajectories of a few of the field-runnings, but what we have is what we have. Let's examine them individually.

FIELD-RUNNER NO. 1.

This gentleman left his field at left-center in a dead sprint, and succeeded in his effort to thump a foot or two on the infield dirt. He then made a U-Turn and headed back to left field, where he was taken down. Security personnel lifted him up and began to escort him off the field.

BUT THEN.

Apparently, the security team in Omaha does not believe in handcuffs, and let this enterprising gentleman walk freely beside them. He took advantage of this opportunity by suddenly blasting into another dead sprint, this time running directly back to his seat in left-center. And he almost did it! If we look closely enough, we can see someone in the stands extend his hand to help him up over the fence.

This is historic, folks. We are in the second season of our field-running studies, and this is the first time we have seen someone escape after being apprehended. Remarkable. To the stats:

Estimated run time: 33 seconds (22 seconds in first run, 11 seconds in post-apprehension run)
Estimated run distance: 675 feet
Evasions: 0
Escapes: 1
Indignant gestures: 2 (escaped after being apprehended, attempted to scale wall)
Security guards in play: 8 (4 during first run, 4 in second)

And look, everyone! We're in for a special treat! Minda Haas was on the scene to photograph the proceedings, and she delivered what is perhaps the greatest field-storming photo we've ever come across:

Lookin' good, pal.

FIELD-RUNNER NO. 2.

This gentleman was not so successful. He certainly was elusive, however. Thanks to some fancy footwork, he managed to stay on his feet for roughly eight seconds despite not moving more than two feet in any direction. That's talent.

Estimated run time: 23 seconds
Estimated run distance: 75 feet
Evasions: 3
Indignant gestures: 0
Security guards in play: 2

FIELD-RUNNER NO. 3.

This was not the first female field-stormer we have come across, but it's certainly relatively uncommon for a woman to take the field. Her run had some distance, and after swinging right for a wide evasion, she voluntarily surrendered in dead-center.

Along the way, she grabbed the rear end of at least one player. We would certainly not condone this act if the gender roles were reversed, so we cannot condone it here. I believe you have lost the plot, ma'am: The thing about field-runners is that they are on the defensive. If they invade someone else's space, the field-runnings become something else entirely -- something we cannot celebrate. Notice how those who are tackled never fight back. They don't punch, they don't kick. This behavior runs contrary to the spirit of field-running, and as such, I'm afraid I cannot file her statistics in the registry.

Well. Enough scolding! This was an historic evening in the world of field-running. The map we ended up with resembles a cardboard yarn puzzle completed by a child who is not interested in following instructions. And I would not have it any other way.

For further adventures in field-storming, click here.

The No-Hitter Field-Stormer, Or, The Stranger In The Mob

2012-06-04T16:11:48Z

Prior to Friday night's game, no New York Met had ever thrown a no-hitter. We wouldn't talk much about this if the team were, say, the Brewers, but it's a big deal to Mets fans because everything is a big deal to Mets fans. It's perhaps the most interesting fan base in baseball, molded in part by the little-brother complex, the team's gross mismanagement during the 2000s, and probably, in some way, the team's unreasonably hideous uniforms.

The Mets have a knack for producing/inspiring two things. One is terrific baseball writers -- people like Jason Fry and Greg Prince; David Roth, Ted Berg, and everyone at Amazin' Avenue. The Mets have hogged a disproportionate number of great writers, and it hardly seems fair. The other sort of person the team produces is just one or two notches to the left of "baseball writer": total batshit zealot.

We saw two such zealots Friday night, only seconds after Johan Santana completed his no-hitter. It was certainly a rare moment in the arena of field-storming; while most others wish to draw attention to themselves, these gentlemen seemed like they merely wanted to join in the celebration.

One of them was not captured on camera, and his run was ended before he could even cross the foul line. The other, though, made it all the way to the mob in the infield. To the video:

Watch closely. We first see the gentleman in question at 0:26, very briefly, as he enters the celebration. And for a full 10 seconds, he celebrates as though he's a teammate. The players take no mind, and why would they? Their man just did something that hadn't been done in more than half a century.

Indeed, he was absorbed within the system of the mob. And then the system's protective agents identified him as foreign, and tossed him out.

A unique field-storming, to be sure, which calls to mind of the most famous field-stormers in history: the two men who ran the bases with Hank Aaron during his 714th home run trot. Then, as now, the field-storming was tolerated by the subject of the celebration. (In fact, Santana said he wasn't even aware until the next day that a fan had been on the field.)

To the stats:

Estimated run time: 25 seconds
Estimated run distance: 150 feet
Evasions: 0
Indignant gestures: 1 (joined no-hitter celebration)
Articles of clothing of note: Gary Carter jersey
Security guards in play: 2

Was it worth it for this man? Well, you'd have to ask him, but he certainly paid a price. He spent the next 38 hours in jail -- two nights, in other words -- and the possibility exists that he could receive up to a year in prison for violating a delightfully-nicknamed law:

They were both charged with trespassing and entering the field of a sports event, otherwise known as the "Calvin Klein Law," named after the famed designer’s venture on the MSG floor during a 2003 Knicks game.

The gentleman, Rafael Diaz, seems like a normal guy. According to the New York Post, he's a husband, father of two and professional pilot. He is not the drunkard or frat kid we're most likely to imagine. This is what the Mets do to people: they take well-adjusted people and drive them completely insane.

The Post asked him whether it was worth it, and he declined to answer. Such a question is like asking an icicle whether it was worth it to melt and fall off the gutter. It is nature, you see: the way it was is the only way it could have been.

Click here for more delightful adventures in field-storming.

The Busch Stadium Streaker, Or, A Man Who Made Good On A Promise

2012-05-25T16:13:42Z

I have welched on bets before. Years ago, I made a bet with Nick of The Dugout fame over the result of a Braves-Red Sox interleague series. The loser, we agreed, would have to write an entire blog post about cash registers. Just cash registers.

The Braves lost, so I lost. I didn't want to write about cash registers, so in desperation I proposed a follow-up bet on a Chiefs-Patriots game. The previous bet would be stricken from the record, and the loser of this bet would have to write five posts about cash registers. I lost that one too. I still have yet to write a single post about cash registers.

There is no truer act of integrity than to pay one's debt, especially when welching on the bet would carry no significant penalty. As such, I stand in this man's shadow as a moral zero, a rotten excuse for a man.

This time around, we have a special treat. An intrepid Cardinals fan managed to record the tail end of the run at 120 frames per second. This, I believe, is a first.

It's really something. You can almost hear David Attenborough narrating the spectacle.

Anyway, this man said later that he lost a bet. We know not the conditions or structure of this bet, but we do know that he lost and that he made good on his debt. He spent the night in jail for his trouble. He will probably suffer a fine, and he might even have to go back to jail for a bit. I'm certain he knew his fate the second his feet hit the field.

Consider also that streaking through the field buck-naked is a profound act of bravery. This is the 15th field-storming study we have undertaken. We have witnessed brave acts from fearless people. And yet, this gentleman is only the third we've seen to have streaked completely naked. (The other two, if you're curious, are the Sun Life streaker and one of the field-stormers from the Safeco Field debacle).

And now consider this: all the others stormed the field because they were bold, or bored, or wasted, but there was a spark in them that spurred them to run through the field completely of their own volition. This fellow did this because he lost a bet. He probably didn't want to do this. He faced his fear, and then he stomped it out with bare feet.

The stats:

Estimated run time: 35 seconds
Estimated run distance: 400 feet
Evasions: 2
Indignant gestures: 1 (nakedness)
Articles of clothing worn: 0
Security guards in play: 8

If we're strictly talking about security agents in active pursuit, this may be an all-time record. He was absolutely swarmed. Escape was impossible, and it was amazing to see him evade this mob on two separate occasions.

And finally: yes, he was naked. Maybe that's not your scene. That's fine. Consider, though, the reaction from Cardinals third baseman David Freese:

"He was naked. He's not carrying much," Freese said. "That relaxes that aspect of the drama. I guess naked's better. I don't know. Less to worry about."

It's an issue of safety, you see. If you run through a baseball field naked, you might upset or disgust people. But you are also saying this: "I run in peace. You may well hurt me, but I will never hurt you."

Click here to read more adventures in field-storming.

The AT&T Park Field-Stormer, And The Unforgivable Commercialization Of An Art Form

2012-05-21T16:29:53Z

Suppose you have a tech startup. This startup is a facial-recognition app that you market to bars and nightclubs; it allows these establishments to snap photos of their patrons and analyze their measurements to determine their ages and sexes. This information is aggregated and made public, so that bros far and wide can learn which bars are totally rife with smokin' babes and which are totes dong-fests.

Sick startup, bro. Suuuuuper sick startup. Problem: for some reason, people find this idea creepy. They would rather not be photographed without their explicit consent and have their bio-metrics analyzed. It's a terrible trope from every action thriller made in the 1980s about the 2020s, they say, and it's an invasion of privacy.

Oh shit, bro. You're in trouble, bro. You're preparing to launch this service in San Francisco, but the media has caught wind of the controversy. People are threatening boycotts of bars that use your service. You scramble to contain the damage by agreeing to an interview with a journalist from AllThingsD, a nationwide tech publication. So you'll go to a bar to talk. No probski, right bro?!?!?

Late yesterday afternoon, I was supposed to meet SceneTap CEO Cole Harper at a bar in San Francisco, so I could get an in-person view of his company’s nightlife monitoring system that was set to debut today at various local venues.

More than an hour after we were scheduled to meet, Harper finally emerged from the bar. We were no longer welcome to do a press interview inside, he said.

The manager had been tearing Harper a new one, after getting hostile phone calls all week about the SceneTap launch [...]

Red alert, bro. RED. ALERT. Gotta turn the tide here, bro. Gotta make something happen. The bros don't call you C-Dogg for nothin', bro. You see the big picture. You got it allll figured out, m'man. You're a mastermind. You see all the angles. You got this. You got this. You got a plan, bro.

This is your plan, bro.

This occurred the day after the AllThingsD interview and the planned San Francisco launch. I do not know whether the fellow in this suit is CEO Cole Harper, or an employee, or a hired goon, or what. I do not know because, unlike almost every other field-stormer I have documented, he completely obscured his face. YES INDEED, FRIENDS: a man representing a company that photographs and analyzes people without their explicit consent, refuses to show his own face. Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

For my part, I am trying to obscure my abject disdain for this knucklehead and I am doing a terrible job of it. I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. To the video:

I'd like to take just one moment to commend YouTube subscriber TheMattmic806 for providing such excellent video documentation. It's quite rare that we get to see an entire field-storming, from start to finish, documented within one video. Seriously, terrific work.

I cannot extend commendation to this ding-dong in the body suit, however. Never mind that the print on your suit was too small to reasonably expect anyone to read it. Here, I find myself in a quite unfamiliar position, one in which I'm rooting for the security personnel to take him down. You see ... you see, advertisement has its place. But field-storming is a beautiful art form, an expression of brazen, unauthorized independence.

Commercialism has no place in this realm. Can't you see that? Have you missed the point so thoroughly? I can't help but imagine that if the universe was created by your clumsy hand, the birds and beasts would howl offers of discount auto insurance across the prairies, and a circled ™ symbol would revolve around our Earth in lieu of the Moon.

Sigh. To the statistics.

Run time: 38 seconds
Estimated run distance: 400 feet
Evasions: 0
Indignant gestures: 1 (gestured to crowd with outstretched arms)
Articles of clothing worn: 1 (full-body spandex suit)
Security guards in play: 1

That's right. For the first time over the course of these studies, a security guard managed a completely unassisted takedown. I salute you, friend.

I'd like to note one more thing: this fellow attempted to escape. Part of what makes field-storming beautiful is that usually, the performers act in acceptance of their fate. They rarely attempt to escape. Only one -- the legend of Minute Maid Park -- has escaped the field successfully.

Did you think this was how it worked, you knucklehead? That your act did not require sacrifice?

This is the territory of the very bravest among us. This ain't no Bayside startup. You are far from your Aeron chair and your Macbook and your renovated balcony office in the gentrified neighborhood.

You're in the wilderness now, motherf***er.

The Camden Yards Field-Stormer, And The Umpire Who Exacted Vigilante Justice

2012-04-30T16:23:57Z

Another field-stormer at Camden Yards! Of the last six fans to run around on a Major League Baseball field, four have done so in Baltimore. This is no accident. By this point, I think we can agree that the Orioles' security team is the most permissive in the league.

Let's back up for a moment, and consider the following:

September 26th, 2011. A fan takes the field at Camden Yards. The Boston Globe's Peter Abraham tweets:

A fan just ran on the field, flipped off the Red Sox dugout and security did virtually nothing. A few cops stood and watched

Grantland's Bill Barnwell tweets:

@jon_bois Runner on the field in Baltimore. He's been running so long that NESN commentators are wondering where security is.

April 6th, 2012. A fan runs on the field in a cape. Amazingly, he's able to meander through the field for over a minute before security apprehends him. In fact, he's even allowed to come to a dead stop in shallow center and perform an elaborate mime act.

And now let's consider Friday night's spectacle.

While examining video evidence, I counted six security personnel on the field (I believe at least one was a Baltimore police officer). One of them accelerated to an easy jog as the fan in question sprinted to third base. Two of them briefly left their heels as he entered the infield. Apart from that, they all walked as though they were lodge members marching in a parade.

This, of course, enabled the enterprising gentleman in question to make it from the stands to shallow left-center, then penetrate the infield no-fan's land, then round third and perform a head-first slide into home plate.

And then he was brought down ... but not by security. Someone get the lights, please.

The home plate umpire (in this case, Jeff Kellogg) holds absolute dominion over home plate and the surrounding vicinity. If the President ordered his armies to occupy the batter's boxes, the umpire would say, "no, turn around your tanks," and they would halt and sheepishly reverse course. He is the Supreme Protectorate, and when this gentleman made a mockery of his domain by sliding into home, he was compelled to take action.

We have seen players take down unauthorized individuals, but this is the first time I can recall an umpire doing so. Why did he have to do the security guards' job for them? I don't know, but I refuse to dismiss Camden security as lazy.

Rather, they are the most forward-thinking assembly of security personnel I have ever seen. When they watch a fan on the field, I think they ponder the next few hours of his life. The hours in which he is shoved into the back seat of a Crown Victoria, fingerprinted, photographed, asked whether he is suicidal or requires medication, and ultimately thrown into a group cell in which he may or may not be able to sleep on a mattress.

They will not be pleasant hours. They know this, and they wouldn't dare be so cruel as to deprive him of these few pleasant, precious seconds. He will pay his penance, and it's only right to let him commit the crime. That's the only way I can explain their flat-footed, strolling indifference.

They play the villain's role. We all accept this. But even still, I would like to extend a measure of gratitude to those performing security work at Camden Yards. You are the most noble of your kind. To the stats:

Estimated run time: 45 seconds
Estimated run distance: 470 feet
Evasions: 2
Indignant gestures: 2 (rounded third base, slid into home)
Articles of clothing missing: 1 (shirt)
Security guards in play: 6
Interactions with non-security personnel: 1 (was tackled by umpire)

Athletic, daring and creative. All in all, an outstanding run. It seems that every fan who runs on a baseball diamond offers us something new to delight in. Until next time, friends.

The Child Field-Stormer At U.S. Cellular, Who Ran Without Fear

2012-04-23T16:54:54Z

No one is more truly helpless, more completely a victim, than he who can neither choose nor change nor escape his protectors.

- John Holt

Just as we wouldn't toss away a can of beans before eating them, we oughtn't dispose of radical ideas, no matter how radical, before digesting them first. This is today's can of beans: children, even small children, ought to be treated as independent beings and enjoy the same rights as adults. Eight-year-olds should vote. Five-year-olds should maintain the right to divorce their parents over a refusal to go to bed.

Whether this would be "good for the child" is a separate argument altogether; what we are discussing here is another human being's rights. Is this unreasonable, irrational? I think so, and I would imagine that you do, too, but I'd also like to suggest that we, as people who were raised in a society that denies these rights to children and have never witnessed the alternative,are incapable of reaching an informed verdict on the matter.

Perhaps it isn't in the child's best interest to, say, allow a six-year-old to wander the countryside without parents or ... say ... run around on a Major League Baseball diamond during a game. But perhaps we also have the moral responsibility to grant this person the same rights as that person, without regard to age or height or the expectations we may set upon them.

Are you done? Here, I'll take your can for you. We recycle in this household. To the blackboard:

At 3:15 p.m. Central time (4:15 Eastern) on April 19, 2012, this enterprising young gentleman in the South Side rose from his seat, found a way over the railing, and bolted through U.S. Cellular Left Field, objective and destination unknown. Here is video documentation of his adventure.

The gentleman in the White Sox uniform is Dayan Viciedo. This was his 17th career putout at left field, and likely his most notable, because this time, he put out the flickering flame of ambition in a child's heart. He is to be commended, I suppose. In this instance I'm going to break a rule of mine, which is never to scold or condemn a field-stormer. If the child had happened to run on the field while a play was in progress, he could have placed himself in a considerably dangerous situation, and I'm afraid that I cannot encourage such behavior.

I would love to continue to lecture you, but we have statistics to gather.

Estimated run time: 18 seconds, but it could be argued that a field-storming isn't completed until the runner is apprehended by security personnel. I find this argument to be sound, and so I am awarding him the extra 11 seconds in which he was being carried by Viciedo. This is a 29-second run.
Estimated run distance: 140 feet
Evasions: 0
Evasions attempted: 1
Interactions with players: 1 (was lifted and carried around by left fielder)
Security guards in play: 2, though neither appeared to be in full pursuit.

This is the 12th field-storming incident I have documented, and this is certainly the youngest field-stormer I have seen. The most obvious comparison to draw is the 2002 incident in which Dusty Baker's then-three-year-old son, who was serving as a bat boy, erroneously tried to pick up a bat near home plate in the middle of a play.

The clear difference is that that young fellow was attempting only to complete a task assigned to him, to do what was expected of him. This young fellow dispensed with the social mores of the parent-child complex as profoundly as he dispensed of the notion of trespassing and private property.

Are these mores a necessary constant of nature? Perhaps rights had to be compromised -- perhaps children really did need to be ordered to stay in the hut for we as a species to survive. But this fellow never asked for that. He asks for nothing. He only knows that he is here, now, and he lives and acts without regard for such silly cultural artifacts as "our permission."

Click here to read more adventures in field-storming.

The Toronto Field-Stormer, Who Dared To Visit Baseball's Downtown

2012-04-11T15:46:58Z

We are off, friends. Just a week after the 2012 baseball season began in earnest, we have our second field-storming. Perhaps we're simply paying closer attention, or perhaps we're in for a banner season of unauthorized ladies and gentlemen running around on baseball diamonds.

Wednesday night's field-storming, which took place at Rogers Centre in Toronto, was a rather standard endeavor, with one exception: our hero ventured into the infield. To the blackboard, please:

Unfortunately, we have video of only (an estimated) 60 to 70 percent of the run. Regardless, I would like to thank all you Blue Jays for coming through and delivering the evidence we do have. This is perhaps the best video:

Let's take a moment to appreciate the territory he covered. If you're a field-stormer, the outfield is where you want to be, isn't it? It's a vast, beautiful expanse. In fact, it counts as one of the reasons you'd want to run around on the field in the first place. Never mind the thrill of the chase or the instant notoriety: You get to run around in a field. If you live in the city, that's one thing you never get to do.

The infield, on the other hand ... well, if the outfield is the wide-open, lawless countryside, the infield is the city: compressed, densely populated, full of industry. There is the stock market of the pitcher-catcher battery, where the value of the change-up rises after the second strike, where the umpire determines the market price of a splitter at the knees. The baserunners career neatly through the basepaths like cars around a city block. The outfielders are roving hunter-gatherers; the infielders, with the exception of the shortstop, are middle-management, forever assigned a particular station.

If you are in the infield, you must have a job. And if you don't have a job, brother, the city will spit you right out. That is what we saw Wednesday night. That is what we see whenever a fan attempts to run through the infield. Remember the deer you once saw in a suburban backyard? We've all seen one. He's terribly lost. He's sealed in by a vast network of roads. He surely isn't long for this world. But now, right now, you can't help but stare out your kitchen window and appreciate the majesty of a creature Man has forgotten.

Sigh. Let's round up the statistics:

Estimated run time: 45 seconds
Estimated run distance: 450 feet
Evasions: 0
Indignant gestures: 0
Articles of clothing worn: 5 (underwear, two socks, two shoes)
Security guards in play: 6 (four apparent stadium personnel, two police officers)

Statistically, our field-stormer did not leave much of a mark. That's fine. Some of them won't. Some of them wish only to run free in the prairies, as our ancestors did. After they stood upright and before they could count.

The Orioles-Twins Field-Stormer, Or, The Only Creative Superhero

2012-04-09T16:14:45Z

Without a cape, Batman would resemble a creep in pajamas. With a cape, he casts a large, simple, ominous shadow, but the cape serves its primary aesthetic purpose while its superhero is in motion. Sometimes we only see our superheroes through a series of sketched frames, but we can look at the cape and know that yes, he is moving, he is leaping from the top of a skyscraper, he is destroying evil.

Superheroes normally don't create. They simply wait for villains to create, and then destroy their creations. This is something to lament, and this is also why the caped gentleman who ran on the field in Baltimore last Friday was someone special: He created, and his villains destroyed.

This is his creation.

These beautiful brush-strokes of the feet served as the 2012 baseball season's first field-storming. The gentleman in question, wearing little more than shoes, a cape, and a hat, picked up right where the last field-stormer left off last season -- at Camden Yards.

Orioles fans, I would like to extend my sincere appreciation. While other towns fall short in the extemporaneous video-journalism department, you excel. Here is the best video of the spectacle, recorded by @kyle_mace:

And if you're interested in bonus footage, this gentleman in right-field foul territory recorded some film that serves as an "origin story" of sorts for our hero.

If there's one thing you and I have learned about Camden Yards security, friend, it's that its security outfit is not particularly aggressive. Field-stormings are not cheap: You'll probably be thrown in jail, and you'll almost certainly be hit with a large fine. It was nice of these security guards, then, to let this gentleman at least get his money's worth, and run unimpeded for a full minute.

Now, this season, I would like to take a different approach to documenting and appreciating fans who run onto baseball diamonds. Last season, we merely observed and cheered. We were dillentates; jimmyjohns. No more. Advanced metrics have done wonders for the game of baseball, so I would like to apply statistical categories to the field-stormings we see this season. Let's quantify a few things about this run:

Run time: 65 seconds.
Estimated run distance: Approximately 590 feet.
Evasions (in other words, number of times he dodged a security guard in active pursuit): 2.
Indignant gestures (i.e. cap-doffing, waving to the crowd, mime artistry): 6.
Security guards in play: 9.

This manner of stat-keeping is certainly a work in progress. If you have any suggestions for other metrics that should be considered, by all means, please let me know. Hopefully, once more data is collected, we can begin to establish metrics and determine the relative quality of a run.

Last season, you and I investigated nine no-hitters. We certainly aren't arguing that fans should run on the field. We ought only to celebrate what unfolds before us, and document what the TV broadcast refuses to document. Here's to another season. Baseball is here, and everything is alive.

The Field-Stormers At Camden Yards: A Farewell To A Memorable Season Of Unauthorized Activity

2011-09-28T15:27:34Z

This week, we may well have seen the final two field-stormings of the 2011 baseball season. This is one of many reasons I'll miss you, baseball. Football field-stormings are fun but rare, and no fan ever storms a basketball court (in the middle of a game) or a hockey rink. A golf-course-storming might be neat.

This has been a banner year for folks who want to run around, completely unauthorized, on a baseball diamond in the middle of the game. Remember the Astros fan who ran on the field and escaped? Or the gentleman who ran on the field in a wedding dress? Or the lightning-quick fan who eluded Citi Field security for three hours?

A postseason field-storming would be really fun, but strikes me as rather unlikely. So, then, while visual evidence of these final two field-stormers may be limited, we relish it anyway, as one might stand in the chill of autumn and relish the last tomato of the summer crop.

Again, I really wish the folks in Baltimore would have taken more video. The only explanation I can offer is that Marlo stole the town camera and put it in a pigeon coop.

The first of these field-stormings occurred on Monday night at Camden Yards during the Orioles-Red Sox game. This, I'm afraid, is the only thing that passes for moving-picture evidence that I can offer you (click to animate):

This comes to us by way of @bubbaprog from Mocksession, who recorded this from the TV broadcast. It's certainly a brief cameo, but this gentleman is to be congratulated for becoming the second person this year to have his field-storming broadcast on national television. WHOOOOSH.

God, it's such a shame that we don't have full video. Such a damn shame. The Boston Globe's Pete Abraham tweeted:

A fan just ran on the field, flipped off the Red Sox dugout and security did virtually nothing. A few cops stood and watched

According to Bill Barnwell, the NESN booth was puzzled over how long security took to respond. To the Red Sox, this was a game that held tremendous playoff implications. To the Orioles, this was Game No. 160 of their 14th consecutive losing season. Perhaps I'm projecting, or perhaps the malaise of mediocrity is capable of permeating the entire organization. Or perhaps security is just like you and me, in that we revel in the spectacle of a man running on the field and flipping the bird to the entire Red Sox dugout.

We do have video documentation of Tuesday night's field-stormer:

Unfortunately, the videos I was able to find are all from a distance (the zoom button is your friend, Baltimoreans!), but half the fun of a good tackle is the roar of the crowd, so this clip will do. In the NESN booth, Don Orsillo and Jerry Remy idly speculated that this gentleman was the very same man who stormed the field Monday Night, noting that he was also very fast and ran along a similar path. I find this highly improbable, but it's fun to imagine anyway.

I'm glad we're talking about the broadcast booths, because their reactions were so, so telling.

Orsillo's and Remy's Red Sox, as you know, were playing a game that was tremendously important to them. And yet, both seemed amused by this field-runner. They weren't cheering or openly celebrating, of course, but you could hear it in their voices: they were watching something fun.

Meanwhile, in the MASN booth, Gary Thorne's and Jim Palmer's Orioles had been out of the playoff hunt for months. The camera panned through the stands as the crowd cheered in delight. Thorne and Palmer were disgusted. "Why would you cheer them?" asked Thorne. "Because they don't know better," said Palmer.

I genuinely like Thorne and Palmer, and I think that they're quite good at their jobs, but -- and I feel as though I've said this a dozen times this season -- Enough with the lecturing

Look, I know I've written most of these pieces in a completely ridiculous and self-important voice this season, but this is me actually talking for real: I understand the logic. I get that you're worried that doing any less than damning field-stormers will encourage future field-stormings. And, yes, a mythical reality in which baseball was ruined because people ran on the field every 13 minutes would be a real bummer.

But again, that's mythical. Loath as I am to jail someone, I think a night in prison and a fine is entirely justified as long as the public is made aware of the consequences. That is the deterrent, not your scolding. All season, we've heard broadcasters call field-stormers "idiots." At least one used the word "disgrace." Many -- even as the camera showed fans standing and cheering -- unbelievably attempted to convince us that "nobody is enjoying this."

A plea to those who will find themselves behind microphones next season: do better. Don't lie to us. Don't attempt to lecture us for witnessing and enjoying something beautiful.

And if the wild, the loud, the insane, the sudden and surprising, the miscalculated, the hilarious... if that, to you, is not what "beautiful" is, I wonder why you watch baseball at all.

Until next year, friends.

The Fenway Park Field-Stormer, Or, The Proud Recipient Of The Tackle Of The Year

2011-09-08T17:23:00Z

Boston sports fans -- check that, the stereotype of Boston sports fans that has been propogated over the past decade or so -- are the most eminently hate-able people in the world. Please, though, let's offer a tip of the cap to their real-world counterparts. As the season winds down, and baseball teams continue to offer the impersonal gift-store trinkets of meaningless wins, Red Sox fans have labored to create for us a pair of homemade and heartwarming gifts.

The first:

"AWW, PENIS." God bless that man, and God bless the eavesdropping microphone that picked him up. Penis penis penis penis penis. The second gift -- perhaps the more precious gift -- was brought to us by a field-stormer. This one dates all the way back to May, but I cannot let this season pass without bringing it to light.

All season, I've documented the adventures of unauthorized folks who run on baseball fields during games. This is the eighth such instance, and nearly every time, the fan in question finds a way to bring something new to the table. This performance is beautiful in all its brevity. It's gorgeous.

Let's draw this one up, please.

Within five seconds of his feet hitting the ground, the rest of his body follows suit. POW. I love it, you love it, those in attendance loved it, the security guard certainly loved it, and the tackled gentleman... well, it was a fate of his own making.

Part of me wishes we could see his face at the exact instant he realizes he's going to bed, but I think it suffices perfectly to watch his head swivel to the right. He's trotting, fingers up, loving life, and we see the very briefest of pauses before the reckoning. It's wonderful.

And finally: I will repeat this as many times as the broadcasters' parade of lies is repeated. When they tell you that "nobody likes to see that," or, "he's wasting everyone's time," or, "he's not impressing anybody"...

...remember this picture and know that they are wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Destroying Something Beautiful: The Disappointing Comerica Park Field-Stormer

2011-08-05T17:07:07Z

I suggest that you and I sit down for a moment and really get to the root of something. What is this? What is field-storming? Is it a fleeting novelty? Well, clearly it isn't; unauthorized folks have been running on fields for decades.

Is a meme? Forgive the ridiculous question, but before we go further we must nail this down. I hope we can agree that it is not. Memes are mass-produced intellectual knickknacks. While it might be true -- at least, it seems true -- that folks run on fields more often than they used to, do not confuse "less rare" for "common." They are jewels, each one of them, not to be wasted.

On Sunday in Detroit, one was wasted.

The planking meme is viciously humdrum, mediocre, and boring. You can't think of eight words to assign to Scumbag Steve? You can't say anything at all? That is fine. Just lie here. Finally, a meme to which you can belong that asks absolutely nothing of you.

Please, though, stifle your desire to intermingle it with higher art forms (read: actual art forms). Field-storming is wild and wonderful. Each one is different. Some are naked. Some wear wedding dresses. Some are violently tackled to the grass. Others elude security for an eternity. Surely there are hundreds of other variations just waiting to be discovered.

I would never, and will never, run on a field. Most wouldn't. But we cannot honestly deny that they are acts of bravery. If you are among these brave folks who find yourself in the middle of the field with confused outfielders gawking at you and tens of thousands of people vociferously cheering you on, you have something awfully special and rare. Do not waste it, as this doofus did, on a three-cent meme.

I usually diagram field-stormings. This doesn't deserve it. This fellow has a website dedicated to all his plankings. I'm not going to link to it. The mediocrity is gross. Get it away.

Fortunately, the proceedings were offered a shot at redemption when a second fan took to the Comerica Park field.

Unbelievable. Is that another plank? The average-ness is suffocating.

I was so optimistic when I started upon this task this morning. I really was. I wanted to show you something really terrific. I wanted to use my terribly limited visual design skills to make a pretty picture for you. Just for you!

I cannot. I am sorry. I cannot paint. There are no colors.

For a look back on happier days, please see:
The Citi Field Stormer: A Celebration Of Terrible Planning
The Gentleman-Bride At Turner Field: A Complete Analysis
The Rogers Centre Field-Stormer, Or, the Industry's First Television Star
The Safeco Field Four: Reliving Saturday Night's Field-Storming Majesty
The Sun Life Streaker: Full Analysis Of The Antics Of A Naked Man
He Is Legend: The Astros Fan Who Ran On The Field And Got Away

The Citi Field Stormer: A Celebration Of Terrible Planning

2011-07-25T18:41:16Z

Suppose you were to find your way on a baseball diamond. How long do you reckon you could evade capture? The answer has less to do with your quickness, cunning, and stamina, and more to do with those of the security personnel who are trying to bring you down.

I realize that these field-storming reports (you can visit the full archive here) tend to celebrate the field-stormer more than the parties who work to bring him down, but don't be mistaken: the role of the security guard is every bit as significant and, yes, noble. Without a nemesis, the fugitive would simply be a fool frolicking on a lawn.

And when a security team is at its best, it's beautiful. The guards trap their prey with pinpoint coordination before treating spectators to a jarring tackle. I will sing their praises whenever they offer me an opportunity to do so.

During last Wednesday night's Mets-Cardinals game, Citi Field personnel offered me no such opportunity. This is the most comically awful security job I have ever seen.

Oh, goodness gracious. To the blackboard, please (click the image below to enlarge):

To turn and face your pursuers mid-run is usually a foolhardy action. To do so seven times and get away with it suggests a supernatural grade of incompetence. That is what happened here.

While it's true that the Citi Field personnel don't appear to be terribly fleet of feet, the true sponsor of this program is their abject failure to execute any sort of cohesive plan. The field-stormer turns and skips backwards at half-speed. They slow to a crawl. He turns on the jets. They simply follow him single-file, like ducklings waddling after their mother. It's hysterical, and a little adorable.

These security guards would have been more effective had they acted without the pretense of having a plan at all. As evidence, I cite Pac-Man: although the ghosts act randomly, at least they do so independently, which results in the occasional cornering. What we're seeing here is the same feckless string of programming, repeated four times.

At the end, I sensed something that almost certainly was not there: camaraderie. It's rare to see a field-stormer completely surrender himself, especially when he's outrunning his foes with such ease. That's just what he appears to have done. He seemed to have recognized that he had a role to play, and so did they. After a solid tackle that could not have possibly made up for the hurricane of incompetence we all bore witness too, the gentleman was led away in cuffs and presumably jailed.

I don't recall ever having seen a field-storming effort that lasted as long as this one did. The longest videos available document about 45 seconds' worth of action; given his position at the start of the videos, he was surely out there for a full minute. Let's go ahead and declare this a major league record.

Such a statement doesn't carry much currency, and I'll be the first to admit as much. I feel as though I'm a 19th-century weatherman, declaring a record high the year they started keeping weather records. This is unsteady territory; please know that I sincerely appreciate your patience and understanding.

One post-script: you have won my gratitude, Citi Field faithful, for documenting this event so thoroughly. You uploaded a dozen or so videos, and ought to be proud of yourselves. Thank you for making this work easier.

The Gentleman-Bride At Turner Field: A Complete Analysis

2011-07-18T17:01:13Z

I’ve spoken with people who feel that marriage, by nature of its very existence, is a biased system. Even if the legal definition is expanded to include gay marriage, these folks say, marriage still unjustly places one type of relationship (a romantic relationship) over all others (platonic friends, relatives, et cetera). Married couples are rewarded with legal benefits that are not available to those yoked within any of the other wide variety of circumstances through which human beings come to know and love one another.

This line of thinking is worthwhile, but I’m afraid that I’m not enough of a cynic, and too much a member of the entitled majority, to embrace it. Weddings, for all their overpriced and silly squalor, are still beautiful things, both in the representative sense and the literal sense.

At least, it was certainly a beautiful thing Saturday night at Turner Field, where a gentleman in a wedding gown took to the field and sustained a violent tackle for his trouble.

In the booth, Ron Gant dismissed the grand proceedings as a "shame." Mr. Gant, your back-to-back 30-30 seasons are not lost on me. I hold great respect for you, and in normal circumstances I would never dream of dismissing your words so readily, but this is not a normal circumstance: Hush, Ronald. The Lord is speaking.

This is one of the first, and certainly one of the most well-documented, cases of an individual in a wedding dress being violently tackled. Then again, it is a field-storming, and certain matrimonial mores must be compromised. The security guards must tackle something. It's in their DNA, their job descriptions, and, if we're being honest, their greatest wishes.

To the blackboard.

The brilliance of this gentleman-bride grew apparent after the tackle. A half-dozen security guards indecisively loitered around the tackled bride for nearly a full minute. It was clear: the bride would be escorted away, and the security guard to do so would be the groom. You cannot possibly convince me that this didn't contribute to the personnel's hesitation.

If there is a wedding gown, there is a bride, and if there is a bride, there is a groom, and if there are a bride and groom, there is a wedding. So it is a wedding we saw. The security guard took the bride by the arm, and together they walked gracefully out of view. It was so beautiful that this gentleman in attendance was unable to find the words.

If you'll pardon the perhaps-flimsy tangent, the wedding of baseball with field-storming lunacy is perhaps the most appropriate marriage of all. The structured, station-to-station elegance of baseball contrasts spectacularly with the wild-eyed, directionless scampering of a chase through the outfield.

A final note before we leave this moment, and I'm afraid it isn't a pleasant one. I must take a moment to speak to the city of Atlanta, Georgia. Are you aware, friends, that there is a lot of money in wedding photography? An average wedding will net a photographer thousands of dollars! Well, you bummed your way out of a payday.

Despite there being tens of thousands of you with cameras, not one of you -- NOT ONE -- captured the action in its entirety and uploaded it to YouTube. I have a half-dozen videos that start after he was tackled. A fat load of good that does me.

And I know you had cameras. I was watching.

The broadcast networks are too enveloped in knock-kneed cowardice to show such a beautiful act on television, and so the onus falls upon you to document these things. Your peers in Toronto managed to film the field-stormer they were blessed with. So did our friends in Seattle, and in Houston, and in Miami.

As someone who used to live in Atlanta, believe me, I understand. Your countenance is happy, your pace slow. But next time, please trouble yourself for long enough to take out your camera and start recording before commencing the slack-jawed gawkery. I cannot do my job if you do not do yours.

The Rogers Centre Field-Stormer, Or, The Industry's First Television Star

2011-07-06T16:09:27Z

People have asked me why I take the trouble to document the events that unfold when a fan runs onto a baseball diamond (most recently, the four fans who stormed Safeco Field). It's "weird," they say. I am "obsessed," they say. I will gladly cop to both charges while also observing that no one would call a garbage man "weird" for taking away your trash, or call a carpenter "obsessed" for restoring a bookshelf.

Television networks refrain from showing field-stormers on camera. Their reasoning -- that it would glorify those who are creating a nuisance and encourage future field-stormers -- is irrelevant to our desire to watch them ourselves. In fact, I imagine that if that quality of mystique were removed, we would find field-runnings significantly less interesting. It isn't surprising, it's human nature: tell us we cannot do something, and we want to do it. Tell us we cannot see something, and we want to see it.

Over the past weekend, though, fans of the Toronto Blue Jays and Philadelphia Phillies who were watching from home were treated to something quite rare. A fan's unauthorized adventures on the field of play were shown on television.

Click the above image (graciously provided by @bubbaprog at Gifulmination) to see an animated .GIF of what television viewers saw. Indeed, the swell folks at Rogers SportsNet broadcast all but the final few seconds of this intrepid fan's adventure. For the rest, as always, we can depend on ourselves to provide video documentation:

Let's roll out the blackboard, please.

The route itself was well-run, if a little conventional; the gentleman's crescent-shaped elusive maneuver was an addition worthy of the reverberant sort of roar that one can only hear indoors.

Let's also hear it for the security personnel. Look at those trajectories. The two tacklers made beelines directly toward the field-stormer's eventual destination, made a single modest adjustment apiece, and performed the sort of tackle that signaled they weren't out to hurt anyone. All in all, a solid effort by all parties involved. I hope the fellow was locked up before all the mattresses were taken.

I'm sorry, I've strayed far off my original subject of discussion. Why do I take the trouble to document field-stormings? Well, because I find them delightful, and so, without a doubt, do many of you. I do them because no one else is there to do so.

I am not a hero. I am not great. I merely document the heroes and the great, and for as long as the discrimination of television networks leaves us with such narrow recourse, I am happy to perform such a duty.

P.S. I am aware of Tuesday night's field-stormer at the Giants game, and am presently in the fact-gathering stage. I will issue a report once I learn enough to satisfy my journalistic standards.

The Safeco Field Four: Reliving Saturday Night's Field-Storming Majesty

2011-05-31T15:58:38Z

Some of the best-known field-stormings -- the pair who jogged to third base with Henry Aaron, the responsible parties in the awful Tom Gamboa attack, and the hundreds who reveled in Disco Demolition Night -- are group activities, but the vast majority are solitary acts. Were it not for the buckets of adrenaline pouring through one’s veins like hot tar down a castle turret, I imagine the experience would be terribly lonely.

When I was small, I took many car rides along the stretch of I-70 that runs through Kansas. My adulthood is full of buildings and trees, and I now truly appreciate the spectacle of what my seven-year-old self took to be commonplace and boring: the feeling of being the highest point in the world, or at least within a stone’s throw. The towns of Hays or Salina might be 50 miles off, but between here and there, there is nothing. If it's night and lightning crashes, you see the entire bolt, head to tail. It’s quite a thing.

This is just fine if you’re a center fielder or scarecrow; you’re standing in a field for a reason, it makes sense for you to be there. But if you’re a field-stormer, an individual following no mandate but your own, how could purpose be defined, let alone expressed? Through which community could that purpose be confirmed?

Through the tribute of mimicry. One after another. Watch as the man streaks through the infield, and lend purpose to his act by vaulting the fence and performing a field-storming of your own.

Such a sequence happened on Saturday night in Seattle’s Safeco Field. The raucous crowd was giddy over their Mariners, who had won eight of their last nine games and threatened to push their record over the .500 mark (I apologize for bringing actual baseball into this space). The crowd sent not one, or two, or three, but four of its sons on to the lonesome diamond to be chased, tackled, hauled away, and thrown into an even more lonesome jail cell.

Is this to be celebrated? Oh Lord, don’t ask me. Please don’t confuse the postman for the priest. I wish only to present what we now know about this historic Saturday evening. Let’s begin.

(click to enlarge)

1. THE PROGENITOR
Days later, even as video has emerged of the other field-runners, I have been unable to find conclusive evidence of this gentleman’s trajectory. Like Super Bowl I, much of his revolution-sparking act is left to the imagination.

We are, however, treated to his triumphant goose-stepping as he was escorted from the field.

He could not have possibly known that he would inspire an unprecedented number of admirers, but somehow, he seemed to recognize that he had accomplished something meaningful.

2. THE GENTLEMAN
Here, friends, was a man with an objective, as simple as it was. Upon hitting the field, he made a beeline for center fielder Ichiro Suzuki, who (sorry to start the baseball talk again) is good at baseball (baseball talk over).

Extending a hand, he was ignored by Ichiro and blindsided by personnel from whichever branch of law enforcement that prioritizes the compulsion to tackle something over traumatic spinal injury. It’s clear, of course, that the tackle was overly fierce, which serves as evidence toward a delightful truth: security people, or at least some security people, enjoy this.

They know that crowds are entertained by field-stormers, and they know that they themselves are part of the entertainment. A crowd gasps and cheers after a solid tackle. Was it unnecessary? Well, I don’t know. Do you consider art unnecessary?

3. THE NUDIST
Saturday night spoiled us all. Not only did we see four different field-runnings, each with its own style, we were treated to a streaking about which more could be said than perhaps any other streaking. The streaker told a story through his actions, one that established a conflict and offered a measure of resolution.

If you truly love something, how best to demonstrate this love to the world? Sacrifice. This man ran on the field completely in the nude, thereby entering a fraternity that, at least on this side of the pond, is a select group. He is denied entrance, though, because he insisted upon wearing a hat. He loved his hat, and he made a sacrifice to that end.

That alone could fill a book, but fast-forward to about 2:05. One of the security personnel makes an explicit point to stomp on his hat, as though he could erase the events of the last two minutes with a pouty act of revenge.

That very sort of mean-spirited act has served as the complication for untold numbers of children's fables and Van Damme films. It appears obvious to us that our hero will find some measure of vindication. But how? He has been handcuffed, and they are walking him off the field and into the cold underbelly of the stadium.

And then!

There is an unspoken understanding between the Streaker and the Security. When The Streaker is caught, he recognizes that he has had his fun, and he does wish to struggle and thereby make life more difficult for The Security. With that sadistic act of hat-stomping, though, the trust was broken.

Cruelty, as we like to believe in America, is not without cost, whether now or in the near or distant future. From reader @NathanHBishop, who was present during the spectacle:

When his bare feet reached the warning track Mr. Streaker did a shimmy shake and managed, like a snake leaving its skin, to lose the towel and march from the field triumphantly nude.

If there is a Heaven, perhaps it is afforded to us by this digital age. There are no witnesses to the heroics of Joan d'Arc. But in addition to the thousands of ticket-holders in right field who bore witness to this gentleman's ding-dong, the image is plastered all over YouTube, across nearly a dozen videos (and growing), uploaded with such love and enthusiasm that despite the best efforts of Major League Baseball or, indeed, YouTube itself, it will persevere.

4. THE EPILOGUE
Of all the bodies of work that sprawl across multiple volumes, a good number of them peak well before the anthology is finished. We all recognize this, but we often tend to deride subsequent inferior works, and in doing so make a terrible error in judgment. Why must the best necessarily be the last? Why must everything necessarily be as good as the best?

It mustn't, I reckon.

This gentleman couldn't possibly have lived up to the streaker, but please, let us not make the mistake of discounting his effort. In fact, he was the most elusive of the four. Granted, his nemeses were quite sloppy -- two agents managed to dive and miss him entirely despite the fact that that he was running straight as an arrow along the foul line -- but he certainly made some impressive moves of his own.

In all, he made three men miss, and it took two more to take him down. And what a takedown it was! I'd like to offer sincere praise and appreciation for all involved here. The man in the Griffey shirt was daring and exhibited style. The security showed remarkable gumption before finally treating us to a rattling take-down.

And that was that. I wish I were there to see it live, but I feel extremely lucky to have seen it at all. Once again, I would prefer not to cast moral judgment upon any of these parties, but I would like to address a bit of ill-conceived sentiment that, unfortunately, I hear quite often.

Mariners play-by-play television broadcaster Dave Sims, as the fourth and final field-rusher was escorted away:

They will spend time in the pokey for a few days... they will not be missed.

Mr. Sims, you are, by all accounts I have heard, a good man. You are good at your job, and I genuinely appreciate your work when I tune in to a Mariners game. But did you not hear the cheers? Play that final video one more time. The boy is laughing and cheering. So is the grown man. So are untold numbers of fans of all types, all across the stadium. Do you believe that these men won't be be missed? Do you believe that these men were not loved? If you do, you are so, so terribly wrong.

For further reading on the matter of fans running on the field:
The last five fans to storm the field at Fenway Park
The Astros fan who stormed the field and escaped
The Sun Life Stadium streaker

Special thanks to Brian Floyd, @CapitolAvenue, and @rlintott for alerting me so promptly on Saturday night.

The Sun Life Streaker: Full Analysis Of The Antics Of A Naked Man

2011-05-19T17:48:51Z

On Wednesday night, a man streaked during the Marlins-Cubs game. How does his feat stack up against The Greatest Of All Time, or the last five fans to storm the field at Fenway Park? Let's find out.

And the LORD God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou?

And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, and I hid myself.

And he said, Who told thee that thou wast naked?

- Genesis 3:9-11

I have always found it interesting that according to the best-selling mystery thriller The Bible, we wear clothes not for practical purposes, but simply because we were/are ashamed of ourselves. This gentleman, who found himself in Miami's Pro Players Park on Wednesday evening, was clearly ashamed of nothing.

Now, to be fair, not many saw him, as the middle of the diamond at the Marlins' Sun Life Stadium offers nearly as much privacy as your bathroom. (A joke at the expense of people who don't exist! Burn!) Those who did see him, however, were treated to the spectacle of a man who actively and simultaneously rejected multiple social mores. Anyone who can do that without shedding blood or tears is to be commended or, at the very least, respected.

The above image is the thumbnail of a YouTube video of the incident, which as since been taken down. If you're the sort that recoils at the sight of nudity, don't worry, because this video was recorded from a long-distance vantage point.

I have come to the unfortunate conclusion, however, that his act suffered from the same one-dimensionality that tends to plague most streakings. Yes, you took off your clothes and you ran. And then what? Is that your entire plan? To the map, please.

A shifting trapezoid formation was deployed by stadium security. And given the massive left-field flank, that was plenty. By the time Naked Gentleman in Question made it to shallow center field, his options were few. In an act of resignation, he ran directly toward a guard. No streaker of whom I am aware has run directly at a security guard with success.

So that's it, then. A spectacular display of exhibitionism, but what we have here is all appearance and no action. You entertained the (announced) crowd of 14,422, to be sure, but you left them with nothing to think about, no alternate paths to draw out, no dreams to explore. Just a lonely ding-dong, whipping rudderless in the Miami breeze.

Remember that I will never suggest, friend, that you run on a baseball field without clearance, whether clothed or otherwise. Also remember that if you do, I will offer a fair and unflinching critique. Do not think I will unconditionally applaud and endorse your achievement. Sometimes, nothing will await you but a pair of handcuffs, a cold, sterile group cell, and the terrifying uncertainty of not knowing when you will leave. Not every place is first place.

That said, best of luck to you.

He Is Legend: The Astros Fan Who Ran On The Field And Got Away

2011-05-14T18:53:33Z

There is a part of your heart and mine that rejoices in the beautiful futility of a vessel launched to a terrifyingly matter-of-fact death. It is what compelled us as children to stand tiptoed on the beach, squint our eyes in vain to spot a Europe we could not see, and try to throw a pebble to the other side anyway. We tied messages that no one would read to helium balloons, never to be seen again. We buried time capsules in the hope that a construction worker hundreds of years from now would strike his shovel across it, open it, and be interested in the results of your spelling bee.

And then we grow up, and we purchase lottery tickets, and we etch drawings of naked people on plates of gold and blast them into an indifferent frozen void. The purest and least repressed expression of this impulse is surely made when the vessels are our very persons. Such is the case when one of us storms a baseball diamond in the middle of play.

It never works. I visited this idea just days ago. You will always be caught. You will certainly spend the night in prison and pay a large fine, and the reward is the satiation of the impulse triggered deep within your soul, a soul slapped together by millions of years of an evolutionary process that never quite cared about what was best for you.

On Friday night, in the Houston Astros' Minute Maid Park, one of us took this relationship and knocked it on its side. He ran on the field and escaped, damaging a system that will never again be made right. Video documentation of this event comes from Mark Lancaster, via Joey Gelfand and J.E. Skeets.

To the blackboard, please.

1. An alternate angle shows us that this gentleman shot straight of the seats in right-field foul territory. This, friends, is the trajectory of a wasp toward its aggressor, the single-mindedness of an antelope evading a hyena, and ultimately, the gravitational inevitability of a trout dropping into a waterfall.

2. Did the gentleman in question spot an opportunity when he saw the park's incline in deep center field, Tal's Hill, in the distance? Or were these actions the misbehaved children of a frenzied, inconsistent logical process? We don't know (and if you're asking me, we don't need to).

3. Sick stutter-step, bro.

4. Let it be known that Tal's Hill was finally granted meaning last night. It was built as part of a cynical attempt to manufacture character and old-timey nostalgia in a state-of-the-art stadium occupied by a team named after men who walk in space and originally sponsored by a hyper-enormous energy conglomerate before later being sponsored by an international purveyor of high-fructose corn syrup. You think you can win my heart with a ****ing hill? You can't, but this gentleman did by using it to scale the wall. And in the process, he lent real meaning, real purpose, to what you built.

5. Credit where it's due: the security officer here seemed as though he was able to rip this gentleman down from the platform, but he didn't. He probably did so because he didn't want anyone to get hurt. A perfectly noble reason, and I like to think that he also had the presence of mind to know that one ought not tap God on the shoulder while He is painting.

And then, he was gone. Did he indeed escape? Multiple news outlets made mention of the incident, but none said that he was later caught. He has disappeared into the shadows of the center-field concourse and, as far as we're concerned, forever ceased to be.

He made it to the other side, wherever that is. Perhaps it is a glistening shore, perhaps it is a two-bedroom apartment in suburban Houston. Wherever he has gone, he has carried the forever-frustrated yearnings of our hearts, onward and forever.

A POSTSCRIPT: ESPN's Adam Rubin reports that this gentleman was indeed eventually caught.

The man who ran onto the field in Houston on Friday, ran up the hill in CF, leaped the outfield wall, ran up a berm, scaled a 2nd wall ...

... leaped over the second wall, landed on a concourse and made it out of the stadium was arrested outdoors, Astros person says.

(HT: @DanDotLewis)