By David McCollum thecabin.net Copyright 2011 The Cabin. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

I  still remember those magical words from Dad in my childhood, “How would you like to go to the ballgame tonight?”

It seems to be part of the DNA for many of us that the phrase strikes such a chord that prompts a surge of energy and excitement throughout our bodies.

“Take me out to the ballgame. Take me out to the crowd ...”

And there’s usually the accompanying hope, “And I might get a ball.”

Years ago, a friend brought his daughter to an Arkansas Traveler baseball game, one of her first. She proudly carried about her glove and insisted she and her dad sit in an area she calculated she had the best chance to catch a foul ball, kinda like the quest for that perfect fishing hole.

It’s amazing how an ordinary baseball, often scuffed and a little scarred and a prime candidate for the discard pile if it stays in the field of play, can be so treasured, a prized possession when it lands in the stands.

But as I grew up and had a child of my own, I realized that the ordinary baseball was just the tangible symbol of a memorable and cherished time of bonding and fun with parents or friends.

That why the incomprehensible tragedy of Shannon Stone at that Texas Rangers game hits so many of us both in the heart and the gut — and that knot will not completely unravel, not for awhile.

The horrific development unleashed a quiver of arrows that strike the emotions from several directions and sting mightily on so many levels.

It started with a foul ball by Oakland’s Conor Jackson that ricocheted along the left field line at Rangers Ballpark. The Rangers’ Josh Hamilton retrieved the baseball and lobbed it into the stands, probably like he had done so many times during his career for souvenir-hungry fans. Hamilton later said that after he had tossed an earlier foul ball back to the ball girl, he heard a voice behind him cry out, “Hey Hamilton, what about the next one?” When Hamilton turned, he saw Stone, 39, and Cooper, his 6-year-old son, and nodded in affirmation.

When Hamilton scooped up the ricocheted ball, he remembered the man and his son and routinely tossed the ball toward them. Stone leaned over a 33-inch railing to catch the prize for Cooper. Suddenly, Shannon tumbled over the rail and fell headfirst about 20 feet onto a narrow concrete path that divided the stands from a 14-foot outfield wall that housed a video scoreboard. He was pronounced dead less than a hour later.

I’ve reflected on the ways this incident just puts a stranglehold on both the heart and the pit of the stomach:

• This was Cooper’s first trip to a baseball game. Special time.

• His father was a firefighter in Brownwood, about 150 miles from Arlington. Co-workers said Shannon spent most of his off-duty hours with his son. His co-workers said his son was a regular visitor to the fire station.

• Shannon was firefighter of 18 years and a decorated hero, having personally rescued an elderly woman from a “heavily involved” structure fire in 2008.

• On the way to the game, Shannon and his son purchased a glove in anticipation of being able to catch a foul ball.

• Cooper’s favorite player was Hamilton. He wore a replica of his jersey to the game. To gain a ball tossed by from Hamilton as a memento of his first game represented pretty much a perfect day.

• Hamilton is one of the “good guys” in sports. He appreciates both the traditions and the concept of a role model to fans.

So, this special journey from Brownwood was incongruent to what games are life are supposed to be, how dreams are supposed to play out.

Baseball games are supposed to be fun times — cheers, hot dogs, cotton candy, peanuts and Cracker Jacks and maybe a souvenir ball. An outing is not supposed to end with a child having a front row view of an indescribable tragedy and riding in the front row of an ambulance with a dying father in the rear.

Sports represents escapism. The harsh side of existence, the fragile nature of life are not supposed to intrude and rip apart joy (and the world as Cooper knew it).

I remember the chill of that November night when I took my young son to his first football game. On North Little Rock’s first play from scrimmage, Charging Wildcat star Kenyatta Tolbert took an ordinary hit, then lay motionless as medical personnel and family rushed to him. Shaken, I tried to calmly explain to my son that Tolbert was probably going to be all right after he was taken to the hospital, where good folks would make him better. Tolbert was paralyzed for the rest of his life — a life that ended too soon last year.

A friend of mine has a 6-year-old son and they were watching together that Rangers’ game Thursday night on television when the tragedy happened. He’s having a hard time shaking the feeling. It’s the same horrific jolt described by several other fathers, who have or have had children and cherish those bonding times at games.

It’s interesting how two events of the past week struck at the heart of the female and male psyche.

I think the Casey Anthony trial and verdict resonated the hardest with females — because of their innate mothering instincts. What Casey Anthony was accused of doing just scraped harshly against the grain of motherhood.

I think what happened to Shannon Stone hit hardest with fathers. It related to the best and natural instincts of fathers, who value highly those wonderful times, in all kinds of bonding times and sporting-related events, with their children. 

But male or female, it tears at all of us to hear about a child dying too young or a devoted father dying too soon.

I hope Cooper Stone finds comfort with family, friends, his community — and just thousands of ordinary people who care (the Rangers are accepting donations for a memorial for his father). I hope that when time takes away some of the sting of the unspeakable pain, he remembers and treasures that first part of that outing with Dad — the happiness, the excitement, the connection. I hope he remembers a father who loved him so much that he was willing to take risk he would not ordinarily take just to get him a small memento of the experience and of the player he idolized.

I have to have faith that something good will grow out of this.

For now, a foul ball is another illustration that life just isn’t fair.

(Sports columnist David McCollum can be reached at 505-1235 or david.mccollum@thecabin.net)