I have been going to baseball games since I was a baby. For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to catch a foul ball or snag a home run. I would bring my glove as a child, scout the people around me as an adolescent, and never once did I reach my goal. Hockey wasn't a game I watched much as a child. I rarely played it. I probably didn't go to my first game until I was about 13 or so. Yet, it seemed that whenever I went, a hockey puck found me. The first puck grab was not very exciting. I was with my extended family and that frozen piece of rubber ricocheted this way and that before coming to a rest right under the seat in front of me. I grabbed it, held it high in celebration, and faced ridicule for years from my cousins who like to hyperbolize my puck-grabbing celebration. My second puck was more exciting as I plucked it from mid-air before it hit my girlfriend. I got some jumbotron screen time for that save. Despite my prowess for puck snatching, I am still pitching a shutout in the baseball-catching department.