Column: Looking back at the day I went viral

It’s been six years since the day I became a viral moment, a source of comedic gold for everyone who stares at their phone screens.

I never had a reason to look back and fully tell the story of that moment from my perspective, but I’m starting to feel the warmth of March.

Spring training is like baseball emerging from the harsh winter, like a flower growing from the broken ice and blooming as the offseason melts away. So under this mindset, it’s as good of a time to tell the tale of the day I went viral at a baseball game.

This picture is painted on the canvas that is Fenway Park in Boston. It is the place on top of the list of every baseball fan’s list to visit. I was fortunate to get a media credential to cover Boston Red Sox games as a freelance photographer for the newspaper I worked for as a page designer back in 2017.

This fateful day occurred during a night game. I had an outfit planned for the game, a pink polo and silver slacks. As I emptied the bag, I realized that the pants were too small. They were my younger brother’s pants, how could I possibly make that mistake? Instead, I went to the game in a pink polo shirt and black shorts. It’s OK, on a hot August afternoon, who could blame me for working while wearing a pair of shorts with a collar?

While eating my pregame meal in the press box, my colleague informs me that the old players from the 1967 “Red Sox Nation” team arrived for a 50th-anniversary ceremony before the start of the game. Among the alumni is a legendary player who has a statue of him standing tall outside the stadium. A photo of them would fit perfectly with his article, so after my peanut butter and jelly sandwich to chase the meal, I was off to the backstop.

I didn’t know who the old players were at the time, but I knew the legend, Carl Yastrzemski, and more importantly, I knew where to get the shot. Each of the alums’ names was called on to que their entrance from the dugout to the mound. Each one would shake hands with the mascot, Walley, on their way toward the field. I practiced my shot with old geezers before Yaz and tweaked my settings, with each picture until I got it right as the right guy emerges, only to give up and switch to auto mode. It turned out to be a successful move because I got the pic of old Yaz with the mascot as clear as day.

As I was about to head back to the press box to hand my memory card to the reporter to get the photo on his laptop, I swiftly learned the reason behind the pregame festivities.

That was the week of the Jimmy Fund radiothon, for the benefit of the Red Sox’s chief charity that treats kids with cancer. One of the kids who benefitted from the fund went on to pitch in high school and has returned to throw the ceremonial first pitch.

Now the assignment has changed. I was to get a snappy photo of this kid throwing the first pitch with the legends behind him.

All the other photographers were on the right side of home plate. I chose to shoot from the left side because the kid was throwing with his right hand. I would have his face and the pitch fully in front of me. My lens was fixated on him from the wind-up to the follow-through. My index finger stayed pressed on the shutter button throughout the pitch. One of these pictures would be the one.

Then it happened.

I lost sight of the ball from my viewfinder, but I never thought the ball would be coming toward me. I was struck in the groin, but the shock of the moment got to me more. I felt a little pain but laughing at the absurdity of what happened eventually hurt more. Imagine, me, born in Boston in 1990, on the field in Fenway Park, getting hit in the midsection by a high school pitcher throwing out the first pitch in front of a capacity crowd.

Staring at the crowd looking at me, laughing at my pain, it felt like I was seeing what the players saw when they were on the field. My view at that moment matched their view. I couldn’t help but laugh. I look up and see Wally towering over me with his head eclipsing the setting sun, asking me in his human voice, “How close was it to the family jewels?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

The time came for the game to begin. As I was trying to take pictures of the action, my phone started blowing up, notification after notification, I became consumed with the reaction on social media. I looked over my photos and I saw that I had a photo with the ball seemingly coming toward me. The pitcher, blurred in the background with his mouth agate. I not only had to send this picture to my reporter, but also to the world.

I spent the first half of the game looking at my phone in-between pitches to see the next commentary about me getting hit. Instead of feeling shame and trying to hide from the moment, I leaned in and laughed with them, regardless of whether or not they were laughing with or at me.

Year after year, I get reminded of that moment when a social media account with a high follower count reposts the video, spurring a fresh lot of comments and laughing face emojis. My friends are quick to show me when I’m on ESPN or MLB Network getting hit in the balls by a breaking ball. I haven’t worn pink since.

It’s something I always laugh at to this day. It amazes me when the players I cover recognize from that moment. I remember a time in Miami when a former MLB Network host turned play-by-play announcer for the Miami Marlins approached me and asked if I was the photographer who got hit the nuts by the first pitch in Boston.

The only way I could answer him was, “What give it away?”