Columnist Ron Kantowski: HR bounty seekers way off base

Thursday, Aug. 22, 2002 | 9:06 a.m.

Ron Kantowski's insider notes column appears Tuesday and his Page One column appears Thursday. He can be reached at ron@lasvegassun.com or (702) 259-4088.

The only thing more outrageous than the $14.99 price tag on Rawlings' official major league baseball is that I've seen guys destroy $500 business suits in an attempt to snag one while playing hooky from the office.

And that was just for a foul ball off the bat of some utility infielder.

At the going rate ($2.7 million for Mark McGwire's No. 70 in 1998), it's only a matter of time until somebody gets hurt or even killed trying to catch one of Barry Bonds' milestone home run balls.

Especially when you consider some already are going bankrupt -- financially and morally -- in an attempt to win baseball's version of the lottery.

Last October, a man appeared to catch Bonds' record-setting 73rd home run on the fly in the Pac Bell Park bleachers, but it was another who emerged with the ball after a lengthy rugby scrum. Once the two men grew weary fighting for the ball, they hired lawyers to do it for them.

Bad move. They could have agreed to put the ball on eBay, split the profit, and still come out way ahead of what some Arliss wannabe is going to pay only one of them after he takes his cut.

And here you thought the guy who traded the living room set for what was behind Door No. 2 was being greedy.

But not even Monty Hall could comprehend the thought process that turned Jay Arsenault, a 36-year-old carpenter from Vacaville, Calif., into the Grinch's fraternity brother this week.

Arsenault is the guy who pulled the needle out of the haystack Aug. 9, when Bonds went deep for the 600th time. He's also the guy who got a ticket to the game only after telling co-workers he would split any profits on the infinitesimal chance he caught Bonds' No. 600.

Now he's reneging on that promise, and his three former pals have naturally filed suit. On Tuesday, a judge declared the ball cannot be sold because under California law, a verbal agreement can be enforceable as a contract.

If what his ex-buddies say is true, I'm surprised Arsenault decided to join them at the ballpark. He might as well have just gone to their homes and seduced their wives.

It's not that snagging a foul ball or even a historic home run shouldn't have value. But it should be sentimental, not monetary. To this day I reminisce about the rainy night in 1967, when my dad raced up the steps in the upper deck at old Comiskey Park to snag a blast off the bat of Jim Fregosi.

I was almost as proud of that ball as my old man was. That probably explains why it didn't find its way into a sandlot game until the following season.

Rich Beem doesn't get it, either. Remember when Beem rolled in a 30-foot birdie putt on No. 16 last Sunday en route to winning the PGA and threw his ball in celebration? Well, it landed in the bottom of Lake Hazeltine, and a guy with a boat and another in scuba gear literally went to great lengths to retrieve it.

"Give me a break," Beem said. "I'll give them balls if they want it that bad. That's just crazy."

Until somebody explains why the balls Bonds drives into the bleachers are worth more than the knife and fork he uses at breakfast (or for that matter, the cup he wears in batting practice), the most I'd ever pay for a baseball is exactly what one is worth -- about $14.95.

Unless, of course, there's a Wal-Mart nearby. In which case I would pay a lot less.