Reading coverage of a recent baseball game, I thought about America’s pastime.
No, not baseball.
I’m talking about the reflexive grabbing of our phones to take photos of everything happening around us.
At this particular baseball game, a Yankees game, a foul ball whipped into the stands at 105 miles an hour and stopped only after a shattering hit directly into the face of a little girl.
The baseball player who swung the bat was in tears. The fans surrounding the little girl can be seen in poses of shock and horror, many reaching out to help. All except one. This guy has his phone up, aimed at the injured girl. Recording, one can only assume. Snapping photos maybe.
He is not a reporter. Maybe he is a nice guy who just happened to have his phone up recording the game and swung it around without thinking. Maybe he’s one of those guys killing wildlife by dragging it from its habitat and pestering it literally to death in the name of a selfie.
I don’t know.
But, just like all of you, I stared at the reporter’s photo of the scene in horror.
Except, I was looking at the guy with the phone.