I was sitting behind home plate with two scouts once when a foul tip came back to the screen. I flinched. The scouts informed me that the rule is if I flinch I have to buy them a beer. They were just joking. But this guy does have to buy a beer. To replace the one he lost.
We could mock this guy for a while, but take a step back. The ball was coming right at him, and despite the net, he flinched, which isn't great. But look how many other people flinched!
The kid in front of him ducked almost out of sight. The older man behind him got into a defensive karate posture. The guy to his right ducked. The girl four rows back and two seats to his right flinched. The guys three rows back and three and four seats over both flinched enough to point at each other accusingly. The girl in front of him and two seats to his left made big scaredy eyes.
The ball wasn't even coming directly at them. It was coming directly at our guy. (The guy to his left also flinched, but perhaps because a beer was spilling on him.)
In fact, our guy, the beer spiller, gets credit from me. Sure, he flinched. He flinched bad. Real bad. But he was also way ahead of the game on this pitch; look at how quickly he identified the threat, while the rest of the fans are like derrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp:
Beer-spiller is no simple goofball; he's the horse stomping around nervously a few minutes before the rest of us even know there's an earthquake coming. Good job, horse. You're a real good horse.