A Simple Solution for a Screwball Situation

Scads of attorneys, professors, authors, a judge and even a major league umpire have now weighed in on the burning legal and moral question of the moment in San Francisco.

Who is the rightful owner of the record 73rd home run ball walloped last season by Giant slugger Barry Bonds in a game against the Dodgers?

Is it Alex Popov, 7, who got a glove on the ball but then lost it in the scrum that followed?

Or is it Patrick Hayashi, 6, who emerged from the bottom of the pile with the goods?

Actually, I keep getting the ages wrong. Popov is 37 and Hayashi is 36. But every time I see another story about them, I think I’m reading about children.

The ball, I should note, could be worth as much as $1 million to $3 million, thanks to the goofy market for sports memorabilia. And Popov has sued in San Francisco Superior Court to get it back from Hayashi.

On Tuesday, a judge ruled that the ball cannot be sold until there’s a full-blown trial to determine its rightful owner.

Now, first of all, I have a problem with the idea that this particular baseball is worth anywhere near $3 million. Sure, Bonds broke Mark McGwire’s record of 70 home runs in a season, but no one really cared.

Bonds is no Mr. Bubbles. He’s one of those athletes who acts as though they’re working on a cure for cancer and can’t be bothered with fans or media.

Besides, home runs have been cheapened by the sheer volume of them. I don’t know if it’s the lousy pitching, juiced balls, corked bats or all the players who are horsed up on steroids. But Rosie O’Donnell could probably hit 20 home runs today, so anyone who would pay $3 million for this ball should have his head examined.

Now let’s take this Popov guy, who runs a health food store in Berkeley. He seems like a nice enough fellow, except that the big lug went to the game in question with a baseball glove.

What kind of man is that?

Children take gloves to ballgames. Little tykes with caps that fit their heads like kettle drums. They shouldn’t have to compete for loose balls with grown men who think they’re Pony League shortstops.

A true adult fan knows you use your bare hands, your hat, or a beer cup to go after a hot one. He also knows that if you aren’t willing to sacrifice your body, you don’t deserve the prize.

“When I caught it, I was being thrown to the cement,” Popov complained to The Times. When he came up for air, his face was scratched, his glasses broken and his ball gone.

Tragic story. Go to a tea party next time, pal.

Now let’s take this Hayashi character, a Silicon Valley engineer and marketing man who slithered into the pack like a snake after a rat, and came up golden. He has his own geeky Web site, believe it or not, where he carps and moans about how he’s been wrongly accused.

You can’t possibly like him.

So what to do?

Well, none of the readily available cliches do us any good. Finders keepers, losers weepers is an unsatisfying notion, and the same with: It’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.

Do we encourage the guy who plays by the rules and loses, or the guy on the CEO fast track who does whatever it takes to win?

The answer, in this case, is neither.

I called the Giants, who happen to sponsor baseball leagues for needy children who wouldn’t otherwise get a chance to play. Last year, 9,000 kids suited up.

“There’s a huge need in many communities,” says Staci Slaughter, a Giant executive. This year, the program will begin awarding college scholarships to the most promising students.

Last year’s budget was $400,000 to $500,000, all of which is donated in various fund-raisers.

So here’s a thought for our baseball-scavenging duo:

Before you hire the likes of Johnnie Cochran and tie up the court’s valuable time with such a bonehead case, why not sell the baseball, split the proceeds, and make a few thousand young ballplayers happy?

If Popov and Hayashi sold the ball for $1 million, and each gave half of his proceeds to the kids, the Giants could double the size of their program. And these two knuckleheads would still walk away with $250,000 apiece.

At this point, it might be their only chance to come out of this thing looking like winners.

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Steve Lopez writes Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He can be reached at steve.lopez@latimes.com