When Chris House reached down to grab a ball away from Yankee outfielder Gary Sheffield last Thursday at Fenway Park, it was just the latest in a recent trend toward fan involvement in the game of baseball.

Obviously a lot has been made of the alleged punch thrown by House.

“Something hit me in the mouth,” Sheffield told reporters after the game. “It felt like a hand. I thought my lip was busted.”

But watching the film, it’s hard to see any indication that House deliberately hit Sheffield. Undoubtedly it’s possible that in House’s zest to reach over the three-foot fence for the ball, he could have made contact with Sheffield, but a deliberate movement seems unlikely.

The intent of another fan, whose beer spilled on the Yankee slugger, remains in question. In fact, the only clearly deliberate move was made by Sheffield, who pushed House before throwing the ball back into the infield.

Both the fans have since had their tickets revoked for the year, while Sheffield continues to play. While this incident has brought the spotlight away from the steroids questions currently surrounding the game, it’s brought forth a whole slew of new questions and comparisons, including the infamous basketball brawl at the Pistons/Pacers game earlier this year.

But comparing this incident to the basketball brawl is unfair. For his part, Sheffield remained in fairly good control of the situation. I don’t necessarily agree with players who are congratulating him on his restraint — he did, after all, push House. But this is far from the same thing as the Pistons/Pacers/fans fight earlier this year.

This situation compares far better to instances from baseball’s own past. The Steve Bartman foul ball catch, which he supposedly took from Cubs outfielder Moises Alou in Game 6 of the 2003 National League Championship Series, is a better comparison.

The home run given to the New York Yankees in the 1996 American League Championship Series is another prime example. The umpires at the game failed to call fan interference after a young Jeffery Maier reached over the fence and pulled the ball into the stands to give the Yankees the win in Game 6 against the Orioles.

Or for those who say violence is a key component of this instance, how about the attack of Tom Gamboa, the then first base coach for the Kansas City Royals, in 2002. While staring at home plate during a game in Chicago against the White Sox, Gamboa was attacked from behind by a father and son duo.

The father, 34-year-old William Ligue Jr., and his 15-year-old son were taken away and charged with aggravated battery.

What I’m saying is very simple. Fans need to stay out of the game.

Professional sporting events are a privilege. The ability for fans to criticize their team, players, owners, etc. is a privilege. But most importantly, the ability for an individual to go watch these events is a privilege.

Yet for some reason some fans, not all, feel they deserve more than that. They feel the need to truly become part of the game. They feel the need to do more than sit as close to the players as possible, they feel the need to participate in the game.

Nothing on the ticket stub purchased to enter a game says fans have a right to join in the action on the field. In fact, it says just the opposite.

In Boston’s decision to revoke House’s season tickets, the club cited their ticket agreement, which states that “interfering with the play of the game in any way will not be tolerated and will be grounds for ejection from the premises, legal prosecution, rescission of tickets and cancellation of subscription privileges.”

What House did was wrong, not because of any assault, but because he affected the game. This is not your average over-40 rec league game, this is MLB. These players are paid millions of dollars to be out on that field. Just because Joe Schmoe paid 50 bucks to see the game doesn’t give him the right to catch a fly ball, reach for a grounder or attack a coach.

“He just said he was going for the ball,” Jodi Ingerbritson, the fiancée of House, told the Boston Herald in his defense after the incident.

I’m sorry, but that’s no excuse.