Any and all souvenirs I might snag at what is fast becoming one of America's most expensive pastimes, are MINE, all MINE!
I've seen kids piled on, rolled over, kicked in the side, knocked over the row, and frightened out of their little minds, when fans were scrambling for a ball in the stands. Bawling, just like that Ranger's baby did, almost always was the result.
Back when I could actually afford to faithfully attend many games in a season, I used to tuck a couple of little baseball key-rings into my satchel that I'd pack into the stadium, right alongside the catcher's mitt that I also always took. Why?...in the hopes that if, in the wild off-chance I might actually catch one of those precious baseballs, I would have something handy to toss as a consolation prize for any innocently injured bystanders, rug-rats, or shag-stealers that could possibly ruin my moment. I never ever have gotten to catch a ball, but I did find a need to present a little one with one of my key-rings, after she was practically smooshed by one goliath of a guy and wept inconsolably for so long that I hiked down to her row and gave her trinket just to shut her up. And that kid already had the wayward ball clutched in her sticky little fingers, given to her by another guy who had shoved goliath guy out of the way to snag it...she was just set on sobbing for the duration, due to the trauma of it all.
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