One day in 1961 my dad was invited by a client to a game at Forbes field...box seats behind third base. Somehow he ended up with a foul ball of the bat of BILL MAZEROSKI(!). You know, they guy who hit the game-winning home run in 1960?
By the time my dad came home I had been asleep for a while. He woke me up to give me the baseball, more excited than I was.
A few days later, my posse was playing pick-up games at Mellon Park and the ball we had been using finally bit the dust. It had gone from good, to missing a few stitches, to the cover's falling off, to covered with black tape, to a ball of string with a little red ball in the middle.
So out came the "Maz" ball, which went through the same deterioration over the following days and was quickly forgotten.
My dad asked me a few weeks later where i was keeping the Maz ball. "Keeping it? It's long gone."
One of many times during my Yoot that my father just walked away, shaking his head.