How much beer, mustard... and in some ballparks... sushi, did you wear recovering the prized horsehide sphere? Was it worth it? Sure hope so!

Ask Steve Bartman. Remember him?

How could you forget him after every media outlet in the world replayed his infamous catch in the left field seats in Wrigley.

Cubs’ fans blame that poor schnook for losing the NLCS series and a trip to the fall classic. And for what? Reaching for a 12 dollar, tightly wowned ball of string covered in rich Corinthian leather and dipped and rubbed up in Mississippi mud? (OK, not Corinthian leather. But it sounds good.)

Let's hope Mr. Bartman doesn’t commit Harry Carey with a splintered Hildarich & Bradsby for his undeserving crime.

Then there's the Arlington ASSASIN or THE ASS-IN-SEATS.

I'm sure you saw this on the news since every media outlet in North America replayed this genius’s foul ball experience more times than the Zapruder film.

Sunday afternoon in Texas, a ball goes into the stands and some big behemoth side of beef dives over the seat pinning a 4 year old in place and comes up with it quicker than you can say..."grassy knoll"

Hey nectar head, how proud are you now? If I was that kids mother I would have taken that Gary Mathews bat, the kid got as a consolation prize and tenderized your 240 lbs. carcass into carpachio.

How would you like to have been this guy's girlfriend, seated next to him? I would have left that ballpark solo and dropped that brainiac faster than a Mariano Rivera cutter.

Just last week a buddy of mine...mending from a near fatal motorcycle accident...went for a foul ball and came away with more injuries than he did on the Harley.

It's as if sound was warped to a disturbing groan and time is suspended in an over cranked, slow motion movie sequence. You look up at the pop up, tossing your cardboard food tray aside like you’re Jorge Posada tossing his mask aside.

Unlike "Georgey" you miss judge it. The ball rolls under a seat in front of you and stops just inches from your shoe.

You look down at the MLB LOGO and the official writing printed clearly for you to gaze at in prized delight.

Your finger tips swing back slightly like an eagle claws on a salmon...like a cheetah on a gazelle...and out of nowhere some half-lady with a porcupine haircut and mitts like Ray Nitchky strips you of it and jumps in joy with a savage laugh and a toothless grin.

You come up with "stugots".  Frighteningly funny but true.

I learned my lesson that day. Year’s later, Im at game 5 of the 2001 World Series. It’s Paul O’Neill’s last game at Yankee stadium. I get to my seats, which are in the handicapped row just behind the last row of field box. Half way down the right field line...25 yards from O’Neill.

Each handicapped patron and their companion get a folding chair or parking space for their wheelchair if needed in this row. At the time, the folding chair was all I needed.

Two young guys in there 20's are occupying seats 1-2,which are mine. Normally, you would just take the two empty's next to you rather than asking them move but it's the World Series and 1-2 are closer to home plate than 3-4, especially on the neck.

The security is tight, with it so close to 9-11, so ushers are busy scrambling people to their assigned seats. There’s no usher in our section and only one folding chair in space 3-4.

My buddy politely tells the guys that we belong in those seats but they insist that we're wrong.

Just then a throw-back-stadium usher-fossil-like figure with a Brooklyn accent and a head full of hair earl (or oil)... comes over with a folding chair. The nice guys that we are take 3-4 and don't cause a scene.

Judging from their girlish refusal to part with the seats, we determined that not only were they not handicapped and didn’t deserve to sit there, they were Diamondbacks fans, as well.

An inning later, I mention to my buddy..." We are in major foul ball territory. How cool would it be to catch a World Series ball?"

Just then, Derek Jeter rips a hard liner down the right field line. As the ball slices foul, it picks up speed with the same animated furry as the screaming baseball in the Bugs Bunny, "Gashouse Gorilla" cartoon.

Just as the beer vendor hands back the change, the ball knocks the guy sitting in my assigned seat backwards.

Not only did he not come up with the ball, he never got a sip of his beer. Instead he wore it. Maybe just maybe, had he tipped the beer vendor, his right hand would have been up a split second longer to grab the ball.

Instead he caught a Rawlings in the gut. After that shot he's lucky to be walking.

"FOUL BALL!"