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Another sweaty, storied baseball season is sliding into home, but there's still time to steal a souvenir from the clutches of a wide-eyed child. With that in mind, let's review the lessons provided by a sporting season of televised misdeeds.

There's the so-called Phillies Karen who demanded a man hand over the home-run ball he had just given his 10-year-old son in Miami. There's the CEO who grabbed the hat tennis player Kamil Majchrzak was passing to a child.

Then there's me, someone with a significant phobia of runaway balls. When a projectile sails anywhere near me, I mutter something to the effect of, "Oh no, oh no, oh God, why me?" while guarding my dental work. Then my husband says, "That was 600 feet away."

However, if you are a person who clambers to collect sports memorabilia at live events, brush up on etiquette by asking yourself the following questions when a collectible is heading your way:

Can you obtain this ball/puck/rally towel yourself, fairly, in the friendly spirit of the game?

Will you have to perform violence to secure it? Could anyone take you to court for simple assault, battery or disorderly conduct? Can you pronounce "nolo contendere"? What is your employer's policy where it concerns mugshots?

Have you encroached on another seating section? Launched yourself up six flights of stairs believing you've been predestined to receive this gift when you are really just drunk on XXL Coronas?

Must you step on anyone's grandmother, a sweet woman who has just debuted her new white Keds with red stitching? Did you mess up Florence's baseball Keds, you blockhead?

Do you see anyone nearby holding a sign saying that they just beat cancer, that ALS could not keep them from their team, that they have just returned home from war? Are you seated near the person who was interviewed pregame about being held captive in an underground bunker only to be freed in time for this game, their one and only dream?

Are six other balls already sitting in your den next to a framed and autographed Evan Longoria jersey that you purchased at an exclusive silent auction at a work party before you had to learn the words "nolo contendere"?

Do you really need this ball, Chad?

Are you being recorded either on the jumbotron or by thousands of ticketholders with phones and internet? (You are.)

Most crucially: Is there a child anywhere in the vicinity? I mean, anywhere. To your right, to your left, back, front, catty corner, somehow floating above. Is a tiny person with a leather glove or pigtails or silly little buck teeth witnessing the magic of sports, core memories imprinting on their tender soul?

To be very clear: Is there a still-developing human being nearby who, oh my God, believes in innocence? Dreams in colors of hope? Thinks that adults will make the right choices and keep them safe and show them how to behave in the ever-evaporating construct of polite society? Do you have a chance to be an example of generosity, of maturity, of sportsmanship? Do you want to be praised as a super chill person in the online forums, or do you want to spend your days in Cancellation Hell with the Karen lady and the CEO and those people from the Coldplay concert? Do you want to warp the trajectory of the rest of your life for a muddy, busted-up Rawlings popped into the 200s by some 22-year-old on the field who got surprised by a fastball on a Tuesday? Hmm? Do you?

Can you bring me another hot dog?

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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Copyright 2025 Creators Syndicate Inc.