Every time I sign a ball, and there must have been thousands, I thank my luck that I wasn’t born Coveleski or Wambsganss or Peckinpaugh.
Fill in any figure you want for that boy (Mickey Mantle). Whatever the figure, it's a deal.
I still have a Lydia Ko-signed golf ball in my sock drawer that I'll keep for a while.
If your man is a sports enthusiast, you may have to resign yourself to his spouting off in a monotone on a prize fight, football game or pennant race.
I have some special things at home, but not too many. I've got two shirts framed - that's all - my first Premiership final with Saracens and my first England cap. They're not signed by anyone; they're not even washed. They stink!
When my mom travelled, she would bring me basketball tapes.
I've been collecting jerseys and shoes my whole career.
I collect autographed major-league baseballs.
Tried on daddy's 1979 rookie firesuit a while back. Smelled every bit of 36 years old.
