A couple years ago, Sports Illustrated ran an article about the courtdispute over Barry Bonds' 73rd home run ball. The two guys, eachsuing the other for sole ownership, both had compelling claims to theball. As Bonds' blast headed for the right centerfield bleachers Guy#1 positioned himself above the crowd and caught the ball on the fly,for a brief instant holding it firmly in his glove. Instantly though,he was overwhelmed by the anxious and rowdy by-standers, with a scrum ensuing. Eventually, Guy #2 emerged from the bottom of the pile clutching the ball close to his chest. Security arrived, escorting Guy #2 to safety.

It's not a complete shock that Guy #1 sued for rights to the ball. In 1998, Phil Ozersky sold Mark McGwire's 70th home run ball for over a million dollars, easily one of the more profitable memorabilia exchanges. The case over the Bonds ball dragged on for years, going through several levels of hearings. In 2004, a judge ruled the ball had to be put up for auction with the two men splitting the profits. Unfortunatley for them, while the case was in court, the economy collapsed, an MLB steroids scandal was exposed and the memorabilia market hit the skids. When the ball was finally sold, it profited each man around $200,000, barely enough to cover their lawyers fees.

Someone in Pittsburgh must have missed the memo. In PNC Park, my favorite seats, for the money are the right center field "outfield reserve" bleachers. For $17 you get a good view of the strike zone, and a great perspective on any fly ball hit to the outfield. Until a couple weeks ago, it was hard for me to find any draw back to the location. At the game that night, I was witness to some of the most ridiculous and stupid fan behavior that I've ever seen at a baseball game.

For the game against St. Louis, my friends and I got the the park about 90 minutes before game time. With the Cardinals collection of sluggers, batting practice figured to be a show worth seeing. As we sat down, I recognized a familiar face. There was a slightly built guy mustachioed guy, wearing a green baseball cap and glasses fastened to his head with a rubber band. He sort of looked like a nerdier version of Mushmouth from "The Cosby Gang." I'd seen him in the section before, the few times I'd sat out there this season. I had vague recollections of him dashing off after home run balls, but nothing too out of the ordinary. (As an aside: A lot of people are bothered by grown-ups chasing after balls in the stands. It's never been the thing to get my goat. I'm much more perturbed by a fan trying to start the wave with two outs in the bottom of the eight inning and the tying run on third base then I am with an adult who wears a glove to a major league game). Anyway, something must have come over Mushmouth tonight. He was a man on a mission.

Every ball that landed in our section was like Willy Wonka's golden ticket. First he took off after an Albert Pujols moonshot that landed several rows away. A couple teenagers got to the ball before Mushmouth could cut the gap, but god help them if he'd been sitting closer. He had that look in his eyes. Yes, that look. Like when someone grabs Chuck D by the collar and whispers "open buffet" in ear.

Jim Edmonds pounded one out a few minutes later, and this time a middle-aged woman caught the full brunt of Mushmouth's force. Leading a stampede to the ball, he managed to both elbow her in the stomach and trample over both of her toes. The woman glared at him with a look of disgust and muttered under her breath something about manners, but all she got back from Mushmouth was a shake of the head and a whimpering excuse for an apology.

Mushmouth went full force for the rest of batting practice, chasing out any ball that landed within a 100-yard radius. I'd love to know the exact distance he covered in that half an hour or so. I would almost be willing to bet it's farther than I can run without stopping to catch my breath. I suppose that really isn't saying much, but you get the idea.

As the section began to fill up before game time, more and more people became aware just how determined Mushmouth was to get a ball. With more and more eyes on him everytime he made one of his ridiculous sprints, he began to throw in a little hand signal to the crowd. Now matter how close he got to any ball, every falied attempt was followed by Mushmouth shaking his head, then holding up his thumb and pointer finger about a quarter inch apart. This close, man. This close.

I'd like to think that had Mushmouth caught a batting practice ball, it would have eased his nerves for the main event. He and the fans around him might have been able to watch the game in peace, without worrying whether or not he was going to leap into their laps in some vein attempt to pursue a home-run ball that landed 25 yards away. Unfortunately, Mushmouth came away from batting practice empty-handed, setting the stage for the bottom of the sixth inning.

Pirates rookie Nate McLouth (who unlike Barry Bonds isn't familiar to anyone outside of Pittsburgh. Come to think of it, I'll bet you could convince most Pittsburghers he was on the Steelers practice squad) launched a high-arching drive into the right center field bleachers, a few sections over from us, just to the left of the Clemente Wall. The ball landed in the first row of handi-capped seating, in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheel chair. "That's nice," I thought to myself. "Good for her for..." WHAM! Sure enough, there was Mushmouth pushing her out of the way, scratching and clawing his way to the now loose ball. He emerged from the section victorious, holding the ball high above his head, punching his fist in the air, and high stepping it up and down the aisle like a Soul Train dancer on a pogo stick. Seriously, the guy was pumped. I'm not sure if the dance moves were an in-your-face to the woman in the wheel chair, whose ball he took, or just a general pronouncement of joy over having caught a ball. Actually, Im not sure which one would be scarier.

Fortunately, the dance moves brought Mushmouth to the attention of security. The guards asked him if he would very kindly return the ball to the woman in the wheelchair. Much to everyone's surprise, Mushmouth obliged, though not without looking for a second like a kid who's parents forgot Christmas.

I hope Mushmouth sues the woman in the wheelchair for the ball. Now that would be a story worth reading about in Sports Illustrated.

Addendum: I went to a Pirates game a few nights later. Before the starting line-ups were announced, a season highlight video played on the scoreboard. Sure enough, halfway through the video, there was Mushmouth, celebrating with the McLouth ball. The production crew had edited out the part where he mauls the woman in the wheel chair, so it appeared like he was just celebrating a Pirates home run. It looked pretty good too. The guy was the most excited fan in the video.