If we hadn’t moved from the blistering hot sun to the shade at Wrigley Field last Saturday, my husband, daughter and I would’ve been just about an arm’s length away from Baez’s home run ball. Like the nearly 42,000 other fans, we arrived at the Friendly Confines hoping for that one-in-a-million chance to catch a souvenir.

In hindsight, it was fortunate that we moved out of the area where Baez’s ball landed. My daughter would have needed to make a bare-handed catch because I only took a right-handed mitt. She’s left-handed.

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