I was ten when my dad took me to see the Indians play the Yankees. Mostly, I wanted a player to sign my baseball. My dad was decidedly skeptical. At seventh inning stretch, an important looking man in a dark suit walked by. I said, “Mister! Sign my baseball!” Without a word, he wrote upon it and strode off. Whoever he was, I was one happy kid. Once home, my dad read the name: Phil Rizzuto! The great Yankee’s Hall of Fame shortstop and, later, radio broadcaster had been in Cleveland that day to call the game. You never know!