'Liina and I went to the Twins final home game yesterday.

Good game to watch for the home fans. The Twins won 7-1.

Something you don't think about, though, is that it can be a dangerous thing to be a spectator at a baseball game. The first foul ball into the stands absolutely drilled the guy behind me. Actually two rows up and two seats over. It zipped by about three feet from my daughter's head, bounced off him down to the floor under the empty seats between him and us, a guy to the left dove for it, knocked it to me, then he snatched it brutally from my hand.

Then he chivalrously offered it to 'Liina. No doubt, because she was the cutest little thing around.

I wouldn't have begrudged him keeping it. He worked the hardest for it.

Jim was his name. What a nice guy!

For the rest of the game, though, I kept a close eye on those left-handed batters. They pretty much shelled our section, but no more fouls came that close. Good thing: I really didn't want to have to bare-hand a bullet like that one.

The guy who got hit was all right. I wish I'd asked him where it hit him.

I wish I'd brought the camera, though. When we went to chase down the cotton-candy guy, I dropped my wallet and had to go back down the stairs to get it. I let 'Liina go on ahead. When I turned back there was this Norman Rockwell scene where the little curly, red-haired girl is tugging on the knee of the bemused cotton-candy salesman.

Would have made a great photo.