About two years ago, I bought an old baseball bat at the Rose Bowl. No particular reason, just saw it and bought it. As I was leaving, an old guy walked up and said, "which one you got there?" He grabbed it from me, squinted at the print, then said, "Hank Aaron, not bad, kid." It was then that I realized that what I was holding was way more than just a piece of old lumber, it was a small splinter of history. It might have only cost me $20, but to that old guy, there was no price you could put on owning a finely lathed piece of Americana. Although I've picked up a few more around town since, unfortunately this fine collection below does not adorn my wall. Stay away from tall trees in lightning storms and swing for the fences, my friends.