Hey, Kelly.

Hello.

I've heard through the Great Vine that you are a baseball fan, and not only that, but maybe that there's a bit of a story here.

Yeah.

When I moved to Los Angeles, I ran into this neighbor.

He's in his late 70s, and he has liked the Dodgers since 1958, when the Dodgers moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

And so every day he would walk by my house and I would hear someone yelling from the street.

He's this amazing character. He has like long flowing white hair. He has an amazing collection of hats.

And every day... A picture is coming together here. Yes, from the street, he is

yelling like, go Dodgers. And when you go out to talk to him, really what you're talking about is

like philosophy and books and art. But the entry point I realized was the Dodgers. So I started

reading up. And I'm not a sports fan. I'm not a sports

person, but like I became a Dodgers obsessive. Speaking of, I mean, we're recording this in the

middle of the World Series. Game three is tonight. We have no idea what's going to happen. We have no

idea. And I am making zero predictions whatsoever.

I'm not even going to say what I want to happen, because that, of course, would jinx it.

Yes.

So, so you know.

Today, I want to talk about a baseball story that's not tied to this particular series of games,

but rather about what happens to the baseballs before they're used. Have you ever thought about what happens to the baseballs before they're used.

Have you ever thought about what happens to the baseballs before they start getting played in the game?

I know nothing about it, and I have never given it any thought, despite my completism, despite my

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