IN FOUL TERRITORY

Originally published July 15, 1983, by Mike Barnicle for The Boston Globe

Every once in a while ­ about twice a day as a matter of fact ­ you hear a little story that makes you stop for a second, scratch your head and mutter about how much things have changed. Usually these stories involve something either sad or outrageous that has just happened to somebody.

Here’s one involving Chris Gallo. He’s 6 years old and lives in Medfield.

He’s a big Red Sox fan. He’s not the kind of fan most of us are at 26, 36 or 46.

Chris Gallo just loves the Sox. Of course, he likes to see them win and everything but he’s far too young to have grown accustomed to the annual July fade, the September swoon and the team slogan: “Look Out Below.”

Every weekend there is a home game, Chris and his 9­year­old brother, Joey, go to Fenway Park. Their parents are big fans and the family has one of those weekend­only season ticket deals, four seats in the left field grandstand.

Last weekend was no exception. The Gallos were right there when the gates opened.

“The kids love to watch batting practice,” Pam Gallo was saying. “Chris and Joey would sit there all day watching the ballplayers.”

On Saturday, Chris ran into the park and went directly toward the Red Sox dugout. He wanted a few autographs and maybe, just maybe, a baseball.

Every Red Sox player he approached was too busy, of course. Too busy for a nod, a hello or anything else.

The guys on the Olde Towne Team have a lot on their minds these days. They don’t know who owns the club but they do know they’re all heading down faster than The Nautilus.

Evans and Rice and Yaz are usually good for autographs but they didn’t seem to be around. So Chris Gallo walked over to the Angels’ dugout.

There, by the left field boxes, Chris was yelling at a couple of playersfrom the visiting team. Finally, Andy Hassler came over to the 6­year­old.

You might remember Hassler. He used to play here but got lucky and ended up with California. Hassler talked to Chris Gallo for a bit. Then he gave him a ball, an autographed ball.

“Chris was beside himself he was so happy,” his mother said. “All the times he’s been to the ballpark, he’s never gotten a baseball. And to make it even better,” she added, “we bought him a brand new Red Sox cap.”

Chris Gallo raced back to his seat. He couldn’t wait to show the baseball to his mother and father and brother.

Everybody thought it was great. And everybody thought Andy Hassler was great, too.

Chris didn’t want the ball getting all dirty with fingerprints and ice cream and stuff so he tucked it away in a paper bag. He put his new hat right on top of the bag and placed everything on the seat beside his father.

By now, batting practice had begun. A lot of guys on the Red Sox are absolutely fabulous in “BeePee.”

They might freeze just a bit with runners on during a game situation, but batting practice is time for heavy lumber. In boxing, athletes like this are called “Dressing Room Fighters.” In baseball, they are referred to as members of the Red Sox.

A line drive rocketed into the left field seats near the Gallos and everybody scattered. A man right alongside Chris’ father was hit by the ball and some spectators went over to see if he was OK.

When Chris Gallo got back to his seat, there was no paper bag. Thinking it had been knocked to the ground, he looked beneath the chairs and in the aisle.

Somebody stole his baseball. To make matters worse, they took the 6­year­ old’s new Red Sox cap as well.

“How do you tell a 6­year­old that there are people who would steal a baseball and a hat?” Pam Gallo was asking. “What do you say to a kid? He was crushed. The whole day was ruined. He cried and cried and cried.

“I know there are a lot more important things going on in the world,” the mother added. “I know there are people who get their vans stolen and cars stolen but nothing was more important to that 6­ year­old then that baseball. I wouldn’t have minded half as much if they stole my wallet.”

Chris’s brother Joey tried to get another ball from one of the players with no luck. So the 6­year­ old went home a little wiser to ways of the world but still in love with the Red Sox.

“Things aren’t the way they used to be,” Pam Gallo pointed out. “What kind of a person would steal a ball from a 6­year­old, anyway?”

I don’t know, Mrs. Gallo. Probably the same kind of rat that would take a little kid’s cap, too.

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