Now, I know you're probably already snickering, but this isn't what you think. I'm simply noting an observation I made the other day concerning the crew, and our apparent love for balls of all sorts.
Think about it. The first time I went over to Pat's house, one of the first things I noticed was several rubber band balls laying around. Think of George and that giant ball of chewed gum he kept in his freezer. And I'm pretty sure someone had a lint ball going there for a while. I even saw Dakota eat a ball once--a little strange, maybe, but which of us hasn't felt compelled to manifest, in some form, our love for balls. Patrik has, for hours at a time, divulged to me his interest in rubber "bouncy" balls, and him, myself and George once went on a whole mission--into the deep, dark, and very very dank lair of Mr. Summers--to rescue one of our most beloved balls.
So, without going into what Freud might say about this balls obsession, I think we can all say that we love our balls, big or small, light or heavy, rubber-band or made of gum.