I recently bought my grandson a ball. It was a biggish one – about a foot and a half in diameter – and bouncy as all get out. It’s blue with baseball stitching and he loves it. He carries it everywhere, though it almost entirely obscures him, throws it on hard surfaces and giggles when it bounces away, and rolls it in every direction. It has brought a great deal of pleasure for about the cost of a cup of coffee. I chanced to pick it up this morning. Holding it stationary felt wrong so I bounced it one. Then I did it again. I dribbled it for a minute before bouncing it off a nearby door for a quick game of catch with myself. As I grabbed it and held it up to my chest, I wondered: what is it about a ball?