When I was a kid, I used to hang around the hotels in Anaheim looking for autographs when the various American League teams were in town to play the Angels. I was inside one hotel when a particularly unfriendly security guard cornered me and another autograph hunter and read us the riot act. Just then, Yankees pitcher Dock Ellis comes around the corner and puts himself between us and the security guard, flashes a smile, and says, "Don't mess with these guys — they're my friends," before signing all our stuff.
The same day, I saw Billy Martin walking across the lobby toward me, and he was wearing a cast on his left hand. I believe he had recently injured it on somebody's face. I really wanted Billy's autograph, but the cast seemingly made it signing difficult, so I didn't say anything. But Billy strolled right up to me. "Would you like me to sign your ball?" he asked. I had a baseball with me, and I was getting it signed. I said, sure, and I handed him the ball, which he placed between the cast and his chin, and he signed it, surprisingly very legibly ...
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