Sticky Balls

At the Arctic Circle near our new home there is a group of toy vending machines conveniently placed next to the entrance to the play land.
At any given minute there is one child crying for more quarters, another crying because they got the wrong toy, and another one crying because he threw his toy at another kid.
One of the machines hands out small, slimy balls that stick to things when you throw them at something. As if a fast food restaurant needs more small sticky things in it's play land.
Consequently, the ceiling is a rainbow colored, sticky ball graveyard.
My son is not above the other children when it comes to the desire to squish a slimey ball in his little fingers.
My issue with these balls is not so much the frenzy they create when they are first spotted in the machine. It is not with the hunting ground they create when all the children are trying to find their stick ball in the sea of sticky balls being thrown. And it isn't even with the fear in my child's eyes when he sees that all 6 other children have noticed that he and he alone is the only one left with a sticky ball that has not made it to the ceiling.
My issue is with the gravel, hair, brown fuzzes, ketchup, salt, and more unmentionable diseases that are stuck to that ball once all 6 kids have descended upon my son's ball of slime and touch it with their boogery, germy hands.
My son survived. There were tears, time outs, and when all the referees finally gave up, sanitization of the sticky ball. It did not survive.