Baseball, Finally
21.05.12
I tried at
baseball, over and over, and I failed at it. But Dad breathed
baseball and so we did, too. The voices were scratchy and we knew few of the names, but Dad, sitting on the edge of his seat, the record sleeve in his
hands, did a running commentary. A can of Schaefer sweating on the deck table, heâd sit outside for hours, one leg draped over the other, figuring
batting averages, experimenting with infield combinations until the lightning bugs came out. We watched the Pirates when they were on TV and when they werenât we listened to WTBO broadcasts on Dadâs hi-fi. Dad was thirteen that year.
Source: The Millions