THE BOYS OF SUMMER.
I went to a triple A baseball game a couple Saturdays ago. After a year of limiting my social contacts to a few people, I was eager to be part of a crowd. A small crowd, as it turned out, but a crowd none-the-less. It has been the better part of a lifetime since I've attended a baseball game. And then only a handful of times. Once in the mid-to-late 50s, my family went to a Portland Beavers baseball game. In the early 1970s I went to a few Portland Mavericks games. I have written about that time. Later, in the early 2000s, I had a girlfriend who was passionate about baseball. She had an autographed picture of the 1955 Brooklyn Dodgers in her breakfast nook. She offered to take my two kids and I to a Beavers game, we went but my kids had no interest. Neither of them had ever shown an interest in sports, though Quinn did crew as an undergraduate. They chose the academic path for their lives. I chose to encourage that. I met a guy in a bar in Novembe...