The second game (Blue Jays versus Texas Rangers) is on as I attempt to write this. I don't know how well I can concentrate.
NOT. Didn't. Concentrate.
WHAT A DISASTER! Jays lost to Rangers 6-4 in 14 innings, in case you didn't watch. I didn't justify my existence toady. I said as much to Matthew, who came for dinner. "Well," he said," you got groceries." Yes - via Gateway Gateway, delivered
It was Bill Wylie who turned me on to baseball. I can' t say he taught me; the commentators taught me, with their stats and lore. They (not the same people as 60 years ago, but they, nonetheless) filled in the gaps, that is, the silence between pitches and the blanks in my knowledge of the game. I had learned so much that by the World Series in 1956 (we were married in 1952), as the game progressed and the tension increased, Bill asked me if I realized what was going on and I said , "Hush! You're not supposed to talk about it. You'll jinx it." I knew that much.
That was the only perfect game (no hits, no runs, no errors) ever pitched in a World Series. Don Larsen was the pitcher and Yogi Berra was the back catcher and when the game was over Yogi Berra jumped into Don Larsen's arms - perhaps you saw the newsreel picture of it a couple of weeks ago when Yogi died.
Whether I know the teams or not I always watch the World Series, in memory of Bill, the same reason I watch the Academy Awards, every moment. Of course, it means more when you know the names of the players you want to root for.
And so, every moment today I watched and winced as the Blue Jays lost today. I fear for them.
To those of you who read my early, incomplete entry, come back. I finished it.