Champions of the West Are the Champions Again

I’m sick and tired of hearing all this nonsense about the Metrodome, home-field advantages and blistering crowd noise.

What I do want to hear is about a little boy who grasped his daddy’s hand and went to his first World Series game. How he ate hot dogs, popcorn, and yes, Cracker Jack. How, on this one night, his dad and the game seemed larger than life. How he’ll remember broken peanut shells and homer hankies on that cold Minnesota night. And how his father told him of Ruth, Gehrig, Musial, et al. But all he cares about now is Gaetti, Lombardozzi, Puckett, Gagne, Viola. And nobody will tell him this World Series is boring. It couldn’t be. Not with his team winning and his dad by his side.

JIM P. DALEY

San Diego