This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.
That night in the summer of 1963 was especially hot in Detroit. That didn’t matter for a thirteen year old boy. My dad had purchased tickets in the center field bleachers for two dollars each. Tonight was going to be magic. It was the Tigers vs. the New York Yankees. Al Kaline, Rocky Cocovito, and Norm Cash for the Tigers against Whitey Ford, Stan Williams and Yogi Berra for the Yankees.
I sat there for the entire nine innings with my baseball glove on ready for what I was sure to be a home run ball.
Oh Danny Boy! 
Memories. The money game. Only in person (spectator or player) have I ever enjoyed that game. But oh yes to the names. Americana in spikes. 🙂
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And what happened, Danny?? Did your wish come true?
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Afraid not. But someday…….
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happiness is having your dad take you to the baseball game. 🙂
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Although I know the names, I wasn’t quite old enough to appreciate them during their heyday. I was born that year… AND I love baseball!! So I love the story!
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I like how the memory switched from third to first person at the end explaining what the boy anticipated.
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A wonderful memory of which was clearly a special day. Nice one Danny.
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A wistful longing for simpler times – even baseball has lost much of its charm these days. Nicely done.
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That’s true. And they last too long.
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Go Yankees! All those wonderful names. Was Casey Stengel managing then?
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I don’t know any of those names, but I can identify with the young boy’s excitement and his wide-eyed wonder at watching his heroes. Love the detail of him wearing the glove the whole time.
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Must be showing my age. That was pretty much a true story.
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No, not age, it’s just that I live on the underside of the world (plus I’ve never really been a sports fan, sorry to say). Love your story anyway.😊
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