More Than He Knows

Excuse me while I wax poetic, but baseball has been my one constant in life. I can't even begin to guess about the number of games I've watched, but I can certainly tell you exactly where I was as some of the greatest games ever played out.

Carlton Fisk's homer in the '75 series?

I was at the Town Park in North Collins. A friend told me what had happened. I was just about to turn 11.

The Bucky Dent homer?

On a soccer field. My coach, Mike Loretto, had stolen my radio. He told me what happened.

The Aaron Boone homer?

In a Syracuse hotel room. My cell phone rang at 1:45 a.m.

Ten times.

The last being my brother Jeff. We were so happy.

So happy.

So last night was to be an epic night. If the Yankees won, they'd most likely keep the Red Sox in it. If they lost all hell would break loose.

I started watching the games with my baseball mini-me, Sam. We had three different games on and were checking the 4th important game on our computers and phones.

Nothing was settled by the time Sam had to go to bed.

And the void swept over me. Kathy was still working. I couldn't call Jeff. I was reeling. I wanted so badly to share what was going on.

And someone stepped into the void.

My buddy Gag sent a text.

For the next two hours we texted back and forth. The sadness I was feeling started to melt away.

We watched Papelbum blow it for the Suck Sox. We watched the Yanks lose it moments later to ensure that Boston was going home.

We simply talked baseball.

Gag's beautiful wife Suzanne said hello at one point, but it was mostly Yanks, Phils, Bosox and Rays.

Right into the void. More than he knows.

So thank you, buddy.

She's no Suzanne Gaglianone.