Write date to page. As fast as my son and I can rake up and bundle a large pile, an almost equal amount seems to plummet towards the ground, a constant drizzle of golden and red brilliance all around us. The air has an Indian Summer quality, with hardly a trace of any omen of the harsh winds and insistent rains that are surely right around the corner. It is one of the most beautiful and lively days of the whole year. And yet, in a strange way, it is one of the most dead days of the year as well.
Baseball is gone.
It is the first weekend after the World Series, and although the day is as fine as any that were to be found in a particularly beautiful September and gentle October, there is no baseball game to put on the radio in the yard as we go about our duties. No baseball in the car as we tool about on our errands. No baseball to fill the otherwise hopeless void of the television world. No baseball in the Post, the Times, the News. No baseball on the Web.