And we remember nothing. As elusive as a dream. As poignant as midnight mass. Baseball will make you cry. Baseball will bore you to tears.
Baseball is like life with rules.
I remember Kirk Gibson's ninth-inning home run in the first game of the 1988 Series. And I remember the smell of the grass mixing with my grandfather's cologne, falling asleep in the arms of my father and the way my mom and I shared inside jokes on the first base line. So here I am over 500 miles from San Diego on a Monday morning. It's been a rough week, and this one isn't looking like no picnic either. But I'll be watching television Tuesday night.