As a child, I personally led the Yanks to several world championships. When the team needed help, I ran out back and pitched a tennis ball against the garage. I served up home runs to Mickey Mantle and blew fastballs past the hapless Willie Mays. The garage fell apart, but the Yankees always won.
Unless they lost. That happened because my sister hid the ball, or I just didn’t concentrate hard enough. For me and countless others, Rizzutonian metaphysics long ago became part of life.
While the Yankees are playing, we are working.
I'm not even a sports fan and I loved this one.
