The vendor slaps open the metal top of his hot-dog case. A swirl of steam and a lighting quick poke of a fork. The dog hits the roll and with a gunslinger fast swipe of a tongue depressor sized stick, mustard is applied. The Old man pays for it and the first bite is all soft roll and hot grease and the tang of mustard. A watery Coke from a big waxed paper cup washes it down. My brothers are eating peanuts and the Old man is intent on the game. He sips a beer.
Dick Allen, Tony Taylor, Don Money and Johnny Callison. These were the players I remember from that era. A game in late June. I remember we lost the first game. I fell asleep for much of the second game...waking periodically if action on the field evoked a cheer from the crowd. I would open my eyes and see the old rust colored steel rafters under the stadium roof over-hang. My thighs were sweaty against the seat and my brothers were reading the program. I guess 18 innings of baseball were to much for a 6 year old. But my memories of the long gone Connie Mack Stadium are a treasure.
No comments:
Post a Comment