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Jim Caple turns 50 and relives a half-century of baseball life. Charming, though I guess the Mets have kind of made life difficult for him now and again.
Age 9: I get up in front of my class and tell my fellow third-graders that my favorite player, Willie Mays, hit a home run for the fourth game in a row to start the San Francisco Giants' season. Thus starts my sports reporting career.
Age 10: I wake up to read the Giants traded Mays. I do not understand this at the time, but 40 years later and with a quarter-century of experience covering the ins and outs of game … I still do not remotely understand it.
[...]
Age 24: [T]he Mets beat Boston in the World Series, and my old girlfriend, now living in New York, calls to rub it in. I hang up, wondering how we could have drifted so far apart that she doesn't realize how painful the loss was. We won't speak again for three years.
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Age 38: I return to Seattle to become the national baseball writer and backup Mariners writer to the excellent John Hickey for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. During a company softball game, I stupidly don't back off when another outfielder calls for a fly. We collide, and I break my foot, essentially ending my softball career. My wife and I struggle to find an affordable house. My laptop is stolen at Shea Stadium. |
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