It’s hell to get old. Here I sit on and old park bench watching the world pass me by. I always wanted to live to a ripe old age, but my dad told me be careful what you wish for, it may come true. Now here I sit at age 82 wishing I could just die.
“Hey mister, I have a baseball hat collection, but I never saw one like yours. Whose hat is it?”
“It’s mine.”
“No, I mean which team?” he asked the man.
“The Giants.”
“Football?”
“No. The New York baseball Giants.”
The boy looked confused.
“Aren’t the Giants in San Francisco?”
“Now they are, but in 1927 the giants were in New York and we played at the Polo Grounds.”
Just then, the boy’s father approached. “Are you bothering this nice man, Jimmy?”
“No, Dad. He played major league baseball in New York for the Giants.”
“Is that true?”
“Yeah, I caught for the Giants.”
“In 1927, you played with some pretty good ball players?” asked the Dad.
“That year Frankie Friah started with us and was traded for Rogers Hornsby early in the season. Mel Ott was our center fielder, Bill Dickey played first, Freddy Fitzsimmons, the last of the spit ballers was one of our pitchers. You see these swollen knuckles, Fitz caused quite a few of these.”