The Great Gatsby, The Finest

Most People Write A Lot Of Autobiography, But When I Came To Write Autobiography I Discovered That Nothing Interesting Had Ever Happened To Me. So I Had To Take The Situation And Invent Stories To Go With It.

1946, If My Memory Is Correct. Harry "the Cat" Brecheen Went Against The Red Sox In Game 7. I Stayed Home To Listen, Practically Had My Head Inside The Radio.

My Intuition Told Me That It Was The Grass That Was Important.now It Glows Parrot-green, Cool As Mint, Soft As Moss, Lying There Like A Cashmere Blanket.

The Crack Of The Bat, The Sound Of Baseballs Thumping Into Gloves, The Infield Chatter Are Like Birdsong To The Baseball Starved.

Baseball Games Are Like Snowflakes And Fingerprints, No Two Are Ever Alike.