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We are fans because the game also appeals to our local pride, our pleasure in thinking of ourselves as, yes, Americans but nonetheless different from... →
Pursuing employment or climatic relief, we live in voluntary exile from our extended families and our longer past, but in an involuntary exile from... →
Whatever else I do before finally I go to my grave, I hope it will not be looking after young people.
But baseball bounced back in the next decade to reclaim its place as the national pastime: new heroes, spirited competition, and booming prosperity... →
Finally, for all of us but a lucky few, the dream of playing big-time baseball is relinquished so we can get on with grown-up things.
The National League was born the following year, as an attempt to exert the control of capital over labor.
Distant replay morphs into instant replay, and future replay cannot be far off.
If I haven't made myself clear, this worrisome chain of events describes the game of the nineteenth century.
In over 160 years of recorded baseball history, no team had ever won a championship this way.
The heroes of our youth grow old - 'the boys of summer in their ruin,' in Dylan Thomas's verse - yet we seem the same.
There was much woe and lamentation in the seventies that the game was dying.
This illuminates not only fans' interest in major league teams but also the minors and even Little League.
But the dream is never forgotten, only put aside and never out of reach: Where once the dream connected boys with the world of men, now it reconnects... →