Watching Jim Rice last night I became jealous for the years of baseball I missed. Watching highlights, watching his grace, watching Nomar’s reaction, I wished for an era of baseball not so full of pettiness. It seems the more we pay a player the more they complain. Or the more they have no choice but to do steroids.
Maybe it’s just the heat. Maybe it’s being behind the Yankees when it counts, but I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for America’s past time. For weeks I’ve been looking through old papers trying to find a Casey, trying to find a Mudville. Trying to find when baseball still meant everything, not just to the fans. Watching Rice last night, it was like I finally found that.
So lets tip our hats to the man. Lets tip our hats to a generation. Filled with sport. And lets forget about the Mannys and the Dice-Ks for a while.
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