Thus the voices of the Red Sox spoke to me as we drove back to our hotel one evening. "...nd Owen...ortstop," the radio blurted faintly, sensationally.
"Did you hear that?" my brother shouted. "Owen? Owen!"
"Not Spike Owen?" I shouted back.
"Spike...Owen," he echoed.
What a trade, what a team.
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I'll never forget that moment of magic potential. In a flash I understood that it would be utterly impossible to fail with a double-play combination named Spike and Marty.
The concept of invincibility brings you awful close to heaven.
I'm still not sure whether I should jump around or scream or simply walk around beaming. But I know that I've just experienced a summer, defined by fragments and personalities, that will brighten my world forever.