We don’t get a man past first base in the bottom of the last, and we lose 5-4.
As we walk across the river toward the dining halls after the game, we pass a guy wearing a Red Sox jersey.
I turn around, expecting to see “Ramirez” or “Ortiz” stitched onto the back, but instead it’s none other than No. 47—Rod Beck!
Beck, the star closer of the Giants in the early nineties, the ageless beer-guzzling wonder who lived in a trailer in left field of a minor league park in 2003 before the Padres called him up.
I could go on for hours about Beck, and indeed that’s what I decide to do for the rest of the evening.
Now there’s a quality reason for avoiding homework!
—Staff writer Stewart H. Hauser can be reached at hauser@fas.harvard.edu. His column appears on alternate Tuesdays.