And in Baseball Heaven, we have certain codes of conduct, strictly enforced, though all the players pretty much abide by them. The codes of conduct include bad haircuts and weird beards. For example, have you noticed the Rays' dugout? Like a gang of car thieves. You can't go purely by appearances, sure, but how else are we supposed to judge strangers? And they don't get much stranger than the Rays . . .The thing is, I agree that most of the stuff the guy describes would be wonderful. When you put it all together in a nostalgia-dripping column like that, however, you simply come off like a crotchety old coot. It's a column that can only be written as a result of its author staring at the television for Game 3 or 4, and hating what he was seeing.
. . . In Baseball Heaven, hot dogs are a buck and peanuts (double-baggers) 50 cents. kids who show up at the gate with straight A's on their report cards get in free. They can bring their dogs . . . In Baseball Heaven, the wind is always blowing out yet there's a no-hitter going into the sixth. Drysdale is on the mound and Mays is in center. Clemente is in right, of course, hands on his knees, daring the ball to come to him. In the outfield, there's a sign that reads: "Hit this spot, win a suit."
I said earlier that I think this has been a pretty bad World Series. And it has in some ways. But it isn't so bad that people should feel the need to escape to fantasyland and revel in a baseball that probably never was.