Author: docallegro

With a sad irony there was a coming together of those that had any kind of connection with Kobe Bryant on both sides of the country.  The New York Times had as much to say about Kobe as the Los Angeles Times did.  The irony comes from the union of all colors, race and creed upon the death of a star.  Far too often death, and not life, is what precipitates a most humane reaction underscored by unity.

The day before Kobe died the LA Times Sports Section had revealed that LeBron James had just surpassed Koby’s point total for the Lakers with Koby calling and congratulating him.  Inasmuch as he did not allow his ego to obstruct his view of a fellow player’s greatness, this act by Koby, though small, showed his fullness of character.  The next morning, Sunday, in disbelief, I heard the tragic news of his death in a helicopter.

Although I very much enjoyed playing basketball when I was younger, I never was a particularly avid fan.  However, when I did watch Koby play with the Lakers, his unbridled enthusiasm and love of the game were apparent.  It is evident that this love of the game continued on in his relationship with his daughter, Gianna, and more generally, with women’s basketball.

To his credit, Kobe recovered from what could have been a very serious rape charge that occurred in 2003.  The case never made it to trial because the woman involved decided not to go through the arduous procedure of testifying.  The case was resolved, civilly, with Kobe paying her an undisclosed amount of money out of court.  Although he did apologize for his behavior, afterwards he still maintained that the sex he had had was consensual.

From there his marriage had its ups and downs, with a subsequent trial separation.   However, at the time of his death he and his wife, Vanessa, appeared to have worked through and resolved their marital difficulties.  Much of Kobe’s enthusiasm playing basketball had been transferred to developing the skills of his daughter and other young females’ intent on basketball.  Indeed, this was a constructive use of his energies.

One of the hardest challenges facing stars, whether they excel as athletes or in some other profession, is to maintain their loyalty to their wives and children.  Perhaps Kobe’s stable family of origin helped him overcome the temptation of wandering.  Certainly, love and marriage at such a young age as Kobe was, when he married, often does not bode well for any star who is in the limelight and the center of public attention.  Immediate wealth and fame can overcome the sensitivities of any young starlet, male or female.  Kobe was able to beat the devil of stardom, and from what we know now, become a devoted father, husband and family man.  Perhaps it is this latter characteristic of Kobe that has made his premature death that much more difficult to accept by both the public and those that knew him.

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The attention given to the late Mr. Rogers very much reflects the state of American culture and perhaps, more broadly, the state of the world. First, came Morgan Neville’s hit documentary about Rogers, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” This was followed by the very successful movie directed by Marielle Heller starring Tom Hanks, as Mr. Rogers, in “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood.” It is a credit to both works that neither featured the violence and sex so often glamorized in today’s cinematic productions.

The enthusiasm for these two biopics hearkens back to 1968 when Simon and Garfunkel recorded the song, Mrs. Robinson, with the lyrics:

“Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio?

Our nation turns its lonely eyes on you.

What’s that you say, Mrs. Robinson?

Jolting Joe has left and gone away.”

When those words were written, America was still fighting a futile war– but being told differently–in Viet Nam. And, furthermore, a third-rate power like Viet Nam was in the process of conducting the Tet Offensive that was one of the largest and most successful campaigns against South Vietnam and the U.S.A. Joe Dimaggio represented an American hero long gone as Viet Nam turned into a nation’s disgrace.

Today the kindness of Fred Rogers is almost revered because there is such a dearth of that very same human quality.   If a catalyst is a substance that increases the rate of a chemical reaction without undergoing any permanent change, then I would say Donald Trump is a human catalyst. Although he did not create it, President Trump has taken social media to its ultimate in “twittering” nastiness to all of his detractors. His enemies of which there are many have returned the favor of Mr. Trump with their own version of nastiness. The news media shrieking both loudly and mockingly from side to side with little hope for resolution catapults us into chaotic oblivion. We are now facing the moral bankruptcy so many of us felt in the ‘60’s. We view Mr. Rogers, though if he were alive, he would surely deny it, a hero amidst cowards that are afraid to step down from their pedestals and make peace with those of whom we disagree. This has resulted in a lack of civility felt by all. Such a lapse in good manners can erode the values for which this country believed in when it first came to be.

There is a deep need for the kindness and decency embodied by Fred Rogers. We want to believe, as Fred Rogers told us we could, that he was no more special than you and I and, that we all have the moral capacity to behave in a way that would better serve both our neighbors and ourselves.   People applauded these two movies about Mr. Rogers because he possessed that generosity of spirit that is so lacking in today’s society. Mr. Rogers touched a vital chord that we so painfully miss today.

It happened very late in my mother’s life and not so early in my own life when I was visiting her from California in her new home, a place that offered assisted care to seniors. My father had recently died so I would have been in my early 50’s and my mother in her early 80’s. So now many years later let me address a past ugly side of myself that took much time and inner pain to heal.

As a child growing up, I was in the middle of three boys during the early years of my childhood. Later, when I was 9, my older brother 13, and my younger brother 7, my baby brother was born, and with his birth I was no longer a same sex middle child. I remember being unhappy before he was born and really wanting my parents to have another child. How the mind of a child works. As a middle child I felt stifled, that is caught between my older more important brother and my younger more helpless one. A feeling of being left out, not being noticed for who or what I was, yet very much wanting to have another sibling, that if anything, might lead to even less attention. The more compelling need for an addition to the family was my strong desire to escape this dreaded sense of being stuck in the middle. The addition of another family member would create change and any change was more desirable than the status quo.

Perhaps it was simply jealousy toward my younger brother who was stealing my mother from me. Or perhaps it was my tortured sense of self that drove me to take out my frustrations–in growing up–on my younger brother. It may have been the implicit pain I felt as my older brother would be gaining accolades for scholastic achievement while I struggled very much in school to do well. To hear it from my parents, everything came the hard way for me in contrast to my older brother who had the capacity to learn things, simple or complex, much faster than I and most others.

Right or wrong I had this perception of being left out. I was the youngest only for a little more than two years before being replaced by my younger, and at that time, youngest brother. Suddenly, this younger brother was the cute one, the one that would get all the attention. Because he often dribbled, he was christened with the name “Dew Drops” that led to more attention as this unintentional habit of his came to be endeared by everyone in the family but me. Did I mean to be a bad child? I daresay not initially. In fact, in school I was well regarded by my teachers and peers. I had a desire to be friends with everyone, a trait that may have originated from my perceived lack of attention at home. No one at school would have believed that I carried this inner pall so different from my behavior among my peers.

And so, he the cute one, the youngest, and perhaps the neediest of the three of us, in receiving the attention that he did, I sadly admit, became a target for my aggression. The fights would come on of which I’m sure, I mostly initiated, resulting in my mother screaming at me. Unfortunately, much of the attention I received in my early years was of this negative sort. I had this obnoxious urge to hurt my younger brother that would result in a nasty pattern of behavior. Soon I found myself playing the role of a bullying brother that became reinforced by other family members seeing me as the “problem child.”

Once I had established my reputation as the initiator of all evil, I could not resist the temptation of maintaining my position. I may have become more and more sensitive to being overlooked further evidenced by my constantly having to hear my family and relatives lauding over how cute my younger brother was. Soon it became much easier to perform the behaviors expected me rather than to alter my conduct. When you have an established reputation, change becomes incredibly difficult. Once my parents more and more expected me to behave in a certain manner, it became extremely difficult not to fulfill my duties. I now was locked into a cycle of jealousy and hostility that actually caused me to have a deep sense of guilt and regret. When the perception of blame became reified in my mind, my role in the family as bullying brother became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

My more humane side emerged when I entered high school. When I was a senior in high school and my brother a sophomore, I remember defending my brother when he was being criticized at a group meeting that, at the time, I led. The teacher in charge of the group acknowledged what I had done and complimented me. Perhaps I was beginning to feel more comfortable in my own skin as my older brother had gone to college so I was now the oldest brother at home. It now may have felt more natural to be the responsible helpful one with my older brother out of the picture.

But it took many years for my younger brother to stop reminding me of the way I had treated him when we were younger. Furthermore, he would make sure to remind my mother how I had treated him, almost blind to the effort I had put forth in changing our relationship.

After I had completed my first year in graduate school at Purdue University, this same brother and I arranged to meet one another at Purdue with the intention of us both driving to California. Before we left, my mother, as had been customary in earlier times, became protective of my brother by pleading with me not to hurt him in anyway. Although my mother and brother would not let the memory go, I refused to get caught in the morass. I handled it as maturely as I could by telling her not to worry inasmuch as several years had passed since I had behaved cruelly toward him. Needless to say, it took many years of my behaving like a “good brother,” never relapsing into former behaviors, to alter the reputation I had as a child. I would not allow myself to fall back into the pattern of behavior that had haunted me for many years during my childhood.

Then the surprise came. My mother, in recalling her early parenting years and my childhood, told me that she realized how difficult it must have been for me to be in the middle of two brothers. She said that my younger brother had been regarded as the weakest of all of us and had a tendency toward victimhood. She recognized that I was not entirely at fault in the way I treated him insofar as his personality had triggered much of my behavior. Wow, I said to myself, after all these years perhaps my behavior was not really as bad as I had imagined it was as a child.

As a therapist, I have learned that negative patterns of behavior become strongly embedded in family and/or marriages. Once the pattern or cycle is identified the objective is to change the way members within that system interrelate. In doing this, the problem is not the individual within the family or marriage, but rather the toxic cycle that all members of the system create. The pain I experienced as the “bad child” may have been alleviated much earlier in my life by a competent family therapist who could have taken me away from my role as “identified patient” and reframed the problem in a more holistic fashion.

One of the great thrills of life is reading a book that resonates with life, in general, and my life, in particular. I experienced this as I read Julian Barnes’ book. In looking back at his life, Tony Webster, Barnes’ protagonist, recalls the impact of his first relationship with such vivid detail that this memory is etched in his mind. Are we not so impressionable when we are young, thereby making memories weigh more heavily on our minds than when we have become adults? Changes occurring in a long-term relationship, such as marriage, are much less likely to affect us than the changes we experience when we are young.

The difference in the way one behaves when one is growing up as opposed to being “grown-up” is pivotal in The Sense of an Ending. Thus, Tony discusses in detail his first meaningful relationship with a woman, Veronica, as it is occurring, and forty years later, when he receives a mysterious bequest from, the recently deceased, Mrs. Sara Ford, Veronica’s mother. Suddenly, Tony now feels compelled to deal with the past and his relationship with Veronica and Adrian, who had been a close friend until he started seeing Veronica. After he receives the note about the bequest, we learn of a letter that Tony had written to Veronica and Adrian upon hearing that the two of them were currently dating. The letter had a most vindictive angry tone to it. Because the letter serves as a focal point in the novel, with the reader becoming aware of it forty years later in Tony’s life, the author is able to create a greater sense of suspense and mystery. This very much adds to both the pleasure and poignance of this short novel.

Barnes speaks to the different way we experience youth and adulthood when Tony says:

When you’re young you want your emotions to be like the ones you read about in books. You want them to overturn your life, create and make a new reality. Later, I think you want them to do something more practical: You want them to support your life as it is and has become.

And so, the novel centers on a very strong emotion felt by Tony resulting in the letter he wrote to both Veronica and Adrian. The bequest he receives brings him back to that memory when he surmises:

When we are young and sensitive, we are also at our most sensitive….My younger self had come back to shock my older self with what the self had been, or was, or was sometimes capable of being.

As I read those words, I recalled a  memory I had in my adolescence. I was very much attracted to a woman that I met when I was a sophomore in high school and, she was in 8^th grade. Not wanting to reveal her identity I will call her Mandy. I found her absolutely striking. As I clumsily attempted to engage in conversation with her,  I had the good fortune of having her mother on my side who couldn’t resist talking to me by asking general questions about my life. I felt a sense of relief talking to her mother while at the same time experiencing a sense of frustration at my inept efforts to have Mandy show some interest in me. After all, I was not seeking a date with her mother.

This same frustration that I experienced on my first encounter with Mandy continued throughout my high school years. Though I dated other girls, she was constantly on my mind those years. I recall double dating with a friend and the girl he brought to a high school dance with the result being my father, our chauffeur, doing practically all the talking.   I remember seeing Mandy as an ice queen that I so badly wanted to break through. Tony’s wife Margaret had told him that “there were two sorts of women: those with clear edges to them, and those who implied mystery.” Mandy was the latter.

When I went to college, the fantasy of being with this girl continued. I recall persisting but never really getting anywhere with her. But her mother was ever so inviting almost clueing me into what seemed an interminable torture. Then it happened: During my sophomore year at college on Christmas break, I called her and she agreed to go on a date with me. I thought and thought about where I would take her and decided why not the movies as there was a James Bond film playing in town. She liked the idea thereby temporarily alleviating my anticipatory fears of how I might conduct myself during the evening.

I remember quite clearly when she accepted the date my having a frantic anxiety accompanied by a joy that it was finally coming to be. My body felt like an electric wire charged by emotions almost paralyzing me. But wow, it felt wonderful. When the big date arrived, Mandy’s mother was as always, amiable as can be. Her father, more like Mandy, was his typical stand-offish self staring at me through his thick whiskey shot lenses. Walking to the car, I eagerly opened the door for her showing her the gentleman I was, and then got into the driver’s seat. What came next threw my ecstasy into a panic. She immediately propositioned me by saying something to the effect: “let’s go to a hotel.   My mother told me it’s okay.” I had never kissed her let alone held her hand, and yet, here she was now inviting me to have sex with her in a hotel.

Suffice it to say, I have no recollection of what happened that evening making it likely that my shock froze me insofar as I never ventured to ask her out again.   Perhaps her mother had convinced her that I was the right person to experiment with because I was quite sure she was a virgin. My plan had been if we were hitting it off to start making out with her and see how that would go. She was proposing what appeared to me to be the opposite: sex with little passion. I imagine I was turned off by the idea inasmuch as what I had initially found so stimulating was this mysterious ice queen quality that she had forever, until that moment, exuded.

Years later, in my mid ‘20’s, I visited my old ally, her mother, and she told me that she could not understand what had happened between her daughter and me. I  remember her telling me Mandy really liked me. I simply told her I was immature, that to be sure, in some sense, was true.

The story does not quite end there. In the age of technology and google, long lost connections can be revived through the internet. I googled her name and discovered that her sister was her guardian and had pleaded her civil case in court because some of her medical expenses had been denied. What struck me most, however, was the fact that in reading the brief of the case it mentioned that Mandy was incapacitated. Her resident address was listed in Manhattan, New York.

As I often visit a brother who lives in Manhattan, I set out with dogged determination to see what had become of my ice queen. I went with my wife, who Barnes, thank goodness for me, would most likely classify as having clear edges, to see if, in fact, Mandy was still living there. Upon arriving at her address in Manhattan, I asked the doorman if she was still living there. Surprised, he asked me how I knew her. When I told him, he said she had never been married and one evening had been running around outside naked resulting in her being taken away a few years earlier.  Since that time, he had neither heard nor seen her.

The realness of the memories that Tony had had at an earlier stage helped elicit some of my own very private and sensitive memories during my adolescence. We cannot assign a price tag to memories that we cherish and that remain with us throughout the course of our lives. They are invaluable. It is these memories that we reflect upon so dearly as we pass through the milestones of life from birth onto death. That a novel could spark this chain of memories within me is the essence of how the magic of an author’s word can touch a reader.

The summary article, The Dawn of Social Robots, published in the Monitor on Psychology on January 2018 and written by Kirsten Weir, recalls the fictional use of robots reflected in the 100th episode of the Twilight Zone. In this episode, a female robot functions as a parent surrogate for children that lack a real parent. The robot has all the qualities of a human and is shown to be tearful like a mother would be when the children grow up and leave the “nest.” Weir points out robots are now being used to help develop social skills in children who are autistic. These robots can “analyze and adapt to each child’s behavior, tailoring their interactions to suit the child’s abilities, preferences and behavioral goals.”

The article continues to show how robots are currently used for comfort and companionship with elders.  PARO, a robotic harp seal developed by Wendy Moyle and colleagues, has been found to offer older adults with dementia a higher level of pleasure and quality of life as compared to a control group. This study recalls the famous Harry Harlow investigations in the ‘50’s on monkeys: He and his team found that infant rhesus monkeys preferred to spend more time with the “terry cloth monkeys” rather than the “wire monkeys” even when the wire made monkeys had the feeding bottle. One conclusion drawn from this study was that animals preferred the comfort of the touch or feel of the terry cloth mother as compared to that of the hard wire surrogate.
The article continues on the above theme to say that one day humanlike robots may provide companionship to older adults.

Another wonderful Twilight Zone episode showed a man compelled to live in exile, as a prisoner, on a neighboring asteroid from earth. There a humanlike robot with all of the emotions of a human being lived with him. The point of the episode was that the man stranded all on his own had developed a romantic love interest in the robot. Because of this love attachment the prisoner had formed with the robot, the stranded human had been able to survive the isolation of living all alone.

The studies mentioned in the above are beginning to demonstrate the interface between fiction and the technological advances in artificial intelligence that is occurring today. Scientists are now beginning to fathom what is needed to give robots a moral system that will help them in reacting to situations in which humans often encounter difficulty. These robots of the future will have to learn to understand the values and morals of the society they will be placed in to function in an autonomous manner as opposed to the factory robots that were developed in the past. For the sake of an enduring humanity, let us hope that future experts in technology employ artificial intelligence in a way that will benefit humankind. Mary Shelley’s prescient work, Frankenstein, is a reminder of the harmful consequences that can result from the misapplication of artificial intelligence.

Dear Penn Applicants,

I found it a pleasure interviewing you all and, indeed, I was quite impressed with both your level of maturity and motivation. If I had my druthers, the admissions committee would accept you all. But, unfortunately, that is not a high likelihood given the low ratio of accepted applicants to total applicants. Penn is a lot harder to get into now than it was when I applied back in 1963 for a number of reasons, two of which are: 1) Since the time I applied, the number of people applying to college has increased significantly and 2) Over the years, for a variety of reasons, Penn has become more popular resulting in a large increase in applicants.

Whether you are accepted to Penn or not, I believe each of you have the foundation to achieve success in the future. Let me offer a few suggestions that you may find helpful in guiding you through the next stage of your life’s journey. As you begin to develop a value system, keep an open mind on opinions that you may find difficult to accept. You may even consider befriending classmates that come from backgrounds that you have not experienced and, accordingly, think very differently than you do on the issues of the day. Unfortunately, our current leaders, on both sides of the fence, are not good role models regarding their ability to listen and empathize with the other side.
Try not to fall into the trap of holding fast to an idea without understanding the other side on a deeper level, where in fact, one’s background may play an important part. This is becoming harder and harder for young people like yourself to do due to the massive amount of information offered by the Internet, much of which can be of false origin. Hopefully, whichever college you choose to attend, you will feel comfortable listening to and expressing your ideas. I very much agree with what Former UC President Clark Kerr said about the University: “We are here not to make ideas safe for students but to make students safe for ideas.” This type of academic atmosphere allows the free exchange of ideas you or others may find either agreeable or disagreeable.

You will meet your obstacles, roadblocks, disappointments and failures. It is part of the human condition that none of us can avoid. If you do fail at a task such as not getting accepted to Penn, view it merely as a task and nothing more. That is to say you are not a failure for failing on a task. I promise you will face many more challenges in the future, great if you succeed on any one of them, but if you don’t succeed, not the end of the world.

Please feel free to let me know where you have chosen to go when you do receive word, I believe sometime in April, from the colleges you have applied and best of luck in all of your futures.

Warm regards,

Dr. Natelson

I invite my godson, Joe, to a Los Angeles Angels game, the first of a three game series with the Toronto Blue Jays. I am a Red Sox fan but it is evident this year, 2015, they are going nowhere so I transfer my loyalties to the Angels, a team I have come to like, living in Long Beach, California. But I also know that the Blue Jays have vastly improved since the beginning of the baseball season and will be no easy team to defeat, especially with their ace pitcher, David Price, starting.

So the game begins with Hector Santiago of the Angels retiring the first Toronto batter on strikes, and I begin to think that this may be an interesting pitcher’s duel.   But after that Santiago proceeds to walk three batters in a row. He can’t manage to get a third strike on any of them as they each foul off several pitches. Then the next batter lifts a pop fly to the infield and now it looks like Santiago may get out of the inning unscathed. Russell Martin, the Blue Jay catcher. is now up, and once more he like the other batters swings at a pitch and misses but when there are two strikes he starts fouling pitches off and the count goes full to 3 and 2. He fouls off another pitch and on the next pitch he walks with bases loaded letting in a run. There has yet to be a hit in the inning: A strike out, a pop fly to the infield and four walks.

I look over at Joe and say: “This reminds me of a game I saw with my dad and brothers sometime in the ‘50’s when the Red Sox were playing the Yankees in New York at Yankee Stadium. Things might get ugly here like they did there.” I remember the first inning of that game so well. It’s traced indelibly in my mind. The Red Sox pitchers walked batter after batter, gave up hits to batters, but failed to get three outs.

CRAAAACK!! The Blue Jay batter hits a ball to left field with Shane Victorino coming in on the ball as it is beginning to sink in front of him, dives forward with the ball landing in his glove but as he hits the ground the ball bounces out. The umpire shows the safe sign indicating the ball has not been caught and suddenly another two runs come in. I later find out that this is Victorino’s first error in a year and a half. Now the Blue Jays are leading 3 to 0 without getting one hit. Santiago can’t seem to control his fast ball but finally finds the strike zone and the next batter smacks it to right field for a single. So it is now 3 to 0 with bases loaded, one error on the Angels and one hit for the Blue Jays. Somehow Santiago escapes giving up any more runs by getting the last batter on a routine fly ball to the outfield.  But the Blue Jays go on to pound the Angels and win 9 to 2.

So I ask my godson, tech experts that all kids his age are, if he can locate online the inning by inning plays of the game the Yankees had with the Red Sox when the Yankees got 8 runs in the bottom of the first inning.  How many games would have a score like that?   Sure enough, he found that particular game and sent me the box score with the inning play by play: The game was played on Sunday, August 15, 1954 with the Red Sox losing 14 to 9.   I was 9 years old at the time.

Prior to the game, Red Barber, the Yankee announcer of old, was interviewing fans–where we were seated in the bleachers–for the sports station, which was then Channel 11. My older brother, at the time 12 years old, who knew zilch about baseball, had no stage fright, so when he saw Red with a mike in his hand promptly went over and was actually on T.V. attempting to answer questions like how many home runs did Babe Ruth hit in his lifetime (714).  My brother didn’t know any of the answers, so he looked over in my direction, guessing I would. I did. Interview completed, he sashayed over to my father, younger brother and me, and  in an unabashed manner inquired: “Did you see me on television?”

“Start the game,” I’m thinking, because in the eyes of a child the wait before the game is endless. I sat, restless, wishing this one would. Finally,  Bob Grim, the New York pitcher, finished his warm-ups with his teammates taking their positions.  25,000 avid Yankee fans and one died-in-the-wool Red Sox fan, inasmuch as my family hardly shared my devotion, rose for the National Anthem.  The scratchy recording ran its course, and the last notes faded to perfunctory applause.  As we turned to our seats, the home plate umpire motioned to Grim to start the game as Jimmy Piersall, the Sox lead-off hitter walks up to the batter’s box. I want to see everything as my body is filled with excitement.  Jimmy hits a single but Ted Williams, prized above all others, grounds into a double play. Billy Goodman, the next player up, grounds out to short to end the Red Sox half of the inning,

The box score my godson sent me yielded the following account of the Yankees’ half of the inning: Rizzuto walks; Collins flies out to center field; Mantle walks; Berra walks and now, without a hit, the Yankees have bases loaded. Noren walks scoring Rizzuto (1-0); Slaughter singles scoring Mantle (2-0); Carey singles scoring Berra and Noren (4-0). Brewer, the Sox starter, is now out of the ball game replaced by Hurd. A passed ball by the Red Sox catcher allows Slaughter to score (5-0); Hurd walks Coleman and then pitches to Grim, the Yankee pitcher, who hits a single scoring Carey (6-0); Rizzuto fouls out; Collins hits a single off of Hurd scoring Coleman (7-0). Hurd is now replaced by Brown. Mantle hits a single scoring Grim (8-0). Berra strikes out, and guess what, the inning is finally over.  It took three pitchers to record three outs. With the inning ending as it did, and with Berra’s uniform number being 8, I am thinking the baseball gods must have planned it all this way. eight runs on five hits: The New Yorkers always had a knack for taking advantage of the misplays made by other teams; in this case several free passes or walks issued to Yankee batters.

I have a vague memory of having to sit through this torture wondering if the bottom half of the first inning would ever end. When it finally did, I sighed, recognizing that the game was already over after only one inning of play. The Yankees went on to take an 11 to 0 lead before the Red Sox scored. Although the Red Sox were finished at the end of the first, they actually fought back and scored 9 runs, though my idol Ted Williams had a hitless game. Four days later, on August 19^th, my youngest brother was born. The New York Giants who were my second favorite team after the Red Sox, went on to win the World Series that year by sweeping the favored Cleveland Indians, 4-0. I had the pleasure of seeing live on television the incredible catch that Willie Mays (another favorite of mine) made on Vic Wertz’s drive to deep center field in the Polo Grounds, a catch that I believe may have been one of the greatest of all time.

In 1978, I had just moved to California. That August the Red Sox blew a big lead they held over the Yankees and were forced into a playoff game against them at Fenway Park for the American League East Division title. The Red Sox were winning 2-0, when suddenly Bucky Dent of the Yankees hit a 3 run homer in the 7^th inning, putting the Yankees in the lead.  They went on to win the game 5-4. After Dent’s homer, the silence in Fenway was deafening.  To add insult to injury, Bucky Dent was not known for his power and that home run was only the 5^th he’d hit that season. Dent’s home run not only put a dent on Red Sox hopes but also led to another Yankee World Series.  Everyone knows what happened when the Red Sox played the Mets in 1986. The Red Sox looked like they were going to win the World Series in the 6^th game until once more the baseball gods intervened.  Bill Buckner, Red Sox first baseman, could not field Mookie Wilson’s ground ball.  This error forced the Series into a 7th game which the Mets won.

Fifty years after the first inning fiasco of unfond memory–2004, a baseball season all Red Sox fans remember. With the Yankees ahead in the American League Play-off Series for the Pennant 3-0, the Red Sox went on to win the next four games in a row–a first in baseball history–to capture the Pennant. I sat glued to the television in disbelief those last four games.  The Curse of the Bambino that had hung over the Red Sox team finally had been broken. The Sox then went on to beat the Colorado Rockies four games in succession to sweep the World Series. I had the good fortune to be alive to see it all. To this day I am not sure whether those 50 years took more or less time than the bottom of the first inning at the game I, a 9 year child, saw with my family on August 15^th, 1954.