As you’re well aware, geezers like myself never stop clucking, oh-so fondly, about the good old days. The reason why they were so good, of course, is obvious; we were younger then, before terminal shit started to happen to family and friends and ourselves, when life was fun and games.
Well, not all fun.
As a devout Dodgers fan, and caring about little else, there was far more sadness in my youth than satisfaction. Year after year — 1947, ’49, ’52, ’53 — my beloved Bums lost to the Yankees in the World Series, or were abolished by the Phillies (1950) or Giants (1951) on the precipice of participating in the Fall Classic.
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