Fenway

I love Fenway in the way I used to love Comiskey—it’s where baseball is supposed to be played. Like Moses, I have yet to step foot into this holy land, though once I was able to stand outside and beneath the Green Monster. When the White Sox visit Boston, I think of 1965, the first year I played Strat-O-Matic Baseball; the Red Sox, along with the Braves, were my White Sox alter-egos as teams with power. I used a lineup that featured Lenny Green; Felix Mantilla; Rico Petrocelli; Tony Conigliaro; Carl Yastrzemski; Lee Thomas; Bob Tillman; and Frank Malzone. I tried to work in Jim Gosger and Dalton Jones whenever possible. The pitching was terrible, as befitting a team that went 62-100, but it was a great matchup against the 72-90 Cubs. Homeruns flew with just about every roll of the dice. Green; Conigliaro; Tillman; and Malzone are all gone now, along with Chuck Schilling, Earl Wilson and Bill Monbouquette. I probably could find others, if I wanted. The White Sox swept their hosts yesterday by scores of 3-2 and 5-1. Yermin Mercedes hit a ball that may be making its way through the New England air. And I am very young again.