Two days ago, I went back to my old playground.
There was no swingset, though. No monkey bars, no sandbox, not
even any grass.
That’s because my old playground is an unassuming baseball
card shop in my hometown called Sportscard Outlet.

After an 18-7 win over Washington State in Pullman on Sunday,
the only certainty for Gary Adams and his UCLA baseball team is
that the 2003 season is over.

Karl Dorrell, 39, has a corner office. By most standards,
he’s way ahead of schedule.
He could pass for 30. It probably wouldn’t surprise the
youthful Dorrell if he were mistaken for one of his players.

Every Sunday at 11 a.m., whether I’m at my apartment or
not, the phone rings.
When I’m not there, the message always sounds like this:
“Hi Jeffrey, this is your Papa.

The Bruins are poised to win their third straight midweek game
tonight when they take on Pepperdine in Malibu, and that would be
all well and good if it were the middle of March.

I’m a lover, not a fighter.
The closest I ever get to a gun is when I play Contra on
Nintendo, and even then I usually need to use the 30 lives code to
beat the game.

All night long, the Bruins had been slamming balls over the
fence. Even senior Christian Lewis, who until last night had one
home run to his credit in four years, hit one out.

People do this kind of thing all the time.
You meet your buddy at a bar, you have a couple of beers, you
joke about the old times, you wonder about the times to come.

During his heyday ““ somewhere between all those arrests
but some time before that ball bounced off his head ““ the one
thing you didn’t do to Jose Canseco was throw him a slow
pitch right over the middle.

OK, I think I’ve finally worked up the courage.
I llll”¦
What I mean to say is, well, I lllllov”¦
You see, I love y”¦
I love you, hockey.