I get the empty
bottles from the back doorstep and I head down the street toward Klein's. This
is my neighborhood; this is where I was born, not on this block, but a few
blocks away. This is a nice block, nice people, all good Brooklyn rooters. You
feel bad, and everybody feels bad with you. That's neighbors.
is the usual bunch of kids, seventeen and eighteen years old, and it's all
baseball with them, too. It's arguments about baseball, and what these kids
don't know about the game you can stick in your hat and forget about.
One kid who knows
me says, "Hello, Mr. Armbruster."
it," I say.
"You up the
game?" he asks. "You see that Klusookitz?"
that ball," I tell him.
"I see Roe
strike that bum out three times," another boy says. "You give him that
fast ball an' he moiders."
Inside, I talk to
Sam Klein about the game.
"A hard one
to lose," Sam says, "but you can't win 'em all, Joe."