Ever wonder what a good apple — and I mean a REALLY good apple — tastes like? Ever wonder what this has to do with baseball? Bear with me.
“I’ve brought you something,” our younger daughter said as she got off the plane from the United States. In her hand was a book, a children’s picture book.
“That’s for us?”
Petie was as good as her word. Surfing the internet, she came up with a team based in Paris called the Patriots. You may be wondering why she was doing all the work. Answer: when it comes to technology I’m a bit of a luddite. Whatever, I got on the phone…
The off-season. Are there any more depressing words in the vocabulary of a baseball player?
Axel, the Comets coach, proposed an antidote: “Why don’t you two come for dinner Friday night and we can talk about next year…
Don’s team was struggling. It was the Men’s Senior Baseball League World Series (www.msblnational.com) and so far Team America had not won a single game.
My third year with the Comets began with the Tournoi de la Licorne, an annual invitational baseball tournament aimed at kicking off the new season. Teams from Normandy and Brittany would be competing.
Like the proverbial lion with a thorn in its paw, I was feeling irritable and out of sorts. My departure from Comets had left me in a foul mood. I swore at the apple trees, kicked the stone troughs in front of our house and sulked over dinner. All of…
For Axel, the blows just kept coming. Not long after receiving Don’s jersey stuffed in an envelope, he received another envelope, this one containing a letter from the mairie, or city hall informing him that the Comets’ right to use their baseball field was…
If there was any silver lining to my performance against Senart, it was that…
What the Hades was wrong with my shoulder? I’d been asking that question for nearly half a century, ever since I’d hurt myself doing pull-ups in high school.
