Like many young boys of my generation, I grew up dreaming of playing professional ball. My friends and I would argue about what kind of careers we were hoping to have. One of us aspired to be a prodigious power hitter, another a standout pitcher. (I wanted to be an all-around solid star; of course, we would all wind up in the Hall of Fame.)
We would read stories about the early heroes of the game, which was in the style of the times and before Jim Bouton turned the sports lit industry on its head with his seminal and profane (for the time) BALL FOUR. These men usually overcame some adversity and, with dedication to their craft, became superstars. And they were great pals, to boot.
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