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Posted By: Joe Drouillard

When I was a kid bedtime was a strict 8:00. But on summer evenings I would sneak out of bed after my younger brothers were asleep. I would creep downstairs and hide in a dark corner of the portico, as my dad listened to Tiger baseball game out on the front porch. He sat there in his undershirt, in the cool dark, sipping a beer and fidling with the antena of his portable radio trying to get a clear reception. From my hiding spot, between the radio's crackling, I could hear Ernie Harwell's comentary. I remember chuckling softly when Ernie would crow, "Strike three... and he just stood there, like a fence on the side of the road."

My dad would never acknowledge that I was there except to repeat loudly the Yankee score; especially, when the broadcaster announced New York was losing.


Joe