By Roger Wallenstein
Meeting the person sitting next to you and enjoying a three-hour ball game together makes each trip to the ball park a unique outing.
Occasionally you have some dope in the next seat who 1) knows nothing about the game, 2) talks incessantly about matters other than baseball, or 3) simply grates on your nerves.
But far more often – at least in my experience – I meet someone who shares a passion for the Sox, actually knows that Gordon Beckham is good field-no hit, and realizes when Ozzie needs to replace Humber with Crain.
Furthermore, this random guy in the next seat could be a CEO, a teacher, or a traveling salesman. He might live on the North Side (not very likely) or in Bridgeport. One thing is certain: He (or she) won’t be a carbon copy of me.
Posted on August 15, 2011