I don't know exactly how a farm boy in the middle of red clay country, North Carolina, grew up a Red Sox fan, but my father did. I remember him telling a story about listening on the radio to Babe Ruth playing -- not that the Babe was still playing for the Sox then, but someone had put an old game on the radio to fill space. Apparently he and the men down at Edgar Womble's store had tuned in in the middle of it, and were having a bit of a time trying to figure out who was playing until Ruth came up to bat.
(This is also in memory of Edgar Womble; a man who no doubt had a hard life, but also probably sold some of the best grilled baloney sandwiches in Goldston.)
Ted Williams was my father's hero; his favorite baseball player of all time. He looked a lot like my father, I always thought. And, by inheritance, he became one of my heroes too.
Tonight, I remember them. They both would have loved this.