Better Late Than Never

First Quarter Moon Over the Delaware River

The furnace went on last night for the first time since last spring, a welcoming sound for the way autumn is supposed to be. The overnight low went down to 44°F/7°C in Andalusia and hit below freezing in the Poconos. Soon the frost will be on the pumpkin in the Philadelphia region.

It felt wonderful today as compared to midweek, hitting 63°F/17°C, a perfect excuse for wearing my new hoodie. Bought a sweatshirt with it but haven’t worn it yet. Maybe tomorrow, which isn’t supposed to be as chilly with a high around 72°F/22°C.

I’m sure we’ll have another warm spell as Indian Summer occurs typically around the World Series, spurring memories of when I was a tyke. The first Fall Classic I recall pitted the New York Yankees against the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1956. Man, does that put me in the dinosaur-age category!

The Dodgers were the defending world champions in ’56, winners of their matchup with the Yanks in 1955; however, the Bronx Bombers beat Dem Bums this time around. The former Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers moved to Los Angeles after the 1957 season.

I was in the morning session of kindergarten, Mom picking me up at noon in her Ford Fairlane with the top down. We drove to Rayco, a service center in Paramus, NJ, that specialized in replacing convertible tops, except hers only needed the clear-vinyl back window. Someone or something poked a hole in the original one.

As we were sitting in the waiting room, the World Series was being broadcast over the intercom system. Whitey Ford was pitching. My mother loved baseball, the Yanks, and him in particular. Unfortunately for us, New York lost the game. An old saying of mine came from that afternoon, with Mum’s utterance of how it was bad luck to win the first game anyway.

The Yanks took the championship in seven games, the last time two New York City teams were in Fall Classic together until 2000 with the Mets. The Giants moved to San Francisco in 1958, and the Big Apple was without a National League team until the New York Metropolitan Baseball Club was formed in 1962.

Our hometown heroes, the Phillies, broke even this season with a record of 81-81, and 4th place in the National League East behind their division rival, the Mets, who made it to 3rd place this year. The Nationals and Atlanta are still battling to win the division series along with the Dodgers and St. Louis.

The Yanks are in the postseason with the Twins, Tampa Bay and Houston for the American League division series. Wouldn’t it be cool, in my humble opinion, for a Dodgers and Yanks’ matchup for this year’s Fall Classic? We shall see, but as usually is the case, always bet against me to win.

I didn’t feel like writing anything tonight and was going to let this week’s diatribe slide, but felt guilty and decided to write about the weather, which led to baseball and the end of another thrilling entry. Thanks for stopping by and for your continued support.

October 3, 1956

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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