Back when he was working for the Palm Beach Post, Rob Hiaasen would tell co-worker Frank Cerabino that they should go out for lunch. Cerabino knew what that meant. Hiaasen would drive to a park in West Palm Beach, open the trunk of the car and pull out two gloves and a...
I moved from New York to Timonium in 1965, not knowing much about the area. I was told there wasn’t much snow, then came the blizzard of 1966, when we got more than a foot. When we moved, we became Orioles and Colts fans instantly. They were our state’s teams. On one...
Forty-five years ago this month, I attended my first Orioles game. It was a momentous occasion for any lifelong O’s fan, but special for several other reasons, too. It was Father’s Day weekend and featured a near-historic pitching performance by Jim Palmer. An unfortunate error also occurred that cost me a game...
My dad was meticulous about the work he did. There were no shortcuts. He might have invented measure twice cut once except I recall he measured at least three times before he cut. There was nothing he couldn’t do, and nothing he didn’t do right, including repairing the rain spouts. Through the...
I have been a baseball fan since the late 1950s, attending countless Orioles games at Memorial Stadium and Camden Yards. Over the years, I have traveled to other cities and watched baseball games when the opportunity presented itself. However, I had never traveled to see the Orioles play on the road. That changed...
It’s embarrassing to admit, but I didn’t fully appreciate Brooks Robinson until a few months before everyone else did. That’s when the Hall of Fame third baseman amazed the baseball world by shutting down Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine in the 1970 World Series. For Brooks, it was a glove story. For me,...
I walked up to the batter’s box careful — at first — not to make eye contact with the pitcher. After looking down at the dirt while I set my feet at home plate, I peered out to the mound where Cal Ripken Jr., stood hand in glove, looking in at his...
It was a sunny afternoon in early October, the kind that connects the fading of summer with the emergence of fall and its bold colors. I was about to make a bold prediction, with my dad as a witness. We had stopped at a diner after going to the grocery store, and...
It is the first Mother’s Day without her, just as it was the first Opening Day without her. They belong in the same sentence because of my mom’s love for baseball, and the love we shared through the game. We even sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” as we said...
Every once in a while, a season in our life runs parallel with a season of a lifetime. It happened to me in 1983. April 4th was Opening Day, but my focus was on the birth of our third child, Kelly Patricia, to whom I gave three nicknames — Lover Dover, Special...