Old Comiskey Park was 73 years old by the time we met. I was 6.
And in love with baseball.
The old brick on the White Sox's former home on 35th Street wore a thick coat of chipped white paint by that day, Aug. 28, 1983. My father and a friend of his introduced me to the "Winning Ugly" White Sox that day. My first baseball memory.
I brought my glove. We sat in the upper deck in right field. Way up in the upper deck. Not even God could hit one that far.