“Standing on the mound, about to throw the game’s first pitch, I’d take a moment. I’d look up at the blue sky, at the trees all around me, at the skyscrapers looming behind them. Central Park. New York. And I’d remind myself: Look at this. Look where you are.” Don’t those guys have jobs? It happened every spring. Blacktop refugees feeling the sylvan pull of Central Park. They’d wander in—suits and sailors, daytrippers and druggies, stroller moms and straphangers, tourists and triathletes—all hoping to escape the cacophony and chaos of midtown Manhattan.
—Fred Lief
The Spectacular Rise and Sudden Fall of Print Media ... on the Softball Field
