Please note: This is a companion version & not the original book. Book Preview: #1 I was six when my father gave me a bright-red scorebook that opened my heart to the game of baseball. I spent my afternoons sitting cross-legged before the squat Philco radio which stood as a permanent fixture on our porch in Rockville Centre, on the South Shore of Long Island, New York. #2 My father, Michael Francis Aloysius Kearns, was a short man who appeared much larger on account of his erect bearing, broad chest, and thick neck. He had a ruddy Irish complexion, and his green eyes flashed with humor and vitality. He called me Bubbles because I seemed to enjoy so many things. #3 My father was a huge fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers, and he loved to recount the stories of the team's past. He was able to pass the civil-service exam because of his extensive knowledge of baseball statistics. #4 When I picture my mother, Helen, she is sitting in her favorite cushioned chair and she is reading. She was slim and tall, several inches taller than my father. Her hair, primly curled with the soft waves of a permanent, was brown touched with gray

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