Stone Boy is sacrificing himself!
My first childhood baseball hero, Bert Blyleven was enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., last Sunday.
I couldn’t bring myself to watch or care.
...I knew Cooperstown was supposed to be a sacred site, a religious experience, the baseball equivalent of St. Peter’s Square. I waited to be entranced.
But the baseball shrine with its statues and relics left me flat. And, I thought, who are humans to think they can determine who is a baseball saint and who isn’t, anyway?
While the rest of the tour group wandered the marble halls in reverent silence, I rushed through the exhibits and snuck out the back door.
With three hours still left on our tour, I walked down the Main Street of tiny Cooperstown and found the beautiful lakefront.
No more statues, relics and icons for me.
In a park near the lake, I found a nice park bench in the shade.
In a Cromwellian act of rebellion and sacrilege, I took a two-hour nap within a stone’s throw of a statue of Ty Cobb.
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