A Toast

As many hours as we all spent in close quarters--in dugouts, outside dugouts, behind backstops, or texting to find out where the hell Field No. 6 in some faraway burb, or in southern Wisconsin, might be--the memories of the games, and the kids smiles and their grimaces, and the good calls and bad, dissolve as I think of Jody at his magnanimous finest: at the tavern, or restaurant---middle-brow, chain, or old-fashioned dive---after the games. And, while the kids and parents quickly scanned the menu for long-awaited food, one person took the road less traveled.

"Miss, can we see the wine list?"

Ah, the wine list! With the savoir faire of a Michelin-lauded sommelier, he would peruse the laminated sheet for what seemed an eternity, but was probably a mere 35 or 40 seconds, before announcing, "Well, we'll try the Barolo." I'd reflexively check the price and, more often than not, say to myself, "Whew! Good for him. I would not have had the balls."

And, then, it would come, and we'd enjoy, since, well, isn't that what life's about? It certainly was the air he exuded. Price didn't matter, and the physical surroundings were secondary. Enjoy these moments since, as we know, now more than ever, they are so damn fleeting. Here's to our serendipity to have enjoyed a few with him.