Ray & Me

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Authors: Dan Gutman
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Nobody seemed to care.
    Why do I do this? I asked myself as I wandered through the tunnels of the Polo Grounds, looking for an exit. Why do I take it upon myself to save the world? Nobody cares. Even if I was able to change history, nobody would notice. Because they would never know what would have happened if I had left things the way they were.
    I should have whacked Carl Mays with a bat when I had the chance. That would have been the simple solution. Heck, I could have whacked Ray Chapman with a bat and knocked him out of the lineup! That would have saved his life too.
    I was disgusted. I figured I’d just find a quiet spot, take out one of my new baseball cards, and go home. There was no point in hanging around the Polo Grounds any longer. Chalk it up to experience.
    But suddenly, I caught a whiff of something. Something good. It was the smell of roasted peanuts. Man, that’s a good smell! They don’t roast them at the ballpark anymore. Now you just buy peanuts in plastic bags. It’s not the same.
    I didn’t have any money, but I couldn’t resist following the smell. It led me to a door; and when I pulled it open, there was the field.
    You can talk all you want about the Grand Canyon, the pyramids, and all those other wonders of the world. But for me, there’s nothing more beautiful than walking up the ramp to see the grass of a ball field. It just hits you in the face with green.
    I’ll just stay for a couple of innings, I told myself.
    It was my dad who’d taught me the fine art of “sneaking down” at a ball game. He could never afford good seats, so he would buy the cheapest tickets available. Then, inning by inning, we would sneak our way closer to the field as we spotted better seats that nobody was sitting in. By the ninth inning, we would usually be in the first row. Of course, that was before he got hurt.
    It’s even easier to sneak down when you’re alone, because you don’t have to find two seats together.
    I grabbed the first empty seat I saw, to establish a base of operations, and scoped out the Polo Grounds from there.
    The ballpark was about three quarters full. It looked pretty much like a modern-day ballpark, with a few exceptions. Foul territory was really big. There was a narrow dirt path leading from home plate to the pitcher’s mound. Old-time cars were parked beyond the outfield. Ads on the fences were for products that didn’t exist anymore, like THE EVER READY SAFETY RAZOR . And all the men in the stands were wearing straw hats. Nobody wears hats anymore in the summertime. I wondered why they ever wore them in the first place.
    I had to be careful sneaking down. There were security guards roaming around. And they weren’t old, retired guys like the security guards at home. These were big, ugly guys with police nightsticks. Getting caught by one of them would not be a good thing.
    Carefully, I moved down a few rows, ping-pong-ing my way from one seat to the next one. Finally, I found a nice location—about ten rows off the field and directly behind the Yankees dugout. I plopped down in a seat next to a kid with red hair. He looked about my age.
    â€œHey, that’s my sister’s seat,” he said to me.
    â€œIs she coming back?” I asked.
    â€œShe didn’t come at all,” he replied. “My sister hates baseball.”
    I turned to look at the kid. He had so many freckles on his face that it looked like one big freckle. The kid had more freckle than he had face. He said his name was Ronnie.
    Ronnie was clearly a serious fan. He had a scorecard on his lap and a bunch of baseball cards in one hand.
    â€œThis is a good spot to catch a foul ball,” I pointed out to Ronnie. He just looked at me. The kid was weird.
    Vendors came around hawking hot dogs and soda pop for five cents. Five cents! Too bad I didn’t have a penny. Ronnie got up and cheered as the Yankees took the field. A light rain began to

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