MESA, Ariz. - The great thing about being a
super hero is that you get to disappear into a secret identity after you save
the world. You can put your hands on your hips, stick out your chest, and
announce: “My work here is done.” And then you dash off, maybe to the Fortress
of Solitude or the Bat Cave or an invisible plane, but eventually you take off
a mask, put on glasses, do something with your hair, and melt into the
tranquility of your secret identity.
And nobody asks you when you’re going to
save the world again.
* * *
This is the story about a boy who keeps
trying to save the baseball world. He didn’t know that would be his fate. He
only knew he loved baseball. He wasn’t especially good at baseball. He just
loved it. His whole family loved it. Heck, everyone he knew loved it. The boy
grew up in Boston — Brookline, to be precise — so his love of baseball filtered
through the Boston Red Sox, and the inevitable heartbreak they caused. He was 4
when
Bucky Dent hit the home run that broke Boston’s heart. He was 12 when
the
baseball
dribbled through Bill Buckner’s legs.