For the Birds: A Futile Trip Down Oriole Way

It was my last shot at the big leagues. But, really, what kind of a shot did I have? Though I’d once been a decent Little League baseball player—an occasional All-Star shortstop, even—I’d played my final inning three years before at age 14. A would-be Bohemian, when I quit I told my mom I wanted to spend time learning to play the guitar and painting. (To this day there are few things I am worse at than playing the guitar and painting.) Still, in my junior year when word circulated at a high school house party that…

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