It must have been hard for my father to dash my eight-year-old dreams, his voice quivery as he assured me that I would not grow up to play second base for the Yankees. He replaced (or tried) my bat and glove with a tennis racquet, and we set out together to hit another kind of ball. But I still have my glove just in case. I'm a baseball fan.
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Yes, bravehearts, Harry Dunn and E. Jean Carroll. And two more for Valentine’s Day. Exquisite sweetness. Two songs—two songstresses. Back then—right now. Comeback players—heart massagers.