The story: 1961. My older brother (11 years older) plops me down in front of the B&W TV to watch, as often as they air, the big race: Maris, Mantle and 61 homers. They seem to air (given that we DID have a local team, and only three stations) more games than they would normally. I see Whitey Ford with his cap slightly tilted, Mickey Mantle (until he got hurt) Roger Maris, Joe Pepitone, Tony Kubek, Clete Boyer, Elston Howard…what's a poor kid to do? Changed my life.
Fast forward a year or two. Maple Valley Little League. Little League Day at Cleveland Municipal Stadium. Indians vs. Yankees. 50,000 Little Leaguers in attendance. Mom gives little fat Harvey enough money for a souvenir. Harvey immediately buys a Yankee pennant. Later, li’l Harvey has to pee. As he pees in the men’s room, a few bigger Little Leaguers take issue with the little fat shit rooting for the Yankees. Li’l Harvey experiences a whooping of sorts, but retains the pennant (and the Yanks beat the Tribe…of course). Scars in hand, he never blinks when criticized for being a Yankee fan, and never wavers, even during the Ed Whitson AND Kenny Rogers days…so goes the legend. Next big life change (already had discovered masturbation years before and had attended the in depth lecture series on anxiety and guilt from older brother at age seven—very advanced child, l’il Harv), The Beatles. Next unalterable change in brain chemistry, hence destiny, “Sister Ray.”
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