A Requiem for Yaz or The Most Glorious Sight These Eyes Have Ever Seen

Dear Readers,

It is I, HBT Opinion Giver, the one and only defender of all that is sacred within our dear dear Base Ball, the preeminent Base Ball scholar and member of the Royal Society for the Advancement and Preservation of Base Ball History and Folklore, Coopersville, Montana Chapter.

These eyes of mine have seen the triumphs and tribulations of generations upon generations laboring within the holy diamond that encompasses our beloved Game. I have seen tragedies that would make Ulysses weep. I have witnessed acts of such courage, such grander that Marcus Aurelius himself would bend the knee.

But nothing, nothing I say, could hold a whiff to what these weathered eyes witnessed low these past few days within the Cathedral know as Fenway Park.

A grandfather.

A grandson.

The bonds of blood born out upon the divine dirt.

36 years ago a giant walked amongst men. A god toiled within the ranks of the mortal. A Yaz patrolled the outfield.

And now all these many moons later another with the same excruciatingly long name does the same.

The uniform may be different but the gait is not. The instincts, the feel, the intuition that make our beloved Base Ball stand head and shoulders above all other pursuits of man. This young Yaz, he has them all in spades. In spades I say. In spades.

As my gaze lay upon this youth a single tear I shed. A tear not of melancholy. No. A tear of unbridled appreciation for the moment. For it is in these moments that we truly live.

A grandfather.

A grandson.

A game the world will never forget.

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