Dave Winfield was my brother’s favorite player back in the 1980′s.
He had his cards, he imitated his batting stance and swing, and he always had to wear #31.
One time we had tickets for a game at Yankee Stadium in right field and before the game we were up against the wall with a bunch of other fans who were also trying to get Winfield’s attention.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew my brother’s Yankees cap right off his head and onto the field about three or four feet from Winfield. He walked over and picked up the cap. My dad started waving to get his attention and once Winfield noticed my father he made his way to the wall and held the cap up for my brother to grab.
My poor brother was speechless and couldn’t even utter the words “Thank you.” So my dad, who was holding my brother, said it for him.
After Winfield walked back onto the grass from the warning track, I think my brother vowed to never wash his hat again.
Even funnier was when we finally made it to our seats, a guy in the row behind us tapped my dad on the shoulder. Turns out it was the father of a family we knew from our hometown. When I turned around, I noticed the guy’s son, who was a year older than me, sitting there as well – he was in fifth grade, I was in fourth. Small world.
It’s funny the things you remember from nearly 30 years ago. Meanwhile, whenever I open a new tab in Google Chrome, I can never remember what I was opening it for.
Getting old is so weird.