I missed the fortieth anniversary of my very first ballgame earlier this week. June 29th, 1975: I know my mother and my late Aunt Alice (the biggest Mets fan in the family) took me but I don't remember who else was there. It was a Mets-Phillies double-header at the old incarnation of Shea Stadium, the one that looked like a Wonder Bread wrapper.
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Two years earlier, I was getting sunburned in the bleachers in the Bronx, celebrating George Steinbrenner's birthday with the flyover and skydivers (smoke and all), plus Chuck Mangione playing the national anthem, prior to Dave Righetti pitching against the hated Red Sox. And no-hitting them, of course.
We're overdue for another great game on the Fourth from the NY teams.
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You were at Righetti's no-hitter? Lucky you! The best I've done was to be at Seaver's 300th win (aka Phil Rizzuto Day), but that was an event everyone at the park foresaw. No-hitters are purely serendipitous.
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My main sports memories from my youth are centered around watching the Olympics - from opening ceremonies to closing ceremonies, we watched every night of the games.
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