When it became clear that last night's game would end Dodger hopes, I looked at Richie with watchful eyes, fearful of his reaction. He walked over to the desk and, taking a sheet of paper and a pen, walked back to his recliner, settled in and began writing.
What could this be? A suicide note? Threats to burn down Dodger Stadium and sow salt on the field?
It turns out that he was addressing himself to "D," Mouton and his two baseball-mad nephews as follows:
""Wait till next year!" that was the headline in the Sports section of the Brooklyn Eagle more times that Dodger fans liked. And so, after a rocky road (and no ice cream treat) that will have to be our wish. But we have lots of hope for 2014! Don't feel badly - spring training will be here soon! Just skip the box scores this morning and go straight to the funny papers."
I should have known that he would take it well. Richie is good for quick bursts of yelling outrage, but not for a long-term sulk. I guess I can safely stow away the black bunting that I was planning to use to drape the house this morning. Won't be needed.
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