(OPINION) What I’ve retained about Sept. 15, 1973, is more a feeling than details of a game. It’s an impression. It’s an aura of happiness and relief. In Commonwealth Stadium, amid all the opening day hubbub, Dad and I seemed almost magically removed from our outside lives. In a desert of private unhappiness, we’d stumbled on an oasis: a place where a band played, people laughed and the hot dogs were tasty. Our tension eased.

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