I had spent the summer analyzing box scores, feeling ever more confident that my beloved Dodgers would reach the World Series. In mid-August, they led the Giants by 13½ games. To a wonky kid easily impressed by baseball stats, the Dodgers’ lead was insurmountable.
But in September, the Giants’ fast-talking manager, Leo Durocher, somehow coaxed his team into a 16-game winning streak. My August bravado turned to September panic, as I realized the Dodgers were in trouble.
An intense baseball follower from a young age, I hadn’t always been a Dodgers fan. My dad rooted for the Yankees, so naturally I followed along. But then in 1947, when I was 13, he took me to a game at Ebbets Field with tickets from a friend who worked for the Dodgers. Halfway through the game, an usher showed up at our row. “Anyone here named George Hirsch?” he asked.
I raised my hand, somewhat timidly. Was I in trouble? The usher smiled and handed me a baseball signed by all the Dodger greats, including, best of all, Jackie Robinson.
I don’t remember anything more about that game, but I spent countless hours at home admiring my prized possession. I would turn the ball over and over, mesmerized by its tight red seams and the sharply distinctive signatures. This 13-year-old became a Dodgers’ fan for life.
Incredibly, the Dodgers and the Giants ended the 1951 season in a dead tie. The two teams would have to fight it out in a best-of-three playoff to see who would face the Yankees in the World Series. The teams split the first two games. That left the third game as the absolute clincher — clearly an event worth skipping school for.
Up in the grandstands, my friends and I sat on the hard, wooden edge of our seats as 20-game winners Don “Newk” Newcombe, of the Dodgers, and the Giants’ Sal “the Barber” Maglie locked into a pitchers’ duel. The score stood at 1-1 through seven innings. Could nothing pry these teams apart?

Source: New York Times

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