My dad loved baseball! He played for minor leagues that traveled around the states in the late 40’s. We would play catch in the back yard and the front yard. In my eyes he was the greatest.
Well when he got older he had a stroke. He could not get out of his wheel chair. So he and mom would watch a lot of TV together, especially the Indians. I don’t remember a time that when we visited dad, that he didn’t have his Indians ball cap on. He was in that chair for at least 7 years. He never gave up on them. The year he died, 1997, we buried him in his cap. He was actually buried on opening day that year.
We all sang “take me out to the ball game” by the grave.
We hoped and prayed that they would go all the way that year.
Well I say
DO IT THIS YEAR TRIBE!
WIN IT FOR JOHN BEAUDRY!
LOOK FOR US AT THE GAME THURSDAY NIGHT!
WE ARE THE ONES WITH THE SIGN THAT SAYS
WIN THIS FOR JOHN BEAUDRY!!
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Go tribe 
Do you remember how we used to buy the cheap tickets or get free tickets and then sit ANYWHERE since there was hardly anyone at the games??
Remember banging the wooden seat next to you and making soooo much noise.
Oh boy do I. It was so much fun and we loved to sit out in right field and yell at Rocky Colavito, Don’t knock the Rock.
I remember the time that dad got a hot dog and the vendor squirted mustard all over his shirt We both laughed. He was not happy. Mom probably said “OH John”!
Revised metaphor: If heaven were a ballpark, John would have a box seat.
I just discovered that John has a box seat at Paradise Park.