1992

In an impromptu effort to revisit my youth, I watched three Little League World Series games today, ate a burrito at Jack Arnold's (ah, to be 23 again), and played some wiffle ball with 11-year-olds (and a few of Jill's associates) at Mark's place in Somerville.

I found out that I can still bring the gas, taking a no-hitter into the fourth, when I did all I could to let the 11-year-olds celebrate, but couldn't break the scoreless tie, even with a few 3-2 meatballs. I also learned that my little league hitting skills haven't changed much, not managing so much as a single until one kid got desperate on a 12-0 pitch and hung a changeup right over the plate.

September is shaping up to be a huge month for the bmoconline staff. Expect some top notch journalism (by which I mean half-assed recaps every eight or nine days).