The Old Boys of November

The Old Boys of Summer have worked their way into November; believers still that the fence is an attainable goal. And sometimes it is, mostly as a way to keep the ball from rolling away.

Tim--big, strong Tim--is the only regular threat to the right field fence but, while hope may not spring eternal in the hearts of the ordinary mortals who make up most of the team, it does occasionally raise its head.

The TOTs--Tucson Old Timers--play ball the year around, moving the morning starting time up an hour in the summer to avoid midday heat, and back again in the fall to allow the sun to dry out the Park District watering schedule.

Later this week, I think for the first time, the team will play a night game, just for the fun of playing under the lights. Friends and relatives who have not reached the age when they might be eligible to join the TOTs (60), have been invited to see what baseball after 60 looks like--or more astoundingly--what a first baseman can do at 88. It isn't always pretty, but pretty has never applied to any of the guys who play autumn ball. They are, as any of them will admit, if not a handsome lot, then at least durable, if viewed from from a distance under dim November lights.

"September, November!"

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