I said in ATH that I couldn’t remember a sloppier World Series game. Reader Michael Caragliano reminds me of one I must have blocked from my memory:
It all comes flooding back. In my defense: I watched almost the entire 1997 World Series from the Tiffany Tavern in Alexandria, Virginia, spying it out of the corner of my eye on a little TV while listening to live bluegrass. Game 7 was really the only one I totally locked in on. And yeah, I watched that one from the Tiffany Tavern. But I think even the banjo player was watching it too.