It was 50 years ago this week when Red Sox catcher Carlton Fisk, hit a game-winning home run in the 12th inning to force a Game 7 in the 1975 World Series.
I watched much of that Series in my bedroom (about 30 miles from Fenway Park), standing up, with an earplug— thus concealing the tiny black & white TV’s mono sound output from my mother.
For some reason, she was especially adamant that week about enforcement of “Not on a school night!” rules. Perhaps she was mad at my older sister about something, which was rather common during that era.
If I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, I slapped the “Off” button and slid under the covers, feigning slumber until I heard the descent back to the first floor.
There were a couple of mornings, when I saw my father—still in his work uniform—at breakfast and he told me what happened in the previous night’s game and I did my best to act surprised by the news.
Though I don’t have a great poker face, so I suspect my mischievous smirking might have revealed my transgressions.