For a little while, the exact years of my childhood in Vermont, this man inspired an unparalleled awe. For me, his induction yesterday into the Hall of Fame was mostly about a happy reconnection to that time when my brother and I saw Jim Rice as the loftiest of the gods. My brother brought back that childhood way of seeing in an email a couple days before Rice’s induction:
“I’ll always remember the spectacle of Rice in his glory like so: Digs into the box, waves the bat through the strike zone twice, then waits, with relaxed, expressionless mien. Stillness, absolute focus. Then that compact, ferocious swing, connecting and sending the pill back the other way so hard that it seems to pick up speed as it nearly beheads the pitcher and leaves the infield, a ruler-straight rope all the way to the triangle in center, *thock* just above the 420 sign, where it leaves a dent visible from all corners of the ballyard. And Rice, churning past second then sitting into a slide at third, bouncing up. Easy triple. Calmly surveys the scene. He is the master of this domain.”
The question is, how long was Jim Rice master of this domain? Read the rest of this entry ?
Cardboard Gods 
You must be logged in to post a comment.