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Here’s the first thing I recall from watching a World Series: In 1961, the Yankees were manhandling the Cincinnati Reds in five games, although I can’t recite details, not the heroes or the records or even the elation I must have felt when it was over.
I just remember that my man Mickey Mantle didn’t play because he had an oozing sore on his hindquarters. They called it an abscess, which to a third-grader sounded like recess but otherwise meant nothing. I just knew that Mickey was hurting and that was a bummer, so to speak.
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