None of our dads ever came to a game.
We swiped equipment, slid through mud and glass,
cajoled, cussed, and bullied our way through four seasons,
fleeing the darkness inside to the darkness outside,
until the park became a supermarket and all that yelling
a framed photo that said: “Outstanding Members of
the Community.” We got Brownie Automatics and learned
a few things: winning hurts less, nothing about yourself
has to be loved; never want anything out loud, or end up
out in left field where everyone is the son of a failure.

— Philip Schultz, from “Kodak Park Athletic Association, 1954,” Failure