![]() ![]() My parents had already seen me at my worst, coming home more than a bit intoxicated, only to accompany my best high school friend on a trip to Miami University in Oxford, Ohio the next day. Well, as safe as anything in which Gary and I were involved could be. ![]() All of this seemed rather safe to my parents. I was leaving home with Gary, an older APBA friend-surely I would be safe-driving to Carmichaels, Pennsylvania, just outside Pittsburgh, then riding in what our Carmichaels host called a limousine to the City of Brotherly Love and tabletop baseball heaven. That’s why the 1973 APBA Convention, the first of its kind, held in Philadelphia during June was special. for a one-day, whirlwind tour of our nation’s capital, the first time any of us had flown, outside of flights of fancy when my friends and I wrote love letters to NASA in junior high. In addition, my high school senior class had flown to Washington, D.C. The great adventure of my young life had been a family vacation to the New York World’s Fair in 1965. ![]() Still, my solo travels had been few, restricted to Terre Haute, Indianapolis, and Chicago. Sure, I had had the all-too-typical 1970s college experience. ![]() In June of 1973, I was 21 years old, but still a rather naïve young man. ![]()
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