When I was in graduate school at Georgetown — not long after my near-encounter with Dana Delany — my dad came into town, and we decided to go to up to Camden Yards, the almost brand-new ballpark up in Baltimore.
About 90 minutes before the game, we bought tickets behind home plate from a scalper, seemingly unaware that a near-hurricane was moving toward us. Soon, the rain came down in torrents, the wind was blowing everything upside down, the game was canceled, and my father and I were headed back to D.C. in my Scirocco in one of the most harrowing drives of my life, culminating in a flat tire when I drove almost blindly up a curb. Though my car wasn’t a wreck, I nearly was.
Though Dad and I never saw a game together in Baltimore, fortuntately I moved back to Los Angeles in time for the 1994 Northridge earthquake and MLB strike.
All my best to you Easterners …