Free Queens Noir by Robert Knightly Page B

Despite the crush of Mets fans and homebound workers boarding the car, we were still standing together like
two buddies having a night out at the ballpark.

    "So, your dad take you to Fenway during the glory days of
Yaz?"
    He flinched at the question. I thought I'd overplayed my
hand and lost him. I hoped that the look on his face was just
the result of a sudden burst of sunshine hitting his eyes. "No.
My father never took me to a ballgame. I don't think I ever saw
a baseball game when I was growing up. My college roommate
freshman year dragged me to Fenway with some of his friends
because he thought I studied too much. It was love at first sight,
the minute I stepped into the ballpark. After the first pitch I
knew that I belonged right there. I never liked the taste of beer
but must have had five that day. I loved the cheering and yelling of the crowd. I loved the hustle and grace of the players on
the field. When we left and the Sox had beat Baltimore 5 to 4,
I was hoarse and my hands were sore from clapping. I went to
dozens of games before I graduated. I read the Globe and Herald
sports pages religiously and any baseball history or biography
voraciously. All these years I've been true to the Boston Red
Sox. I never get to see the team live enough, working here.
Now I have one of those cable packages that allows me to see
almost every game, but it's not the same as being in Fenway."
    I gave him a name and told him that I worked on Wall
Street selling mutual funds to retail brokers. I knew enough
details about this kind of job that I could BS my way through
a conversation if he wanted to talk about work. I know a little about a lot of things so that I can talk to almost anybody
about anything, a talent I find useful in my line of work. It
would have given us something else in common, though I was
certain we wouldn't be talking shop for the rest of the ride.
Only baseball.

    "I'm Jack Buckner," he said, mentioning he worked for an
elite, privately held Wall Street firm that only handled oldmoney clients whose net worth was a minimum eight figures.
He did not mention that it was his friend's family firm.
    "Any relation to Bill? A cousin maybe, returning to the
scene of the crime after so many years? Bill Buckner ... letting the world championship roll between his legs during the
legendary Game 6 of the '86 World Series."
    "Billy. Buck. Did. Not. Lose. The. World. Series." Jack
emphasized each word. I'm certain that he would have poked
me in the chest on the beat of each syllable if the train had not
roared past a local station with enough speed to cause him to
keep both hands on the pole.
    I have seen criminal defense attorneys sum up before juries in high-stakes trials with flair and with eloquence. Imagine Darrow in his heyday. Think Cutler and Gotti. Remember
Cochran arguing on behalf of that piece of crap? None of them
showed the passion that Jack did defending Bill Buckner. Hell,
years later, all I remembered was the tenth inning. Jack could
practically tell you the entire game pitch by pitch.
    "First of all, McNamara should never have taken Clemens out in the seventh with a one-run lead," he began. "He
claimed Clemens asked to be taken out because he had a blister on his finger. This man will be the AL Cy Young winner
and the league's MVP You keep him in unless he needs immediate surgery on his pitching arm in the dugout. Besides,
Clemens said that he never asked to be taken out, but only
after McNamara was fired. In my opinion, Clemens was very
honorable because he didn't undermine McNamara's authority in the clubhouse by contradicting him. When I look at
how he has pitched since leaving Boston, the awards and the
rings, I cannot believe that he quit. However, I confess that I have a soft spot for the Rocket. The Sox quit on him. He did
not quit on Boston."

    He went on about some Italian relief pitcher named Calvin letting the tying run score in the eighth. Never met too