I got to be 11, all over again this summer, thanks to the greatest season in Washington Nationals history, and my boy, Mark.
Growing up in the suburbs of Washington, baseball was not a huge part of my life. When I was 11, in 1975, I could still remember the Senators and their move to Texas. I followed the game, watched what was offered on network TV, occasionally read the boxscores in paper and knew the stars. I rooted for the Red Sox in the World Series against Cincinnati because my dad was...
