Growing up in Alabama, I was naturally a Red Sox fan. According to my Dad, my first spoken word as a baby was "Yastremski". Other than the weekly "This Week in Baseball", I hardly got to see many Red Sox highlights, much less get to watch many of their games living in the deep south. This was in the days before every game was televised and available on cable. I had seen pictures of The Yaz and I got to watch the occasional game and I, of course, poured over every box score to see how my hero had done the previous night. When I played baseball, I always wore #8. As the years wore on, Yaz was entering the twilight of his career and I figured I would never get to see him play in person. Then, one day, my whole family took a trip to Iowa to visit relatives and, as luck would have it, the Sox were playing the Twins just a few hours drive away in Minneapolis. My Dad, brothers and I got in the car and headed off for the game. I finally got to see the Sox and Yaz play in person. The Sox won the game and I got to see Yaz play in his final season. I'll never forget that game as long as I live. Today, I'm taking my son to baseball games and handing down stories to him about The Yaz.