I used to look forward to the end of winter because — of course — I was sick of shoveling upstate New York snowfalls. But I also knew it meant that spring training was approaching and I could take out my glove, the one with the baseball stuck in the pocket, and anticipate my first spring catch with my son.
Spring training brought something else, however. I would get to see what Roger Angell was finding in Florida as he filed his elegant baseball dispatches for the New Yorker. The 93-year-old Angell reminded us recently with a long<a class="colorbox" …read more