1) Back in the old days, when baseball was baseball and the manager did postgame in his office, Joe Torre finished the scrum, held me back and told me there was someone he wanted me to meet. On the couch the whole time was Bob Gibson, black leather jacket, black Kangol.

2) “Howard, this is Bob. Bob, Howard.” It was Yankee Stadium, 2002, so Gibson was 66 or 67 at the time. He stared at me, shook my hand, nodded. No smile. No pleasantry. He talked to Joe through me. I was invisible. “Does this one get it right?”

3) The next day I say to Joe in the dugout. “Thank you for the invite. You know he scared the hell out of me.” Joe said, “You care about this game. With the stuff you write about, you needed to meet him.” That was the first and last opportunity. RIP to the great man.