We got there early enough to park on Michigan Avenue for free. In the second inning， it started to rain， and then the rain turned into a downpour. Within twenty minutes， they announced over the loudspeaker that the game had been canceled.
We walked under the stands for about an hour waiting for the rain to let up. When they stopped selling beer， my father said that we should make a run for the car.
We had a black 1948 sedan， and the door on the driver' s side was broken and could only be opened from the inside. We got to the door on the passenger' s side panting and soaking wet. As my father fumbled for the keys， they dropped out of his hand and fell into the gutter. When he bent down to retrieve them from the rushing water， the door handle knocked the brown fedora off his head. I caught up with the hat about halfway down the block and then raced back to the car.
My father was already sitting behind the wheel. I jumped in， collapsed onto the passenger' s seat， and dutifully handed him the hat—which now looked like a wet rag. He studied it for a second and then put it on his head. Water poured out of the hat， splashing onto his shoulders and lap and then onto the steering wheel and dashboard. He let out a loud roar. I was frightened because I thought he was howling with anger. When I realized he was laughing， I joined in， and for the next little while we just sat there in the car， laughing hysterically together. I had never heard him laugh like that before—and I never did again. It was a raw explosion that came from somewhere deep within him， a force that he had always kept dammed up.
Years later， when I spoke to him about that night and how I remembered his laughter， he insisted that it had never happened.
上一次去蒂格露天运动场（就是后来的布里格斯体育场），是在我八岁的时候。父亲下班回到家，宣布要带我去看棒球比赛。他是个球迷，之前我们去看过几场日赛，而这次是我第一次观看夜间赛。