Chapter 15
WE START WITH THE A’s. In particular, a bar called
Aaron’s down on Bleeker Street in the west end of the city, near the
single-tiered stadium where the Albany Metro Mallers semi-pro football team
used to play. Every time I pass by the old stadium I can’t help but think of my
dad. On any given Friday night in the early fall, he might drag me and maybe
the occasional date to a game under the lights. The quality of the football
wasn’t as good as the real pros. Not by a long shot. But it was hard-hitting
and, on occasion, hard-biting. I got to eat all the peanuts and popcorn I could
stomach. I remember laughing when a punch-drunk player would hobble off the
field, remove his helmet and reveal a mouth full of missing teeth. I’d laugh
even harder when he’d light up a cigare
