Originally Posted: 2003-05-15 9:42am
Where is my Polish lover(I think Polish)
I think she had a Polish accent. I was young and excited and horny at the time and I was not concentrating on her speech patterns, but if I had to bet, I would say Polish. At the very least it was Eastern European. Bottom line, it was not American. Anyway, it was 1960 and I was twenty. We were in Philadelphia's Veteran’s stadium. Actually, we were in a broom closet in the stadium. I am embarrassed to say that I have no recollection of how we found ourselves in the broom closet. Nevertheless, we were really going at it in that small broom closet, her bent over like that, when I heard the cheers. The roar of the crowd. Michael Jack Schmidt had just hit a grand slam home run to win the game, and I was missing it. Should I turn and run and see the end of the game? Or be a gentleman and stay and finish. I had to see the celebration. I turned and ran and never saw my little Polish friend again. By the time I got back to the broom closet another couple was there. She was gone. I never knew her name. I dream about her every night. It is now 42 years later. I am married most all of that time. I have had a successful career although I never played baseball. I managed to get three college degrees, raise a couple of kids, and stayed married. But now in 2003, baseball has never been more boring. I often walk by that broom closet, but the kids of today dont care. They dont use it. So, where are you, my little shiksa friend. Come back to me. I need you.