My brother sent me the following a few months ago, something he found among his keepsakes. It came as a yellowed newspaper clipping, without benefit of an author's name or date. For men who spent their childhood playing baseball, or even just dreaming big, it still rings true.

Hopes and Realizations...

There was a day, in the indefinable past, when you knew for certain you would make it to the big leagues, be rich and famous and have kids crowd around for autographs. Only you weren't sure whether you wanted to be a pitcher, throwing strings of no-hitters, or the greatest first baseman that ever lived. You gradually realized, as an inevitable part of growing up, that perhaps you would be just and average player, not a Hall of Famer. Then came the day when the one-time kid next door, who you used to pitch to underhanded, pulled your best curve over the fence. You finally saw what you should have known all along, that maybe you aren't fast enough, strong enough, good enough to make it. Then you weren't a little boy any more.

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