Pirates baseball was my first love when I was growing up. I filled scrapbooks with box scores and newspaper articles when "my team" nailed down a big win or a Bucco player had a big day at the plate.

It was a rare day when I wasn't glued to the radio, listening to Rosey Rowswell re-create the game while the ticker tape machine chattered in the background. When a Pirates batter hit a home run, Rosey's voice would ring out with cries for Aunt Minnie to high-tail it upstairs and throw open the window. You waited with grinning anticipation for the sound of shattering glass. She never once got there in time.

When Bob Prince entered the broadcast booth in the late 1940s, I, along with the rest of Pittsburgh, quickly adopted "the Gunner" with his rat-a-tat-tat delivery and his unabashed rooting for the Pirates. Who can forget his "all we need is a bloop and a blast" or exhorting fans to use their "green weenies" to put a hex on the opposing team?

It was a major event for me when I could save enough to cover the cost of the streetcar ride into Downtown Pittsburgh, then out to Oakland, plus the price of admission. I played hooky a few times with friends and we would sit in the Forbes Field bleachers in left field for an afternoon game. It was the ultimate guilty pleasure; I would sit in constant fear of a truant officer yanking me out of my seat and hauling me away.

I still remember vividly when my father took me to a night game, a special treat for both of us. His work hours as a chef kept him busy at night, so he rarely enjoyed a free evening.

What made that evening even more special for me was the fact that Truett Banks "Rip" Sewell was the starting pitcher. The prospect of watching this All-Star pitcher throw his slow, arcing blooper -- known as his "eephus" pitch -- only intensified my anticipation.

Since my father had only a cursory interest in the Pirates, I filled him in about Sewell's famous pitch while we rode the trolley into town and out to Oakland, as we didn't have a car.

As we joined the mob of fans on our way to the stadium, my father encountered a long-time-no-see paesano, a friend from the same town in Italy where my father was born. That necessitated a stop at the bar just across the street from the main entrance to Forbes Field. I sipped a Coke and listened to the pre-game radio broadcast inside the bar while the two of them got reacquainted.

They were in a jovial, animated mood when I finally broke away, told my father where to meet me after the game, bought a ticket and made the long trek to my seat in the far reaches of the right-field stands.

When Sewell threw his blooper pitch for the first time the stadium went bananas. The batter swung and missed and the roar from the fans was deadening. He threw a few more bloopers during the rest of the game and each time the crowd erupted with thunderous cheers, whistles and applause, mine included.

The Pirates won the game with Sewell the winning pitcher. I recorded all the stats I could think of for each player in my program that night and added a few stars alongside the name of Truett Banks "Rip" Sewell.

On the way home, I asked my father if he enjoyed the game, what he thought of Sewell's blooper pitch and other highlights. I got a few buonos and grunts in reply, but he was more interested in catnapping than conversation.

To this day I'm almost positive he never made it into the ballpark. I never asked and he never told me. The answer isn't that important anymore.

What still remains are the cherished memories of a special night for me and for my father before he passed away, the unexpected opportunity to share a few beers and reminisce in the company of a fellow paesano.

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