goodnight, sweet prince
and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest
Thank you, Mr. Musial. Nice guys don't always finish last.
A night game and Harry Carey on my first transistor radio (playing under the pillow) calling the pitches for Stan the Man. That's my first memory of The Man.
I think it was the same summer we went to St. Louis and sat along the left field line just past third. I got his autograph that day and had dinner at his restaurant that evening. I'll bet he's still signing autographs.
Ah, Vanderleun, I expected better of you.
And though that he were worthy, he was wys,
And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.
He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde
In al his lyf unto no maner wight.
He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
I thought about doing that since I can recite it from memory but then I thought that to do it in Middle English would be too pretentious for Stan.
Now, now, don't be snotty. (that's my job)
You must admit that the sound of the middle english is wonderful.
As the Brazilians say of the Portuguese language: "It fills the mouth."
It's good to see the origins of the language and how it's evolved, or devolved.
I overheard a conversation between Casey Stengel and Yogi Berra as a lad, which might have qualified as Middle English.
We'll miss ya, Stan. Baseball is better for you having graced it with your ability, kindness, and love of the sport.
I bet Casey and Yogi could understand each other, even if nobody else could.
Nah, Middle English is what we grew up talkin around St. Louis.
Look it up on a map. Right in the middle.
Yogi grew up in St. Louis.