Detroit Free Press

I held my father's hand as we walked into the stadium. I wore a cap. I carried a glove. I ate a hot dog. I clapped constantly. When one of our players struck out, I said, "That's OK," mimicking my father, who added, "We'll get 'em next time."I remember every vivid detail of my first sporting event, from the seat colors to the greasy food. What I don't remember is if our team won.I guess it didn't matter.