I was reminded today of something I haven’t thought of in at least 25 years. I used to play baseball at Kirby Park, near Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania when I was a kid. Back then, in my thinner days, I played center field mostly. I was wasn’t great. I wasn’t terrible. But I got great — albeit for a short time. And not due to my skills, but due to a glove I used. My regular glove had had it. The pocket tore right out of it after too many plays and too many loaners. So I had to borrow a glove as my new one was soaking in glove oil.