It was a bitter afternoon for the New York Giants' Leo ("The Lip") Durocher. His old ball club, the Brooklyn Dodgers, was spraying Giant pitches into the far reaches of the Polo Grounds. Each time Durocher crossed to his third-base coaching box, visiting Brooklyn fans yowled and booed.
Most raucous needier was a zoot-suited, jobless young Puerto Rican named Fred Boysen, who had somehow wangled a $2.50 box seat. Boysen's view, as he expressed it later, is that "the fun of baseball" is kibitzing; a big-league manager should be able to take it. He...
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