When it comes to collecting baseball caps, I have specific rules. At the very least, I have to be in the state where the teams plays to be able to purchase one of them (or if someone is traveling and happens to think of picking one up for me); I can’t just go to a Lids in a New Jersey mall and get whatever I want. So since I was in St. Louis for a couple of book events, that “qualified” me to also get a Royals cap.
(This rule also applied to my acquisition of some hats from the Nippon Baseball League during a recent trip to Japan. More on that later.)
I was wearing it last night when my wife was among those honored by the New Jersey Sharing Network for her fundraising efforts on behalf of the organization which does an unparalleled job in organ donor awareness.
During the open house, I was approached twice by guys commenting on my choice of head wear. One was an avid Yankees fan, the other a Met rooter. Funny how something as simple as arbitrarily grabbing a cap from the collection lining the wall of my office can lead to conversation.
It brought to mind a moment from my Brooklyn childhood when I started at a new school, always a difficult time for the new kid. On the first day of classes, I spotted a kid wearing a Cincinnati Reds cap. Kindred spirit since anything other than rooting for a New York team set one apart. I wish I could say it led to a lifelong friendship, but alas, it did not.
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