I remember World Series games differently than Philip C. Brown [“The best time for a baseball game,” letters, Nov. 4]. Growing up in New Jersey, where I attended a small parochial school, daytime Series games were quite the thing. The nuns would arrange for someone to bring small (though it seemed huge then) black-and-white televisions into the classrooms, and everyone sat riveted watching the games.
Still vivid in my mind is the seventh game of the 1960 World Series. There, in unsurpassed drama, we watched the Pittsburgh Pirates beat the New York Yankees with a home run in the bottom of the ninth inning. There, on the TV screen for all to see, was Yogi Berra leaving the field with his head down while Bill Mazeroski rounded the bases in glee.