Father Z waxes poetic

This is some fine writing:

In my own life, since that was the summer that Fisher met Spassky, I was highly attuned to the newspaper.  For myself, in tournament play, I had at my little age earned a rating.  In great anticipation I was set – in between running like a shoeless brown animal or riding horses bare-back without bridle, clinging to their manes and ears – to watch and play through these games with with my grandfather – himself a world level Bridge champion – with great attention.  The summer was hot and free.  I watched Julia Child and NASA missions. I met Dave McNally, and listened to short wave radio at night and distant trains whistles. I knew every kid and all their houses and yards.  I ate snow cones from a cousin’s traveling cart, kicked through the banks of hail from summer storms, and blew up stuff with fireworks. I had a bright green Sting-Ray bike with a white seat.  My hair was on fire and I was never going to die.