I am 12 years old, it is 1971 & we are playing a pick up baseball game at Jackson Davis Elementary School--our neighborhood ballfield.  Brett is batting--the pitch is served up slow and high--I watch the ball soar out of the field, above the tall pines of the outfield and into the bordering neighbors back yard.  hat was probably the first I witnessed among many that Brett hit there.

I was always in awe of his athletic prowess and tried to emulate his style and grace--was never able to but, always inspired--RIP my childhood friend. Know that you made a difference.

After being away for a number of years attending  college I rented  a house with Brett and his wife . My "little brother" had grown a bit bigger than me while I was gone.We had a dirt basketball court in the back yard.One summer afternoon we had what could easily be described as an "epic" series of 1 on 1 games. He knew he was bigger a stronger and was determined to finally take the title.

I was equally determined not to give it up. We must have played 20 games. He probably won 15. I finally had to admit resistance was futile. As we walked to the house, his wife met us at the back door and refused to let us in. We then realized that the combination of sweat and the dust we had kicked up {and maybe a little blood} had coated us head to toe with brown slime. We had to undress

in the back yard and hose ourselves down with the garden hose before we were allowed back inside.