I'll always remember that july night of 1970. Dad sent me to hit the sack a lot of times. Tom Seaver, Jim Palmer, Jim Merritt and Sam McDowell kept the game scoreless until the sixth frame. Dad pumped his right fist when Ray Fosse scored the first run on Carl Yastrzemski single against Gaylord Perry. "Let's go guys". I approached to the TV set. "That team is not going to win this game". Dad wrinkled his forehead. "Which one?" "The American League". Dad showed me the way to my bedroom. "Ok, ok, Dad. Maybe the American League could win".
In the bottom of the seventh the National League got the bases loaded but only scored once. Dad hit the palm of his left hand with his right fist when Willie McCovey grounded into doubleplay. He started to whistle "Take me out to the ballgame" when Brooks Robinson smacked a triple against Bob Gibson that put the score 4-1.
When Roberto Clemente lined out a sacrifice fly to tie the game 4-4 in the bottom of the ninth, Dad took me to my bedroom. "Come on Dad! Are you afraid that your team lose?"
The intensity of the extranning grabbed Dad's eyes into the TV set. This let me watch the game from behind the sofa.
At the bottom of the twelfth inning, Pete Rose and Bill Garbarkewitz hit singles after two outs. Dad moved his eyes back. I hid under the sofa. Jim Hickman batted a single to centerfield. Rose passed through third base as a train. Fosse stepped in front of home plate to wait Amos Otis' throw. Rose collided against Fosse and made him roll over the ground. The Nacional League won 5-4. The collision impact made me shout. "Yooohoo. The National League won". Dad looked at me and the chase started. I ran harder than Pete Rose and jumped over my bed. I've heard of other All Star games but none as intense as that one of 1970.