Rad note » this entry originated from another page. It was moved here because the subject drifted far enough to warrant its own, separate entry.
At the end of this entry (that you're reading now) I have included a link that will return you to the exact place from where this entry originated. Here ya go ...
I grew up with an Egan. He was best friends with Lance, an All-American with hands like glue who lived across the street. Egan took no shit from anybody.
He was not an asshole, but he had an older brother (Richie) who toughened him up.
» Lance & Egan & the Fabulously Ferocious Fastballs
Remind me to tell you my Egan story, about how I threw him the fattest fast-ball you've ever seen during the last game we ever played in Little League.
I pitched for 3 years during Little League and nobody ever hit a home run off me. Ever. But this was the last game of the year, of our Little League careers, and nothing would change no matter who won.
Egan batted second in their line-up. Lance batted third. I had struck out Egan before.
Lance was one home run away from being the home run king that year. Because he was tied with Wojo, who was twice his size.
And before the game he was working me to throw him a fatty so that he could claim the title of Home Run King solo that year (giving him 6 to Wojo's 5), his last year of Little League. (Or maybe this would let Lance tie Wojo .. I forget the exact details.)
We were standing about halfway between pitcher's mound and home plate. I was facing the 3rd base dugout and they were facing the 1st base dugout.
To which I agreed, when he said, "Come on, I'll give you 50 cents."
Egan was standing there with Lance and wanted in on the same deal.
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