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It seems Pope Francis needs to brush up on his Tertullian!

It has been reported (in The ChristLast Media, I must note) that the current Pope does not like the phrase "lead us not into temptation...

"Let no freedom be allowed to novelty, because it is not fitting that any addition should be made to antiquity. Let not the clear faith and belief of our forefathers be fouled by any muddy admixture." -- Pope Sixtus III

Friday, March 10, 2006

Another sports story. (But it's really about Catholicism.)

A Miracle from Coogan's Bluff
by Steve Rushin

On Oct. 3, 1951, Ed Lucas raced home from school in Jersey City to see, on the family's new Philco, Bobby Thomson win the pennant for his beloved New York Giants. The 12-year-old then ran outside to celebrate on the sandlot, where he was promptly hit between the eyes by a line drive, a blow that detached both retinas and left him permanently blind.

Ed's mother, he likes to say, was a professional boxer. (She boxed apples and oranges at the A&P warehouse.) That winter Rosanna Lucas marched her deeply depressed son to the American Shops, a Newark men's store, where she introduced him to part-time employee Phil Rizzuto, a Yankees star who befriended the boy.

Rosanna also wrote to Giants manager Leo Durocher about Ed, who asked her to bring her son to the Polo Grounds. "We went on June 14, 1952," Ed says. "My mother waited outside on the centerfield porch because women weren't allowed in the clubhouse. I met Bobby Thomson and all the Giants. Almost every player brought me a bottle of soda. I couldn't drink them all."

That fall Ed enrolled at St. Joseph's School for the Blind, a boarding school in Jersey City, where the nuns demanded that he make his bed and match his clothes. When he walked the strange hallways with his arms out in front of him, Frankenstein-style, his house mother, Sister Anthony Marie, slapped his wrists down to his sides. When he protested that he couldn't see, she said, "Isn't that a shame? We're all in the same boat here. Pick up your oar and start rowing."

If only we had nuns like that these days, the world would be a much better place.

For all you pansies out there filled with hatred of The One, True Church, keep reading.

In 1962 Ed graduated from Seton Hall with a degree in communication arts, after which he, and his tape recorder, became fixtures in the Shea and Yankee Stadium press boxes. The players he interviewed for sundry New Jersey radio stations and newspapers often interrupted his questions to ask their own. In 1965 Mets rookie Ron Swoboda asked Ed, "Did anyone ever describe this ballpark to you?" Told no, Swoboda took him by the hand and led Ed on a lap around the warning track, where they ran their hands along the outfield wall, reading its contours as if they were written in Braille.

That same year Ed married. Eventually he had two sons, Eddie and Chris. But when the boys were four and two, respectively, Ed's wife, like Ed's Giants, left him forever.

I assume this is Mr. Rushin's Creative Writing 201 way of saying Mrs. Lucas died. (Keep reading, kiddies.) May God have mercy on her soul.

He raised the boys as a blind single parent with superhuman powers. Or so it appeared to Eddie and Chris, who boasted at school that their father could read with the lights out. "I wanted their lives to be as normal as possible," says Ed.

For Eddie and Chris it was not unusual to wake up and see Billy Martin drinking coffee at their kitchen table. Yankee Stadium became the boys' second home. Says Chris, "Huge stars like Mickey Mantle would tell me my dad was their hero."

Many years later Phil Rizzuto was in his local flower shop in Union, N.J., when the florist told him about her niece, Allison Pfeifle, a nurse whose detached retina left her legally blind and no longer able to work as a nurse.
Rizzuto asked Ed if he'd be willing to give Allison a pep talk. Ed and Allison talked on the phone for several years before they met in person. On their first date the two baseball nuts went to Shea Stadium, where Ed introduced Allison to one of his manifold friends, then Dodger Darryl Strawberry.

Ed is now 67. His former house mother, Sister Anthony Marie, is 88. She still calls Ed to ask how he's doing and if he needs anything. "I know now that those nuns saved me," Ed says. "If it wasn't for them, I'd have spent my life on a corner with a cane and a cup."

Amen to that, Brother! (Memo To The Haters: Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!)

On March 10 Ed and Allison will be married in a small ceremony in an ancient cathedral -- they will exchange vows in Yankee Stadium, across the East River from the long-vanished Polo Grounds. When Allison walks down the aisle, she'll walk from the Yankee dugout to home plate. Ed's best men are the boys he raised, 39-year-old Eddie and 37-year-old Chris. The guest list includes Phil Rizzuto, former Yankees catcher Rick Cerone and former Yankees manager and G.M. Gene Michaels. "It is so touching to me because all my dad has ever done is sacrifice for other people," says Chris. "He's never once complained about his life and in fact has always felt blessed to have his family and friends. I think the universe, in a way, is now blessing him back."

Bless and protect them, Lord.

"Baseball took my sight," says the giddy groom-to-be. "But it also gave me my life." (Thanks to Sports Illustrated for the heads up.)

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First of all, the word is SEX, not GENDER. If you are ever tempted to use the word GENDER, don't. The word is SEX! SEX! SEX! SEX! For example: "My sex is male." is correct. "My gender is male." means nothing. Look it up. What kind of sick neo-Puritan nonsense is this? Idiot left-fascists, get your blood-soaked paws off the English language. Hence I am choosing "male" under protest.

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