Growing up at Comiskey Park in the late 1960s and early 1970s was like having a giant playground built just for you and your friends.
The Chicago White Sox were not a good team, and the ballpark was usually empty. You could go anywhere you wanted, so we would spend much of the game walking around the vast concourse from home plate to the bleachers or venture into the upper deck. A trip to Comiskey included a Sox game, but watching the Sox wasn’t why we went.
The Sox suddenly started winning again, the ballpark got crowded and whenever Allen stepped to the plate with his 40-ounce bat, the moment seemed frozen in time.