A Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell So Much Sweeter

The September 11th I choose to remember happened in 1985.

My family had gathered at my aunt's house in southwest Ohio suburbia to celebrate my grandfather's birthday. The television in the living room broadcasted a Cincinnati Reds baseball game; we huddled around it to watch the special accomplishment America had been waiting to see.

And then it happened. Four thousand one hundred and ninety two. Eric Show of the San Diego Padres sitting on the mound. Ty Cobb's unbreakable record broken. The man with the bad haircut holding his #1 finger in the air. Red Corvette driving around the concrete cookie cutter that was my childhood heaven.

Though I was only eight years old, my Reds fandom had already…