I take a deep breath, and it feels like the first one I’ve taken since I’ve left the subway station. I squeeze through the rowdy crowd to find my seat. Of course, in this perfect moment, I find my seat right next to the perfect person—my grandpa.

I stand at the end of the row so I can stare at him for a moment without him noticing me. It’s one thing to sit on the couch and browse through old photos with your family. It’s another thing entirely to find yourself face-to-face with the younger, stronger version of the man who’s been one of the most meaningful influences in your life.

Young Grandpa Joe is handsome. And he’s tall, tan, and muscular. He’s a picture-perfect baseball player.

“He’s an athlete,” I whisper to myself. “A real athlete. In any time.”

I’m still a little flustered by it all, but I know there’s work to do, so I quietly make my way to the seat and sit there, just taking it all in, at least as much as I can.

Then I hear his voice, the voice I have heard every single day of my life. It jolts me out of my baseball dream state, because, while Grandpa Joe looks as if he could be a different person than the one I toss a ball to every morning, the tone of his voice sounds almost exactly the same—with a smidge more Brooklyn in it.

“Hey, buddy, I think you’re in the wrong seat,” Grandpa Joe says to me. “This seat belongs to my best friend.”

“Yeah, your friend Alex,” I say. “Hi. I’m Matt. I was just at Alex’s party. He gave me the ticket since he wasn’t going to make it himself. I’ve always wanted to see a game at Ebbets Field.”

“Oh, okay. Hi, I’m Joe. Nice to meet you. So, whaddya think?” my teenage grandfather asks me as he points to the field.

“I think it’s the most beautiful place on this Earth,” I tell him honestly.

“I do too, kid,” Grandpa Joe agrees. “Just don’t tell the New York Giants I said that.”

“Right! Alex told me you signed with them.” I laugh. “And you might get called up soon.”

“From your lips to the baseball gods’ ears,” Grandpa says. He turns away from me for a moment to look at the green baseball field. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Grandpa Joe fills me in on the game details. The Dodgers squeaked out a win in the first game. After being down 4–0, they came back to win 6–5 in the eleventh inning. Dodgers shortstop Pee Wee Reese and catcher Roy Campanella both hit home runs in a three-run eighth inning.

Now, in the second game of the doubleheader, Ralph Branca is on the pitcher’s mound for the Dodgers. There are nearly 35,000 fans packed into the stadium, and I can hear every one of them. At the end of five innings, the game is tied 1–1.

“Another nail-biter,” I observe.

“Yeah,” Grandpa Joe says. “I hope the Dodgers score soon. I told Alex I would only stay to watch the first game. I definitely need to head back to the party after this next inning.”

Well, that’s a relief. If we leave after the sixth, we should make it back to Uncle Alex’s with plenty of time to change the course of Grandpa’s personal history.

“My friends are still at the party. Maybe we could go back together,” I say hopefully.

“Sure, as long as you’re not a Yankees fan.” Grandpa Joe laughs.

“Never!” I smile. “My grandfather taught me better than that. Go, Dodgers!”

“I’d like to meet that fine man one day.” Grandpa Joe chuckles, and I start to laugh too, but for a different reason. 1951 Grandpa would like to meet future Grandpa. That’s some real time-travel humor!

“I’m sure you two would have a lot to talk about,” I reply.

In the top of the sixth, Branca gets the Giants out 1-2-3. He even gets Willie Mays to ground out.

“Say hey!” my grandpa says with a little laugh as Willie grounds out.

“Why do people call Willie Mays ‘The Say Hey Kid’?” I ask.

Grandpa Joe tells me nobody knows for sure, but one story is it’s because a reporter once heard Willie remark, “Say who, say what, say where, say hey!” After that the reporter referred to Willie as “The Say Hey Kid” and the nickname stuck.

The Dodgers bats come alive in the bottom of the inning. Campanella singles to left field. Cox shoots a single to right field in the following at bat, then the pitcher bunts them into scoring position. Grandpa Joe points out Hilda Chester, a fan who attends every game at Ebbets Field armed with a brass cowbell. She rings it furiously as Carl Furillo knocks a line drive that zips to right field, and Campanella then Cox stomp on home plate.

“Eatcha heart out, ya bums!” Chester calls to the Giants fans in the crowd.

The stadium is rocking with excitement, the Dodgers are up 3–1, and I can’t believe that it is actually time to get up and go, when Pee Wee Reese hits a fly ball to end the inning.

“Where you from again, kid?” Grandpa Joe asks as I start to rise from my seat.

“Buffalo,” I lie.

“We should probably just stay till the end of the game,” Grandpa says. “You can go to a pool party anytime. But you might never get a chance to see something like this again.”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. We need to get back to the party, like, now!

“Oh, I never will see something like this again,” I agree. “But it’s okay, we should go. Alex really wanted you to get back to the party. And, um . . . some girl named Patty was asking about you too.”

“Was she?” Grandpa Joe laughs. “Well . . . she can wait. Baseball’s life, right, kid?”

“Um, right,” I say, just sitting there sweating, trying to figure out what I can do to get Grandpa Joe out of there.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I feel the seconds passing with each heartbeat.

“You look a little nervous,” Grandpa Joe noticed. “Got a girl waiting for you back home?”

“Me? No, no girls waiting,” I say. “Well, just one.”

“What’s her name?” Grandpa Joe asks.

“Mom,” I lie. “I didn’t tell my mom where I was going, and if she goes to pick me up at the party and finds out I’m here, she’s going to kill me.”

Grandpa Joe slaps my back, and I know he didn’t mean to, but it hurts.

“You shoulda said something, kid.” He laughs. “Whaddya waitin’ for? Let’s get outta here!”

Of course, no real fan would ever leave a game before the last out, and the diehard fans at Ebbets Field let us know just what they think about us, booing and hissing as we exit the stadium.

Back on the train, I grill Grandpa Joe about his life.

“How do you like Ridgefield Prep?”

“Is it tough hanging around all those rich kids all the time?”

“Do you ever eat at Mitchell’s Drive-In?”

“Are you going to ask Patty out on a date?”

“What will you be thinking when you step up to the plate for the first time as a New York Giant?”

“You should be a reporter, kid.” Grandpa Joe laughs. “Always with the questions.”

There’s just one question on my curious mind now, though. Can I stop Grandpa from dancing with Patty so he can finally get his shot at the big leagues?