Ken Boyer's stylish flat top haircut

and ski instructorish red turtlenecked inner shirt

were mined from the first two packs of cards I ever bought.

The best third baseman in the National League

had just finished a .329 season

which impressed me not one whit.

Didn't know brother Clete
 
was the AL gold glover at third,

or Cloyd was Card pitcher in the early 50's;

Boyer reminded me of Barbie's Ken.

2 years later, increased baseball knowledge

showed my great luck picking a hero.

Ken and the Cards whirlwinded to a pennant

after most of the year in different area code.

You'll never guess who tagged Mel Stottlemyre

for a game winning Series grand slam,

who heard it on car radio
 
headed home after Sunday lunch,

or who was voted that year's National League MVP.

A man with doll's first name climbed Mount Everest.

After 4 painfully unproductive seasons

sliding down his career's backside,

Boyer masterminded dugouts minor and major.

Sometime in the late seventies,

hearing Jack Buck call Lou Brock's 3000th,

the event struck me as cosmic perfection;

twin howitzers of the 64 Series

were reunited as player and manager.

Ken didn't last much longer at baseball or life.

Reading that cancer finished him,

reflexed a rolled back personal highlight film

to a chubby kid unfamiliar with paying taxes,

working for a living,

the horrors of first grade,

or identifying with ballplaying role models

working mom for a quarter in the summer of  1962.