I know that Ray was sitting up there somewhere...in his recliner that he only reclined in when the leg pain became too much...with a bag of those jellied Orange Slices on his lap...with some root beer and a bag of radishes (with salt shaker and old paring knife, of course) on his side table...yelling, "Nail 'em to the cross!" as I sat on the floor next to him, alternating stares between my hero and the game.
Those times remind me of a great line from Hemingway's "Indian Camp":
"In the early morning on the lake sitting in the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure that he would never die."
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