Eight People You Meet at the Ol' Ball Game

Peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and these exceptional human beings, included in the high price of admission to a stadium near you.

MY GOLDEN AGE as a baseball fan was the late 1980s, when I lived a mile from Wrigley Field, and the Cubs were fielding—surprise!—decent teams. I was an editor at Playboy magazine at the time, but one afternoon I ditched the grind of interviewing Playmates and editing John Updike to occupy row seven behind the Cubs’ dugout, as the North Siders faced Cinc…