And so we approach that time of year when we’re reminded yet again that baseball is a veil of tears, one that is unlikely to ever fully lift in our lifetimes. We get but a fleeting glimpse or two of the heavens above, before the shroud descends again. Fall is upon us, and the boys of summer will soon be gone. One, #39, is already gone in body (goodnight, sweet prince), the other, #22, is gone in spirit. We are not long to follow.