THE SOUND OF SUMMER:

On that Saturday night, my grandfather built a campfire outside the cabin. He brought a portable radio outside, and together we sat and listened to Game Six of the World Series.

We were lucky: That was one of the best games of one of the best World Series ever played -- the "worst to first" championship between the Minnesota Twins and Atlanta Braves, both of whom had arrived in the playoffs after finishing in last place in their respective divisions the previous year. My grandfather and I sat, not talking much -- he wasn't always a talker -- and listened as Game 6 went the distance, moved into extra innings, and then finally ended in the 11th, when Minnesota's Kirby Puckett hit a home run off Atlanta's Charlie Leibrandt.

The Twins went on to win the championship the next night, but that hardly matters. What I got out of that night was my favorite-ever shared moment with my grandfather, a moment both thrilling and bucolic. We went inside, our clothes smelling of smoke, and ever since I've preferred baseball on the radio.

Tweet   @brothersjudd