‘Banjo Brown. See that empty seat a few rows down? He always sat there. Died there; ninety-two years old. No one sits there now. Banjo could have made the major league but he lost his left leg in a drive-by gang shooting. He wasn’t bitter, instead he mentored generations of youngsters; gang members, bullied kids, and the bullies. Taught them to play, gave them a purpose and turned their lives around. Watched every game from that seat.’
‘And the coach?’
‘His father fired the shot.’