There are some people I carry around with me. Always. At a recent Red Sox game, I sat with my family in the “Pavillion Club” above third base. During a quiet moment in the game, I looked across to see us sitting together, probably 40 or so years ago. There weren’t many seats up high back then, and there surely was no waitstaff, nor the money to afford $5.50 franks. On that summer day I made the hot dogs, Ten of them, I believe. With Guldens, wrapped individually in tin foil. I don’t remember the team or the score, just hanging with Mike G, a lifetime ago at Fenway Park.