THE HOUR had grown late, and the All-Star Game had yet to see a Phillie appear, when R. noticed that Fox had cut to the National League’s bullpen, where Cliff Lee was warming up.

As the fourth inning ended, long past her bedtime, I looked to R., already fading on the love seat, and said, “You want to see Cliff pitch?”

She answered with a nod and a smile.

R. didn’t last the inning, soon bowing out for bed. She’ll be dragging ass today, but that’s okay. This was the All-Star Game, and when you get a chance to let your favorite baseball fan see one of her hometown players play, you take it. No matter what the clock says.

She’ll forget about how tired she was today. But I hope she remembers that her dad, channeling his own memories of Schmidt and Carlton and the Midsummer Classic, gave her a few special minutes late one July evening. | DL