Sometimes it seemed that the entire subtext of our game was self-knowledge. Like Bernie Allen taking batting practice. A former college quarterback and all-around athlete, he stroked liners — like 100-yard clotheslines — the way golfers hit tee shots. In games his swing was still ideal. Model stance. Wore No. 7, just like Mickey Mantle. Unfortunately, all eight fielders were positioned by the gods in exactly the spots to which Allen’s swing tended to direct the ball. He hit ‘em where they were. Year after year. If tough-luck line-outs to right center were hits, his career average would be .339 instead of .239. Bernie Allen taught me that when good effort is met with repeated failure, that isn’t bad luck. And it doesn’t mean that, deep down, you’re winning. It means that, deep down, you haven’t figured out the goddamn game.