Every night, as a kid, I listened to the Reds on 700 WLW. Every night. Without fail.
Some nights, particularly those when the Reds played teams on the west coast, my parents would tell me to go to bed round about the sixth or seventh inning, just as things were getting good.
“Awww, Mom! Come on! Eric Davis is up first next inning. Can’t I just stay up till then?”
“No. Bedtime. Get upstairs.”
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