In a green hoodie — hoodie down, naturally — and worn blue jeans that whispered of a thousand casual Fridays, Randy Gregg eased into the Remax Field lounge Friday afternoon with the calm authority of a man who has lived more lives than most. He paused, ever so slightly, and his eyes — those seasoned, calculating, caring doctor’s eyes — drifted toward deep centre field.

Deep centre field. Always.

It’s where every baseball player looks first, no matter his age or station, because that patch of emerald expanse holds the purest truth of the game.

It’s the sanctuary of success, where thunderous swings turn physics into poetry, and where outfielders, chasing shadows and hope, dive into immortality.

Gregg found a table of three, sat down for three hours of storytelling and of community, all c

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