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It has been more than 56 years since W. Hobart Millsaps pulled his son out of class, and it remains one of Bill Millsaps‘ fondest memories. It has been more than 50 years since my father took a half-day off from work to greet me as I got home from school so we could watch his beloved Dodgers — by then located in Los Angeles — play the Yankees (and sweep that Series). It remains one of my fondest memories.

If you had the right teacher at school, he or she might turn on the TV during the game (with the sound down low). Those who didn’t have the right teacher would beg friends who did to find a way to slip out of class and convey the score with hand signals.

Even when Dad wasn’t home waiting for you, you would sprint from the bus to your house to catch the last few innings. That became a sport in itself.

A couple of generations before that, people used to stand in the streets by the local newspaper office. As every half-inning finished, someone would hang a number on a makeshift scoreboard. Go to any library in most any major league town and check out the photo archives. Crowds to rival Times Square on New Year’s Eve would stand for hours, waiting on those numbers.

People who didn’t know anything about baseball kept up with the World Series. That much may still be the same.

Yes, the world has changed for the better in the past 50 years, in more ways than it is possible to count. But not in all ways. The World Series remains cool. I just liked it better when it was old-school cool.