It was a strange time, 1990. "The Simpsons" were on the air, an out-of-touch Massachusetts politician was fighting for relevancy, a man who couldn't spell "potato" was one breath away from the presidency, and Jose Canseco was trying his hardest to look like a idiot to anyone who would pay attention to him.
In this age of M.C. Hammer parachute pants, Axl Rose whistle-solos, and the long, flowing, luxurious... golden... taste-of-heaven locks of Michael Bolton, one man saw a glaring need among the country's baseball fans. It was a pre-internet world. Cell phones were still reserved for the Gordon Gecko's and Zack Morris's of the world, and even cable television was a luxury for most of the nation. If a Reds fan, for example, was living in Seattle and wanted to know how that day's Jose Rijo/Frank Viola match-up was going, he had little choice but to wait until the next day's paper to see the results. If he was lucky, he might have one of tho...
Original Story:
