By Ross Newhan
Connie and I celebrated our 44th anniversary Friday, although I'm not sure celebrate is the right word.
I spent a large part of the evening working the phones in pursuit of developments in the Dodger bidding while Connie watched television.
Those 44years have pretty much inured her to life with a baseball writer who has yet to learn the meaning of retirement.
We met at an Anaheim restaurant (and bar, of course) after I had covered an Angel game, and she met my parents for the first time at Anaheim Stadium, left to introduce herself, while I was down in the dugout or up in the press box.
While I was traveling with the Angels or Dodgers or cussing at the computer with the door shut to our home office, she raised Sara and David, got them to their various activities, made dinner (at least once in awhile), paid the bills, prepared the taxes and let me know when there was a special occasion that this time I just had to attend.
Were there times when she lost it, deservedly so. Of course, but I just wanted to take a minute and spread the word, now that we're working on our next 44, that I love her, appreciate her and recognize that she has been the foundation of these four-plus decades.
I mean, she has made a remarkable adjustment after dreaming, as a young girl, of marrying Sandy Koufax.
No one could have a better friend, even though she rammed into my new convertible wheeling out of the garage the other day.
What marriage hasn't experienced a little scrape of one kind or another?
Connie has made Newhan on Baseball--all of it--possible, and tonight (Saturday) we are attending a party where our anniversary and friends' birthdays will be properly celebrated. I'll leave the Dodger story to my former colleague, Bill Shaikin, at The Times. Bill has been on top of it from the start. No one could have done a better job.
However, I am quite sure that before we get in the car Connie will remind me to take my cell--just so I can check on developments once or twice.