How many times did a grade-school Anthony Volpe dream of this moment, lying in his childhood bed an hour southwest of Yankee Stadium, Yankees posters covering his walls, Yankees mailbox at the end of the driveway, Yankees game on the radio? How often did he imagine striding to the plate in a World Series game, two outs, bases loaded, winter one loss away, and coming through, clobbering a ball into the left field stands?
He grins. “Probably every night,” he says.
