Photo by Robert Burroughs Archie Moore, 1985. The swimming pool in the shape of a boxing glove is empty now, and I-15 traffic rumbles constantly alongside Moore’s weedy lot.
Caught looking.
Tony Gwynn sat in a canvas-backed chair and peered into the wooden cubicle in front of him. “What’s in my locker?” he asked, repeating the question that had been posed to him. “Well, here’s a rubber stamp that says “Tony Gwynn’ on it. I’ve never used it. Here’s a ball of putty that I squeezed to strengthen my arm when I hurt it earlier this year. And here’s a media guide from the All-Star game. Other than that,” he said, scanning the walls and shelves of the locker, “I’ve just got the usual bats, gloves, underwear, and shoes.”