And suddenly I was 12 and back on West 7th Street and Avenue T, playing stick ball with Paulie, Ugo, and Pino. And we were arguing about whether Paulie’s shot was a hit or a foul and to stop the fighting, Ugo yells “Do over!” and just like that, all is forgiven, all is forgotten. It’s not an out. It’s not a foul. It’s not a hit. Do over.