A fan's comment 1 This email is similar to other mean letters I received in some ways. It lashed out at my comments on the Los Angeles Dodgers, thinking that I was completely wrong. However, this comment is different from other comments in at least two ways. Unlike the usual comment "You are an idiot", this comment contains more details. It contains the key data of team performance. The person who wrote this review knows as much about the Los Angeles Dodgers as I think. And this comment is signed. The author's name is Sarah? Morris. I was deeply moved, so I wrote back to her. I didn't expect this letter to lead to an unusual exchange. May I ask you a question? I have been running my Dodgers website for two years. How did you become a baseball review columnist? This is my dream. This is Sarah's second email, and its arrival is not unexpected at all. Every time I smile at someone, they ask me for a job. But another thing caught my attention. This is a spelling mistake in the last line of the letter, which is about "My Dream". Maybe Sarah is a poor typist. But maybe she is really looking for a goal, but she hasn't found it yet. It was worth writing to her again, so I asked her to explain. I am 30 years old. ..... Because of my disability, it took me five years to finish junior college and get my diploma. ..... In the baseball season, I spend an average of 55 hours a week writing reports, commenting, doing research, listening to or watching games. 10 Sarah called her website "Dodge Land". I searched and found nothing. Later, I reread her email and found that there was an address at the bottom of her email, 1 1. I clicked on the address. The website is not fancy. But she reported the team in detail with the seriousness of the writer. However, I still can't help but ask, is anyone watching? 12: No one has ever signed my visitor register. I get a letter every month. 13 So, this is a physically disabled woman. She covers the Dodgers as widely as any American journalist, but she writes for an almost unknown website. The name of the website is very strange and difficult to remember. There are about two readers. 14 I think what she lacked in that dream was far more than a spelling letter R. I set up my own website, hoping to find a job. But bad luck. Because I type with a stick tied to my head, the highest typing speed is 8 words per minute, but what does it matter? Good brain, very focused work. This is the key to success. 16 Typing with a stick tied to your head? 17 I asked her how long it would take to finish her usual 400-word article. 18 three to four hours. 19 I did something online that I had never done with a stranger. I asked Sarah? Morris called me. 2 1 I have difficulty in speaking and can't use the phone. This proves my suspicion. This is obviously an elaborate scam. This so-called female writer is probably a 45-year-old male plumber. I decided to end my correspondence with this person. But just then, I received another email. My disability is cerebral palsy. ..... it affects the control of muscles and nerves. ..... When my brain tells my hand to hit the key, I will move my leg, hit the table, and hit the other six keys at the same time in the process. When my mother explained my disability, she told me that if I worked three times harder than others, I could achieve anything I wanted. She wrote that growing up in Pasadena, she became a Dodgers fan. When she was a sophomore at Blair High School, the coach of a junior baseball team asked her to be a team statistician. She did it with a typewriter and a stick tied to her head. She said that because of her relationship with baseball, she was able to stay at school, although her grades were poor, and her neck ached for several hours of homework every day. Baseball has given me a goal to strive for … I can do things that other children can't … I want to do something to give me so many baseballs. Yes, that's how I trust her. Sort of a letter. Who can report a baseball team without the best equipment and help, as she said? I was curious, so I asked her if I could drive to see her. She agreed and told me the way in detail, which mentioned the dirt roads and nameless streets in the country. I drove east through the wilderness of Texas. I saw a house that looked like an old tool shed on a winding dirt road full of holes the size of small animals. 3 1 but this is not a tool shed, it is a house, a decaying hut surrounded by tall weeds and waste. Is this the place on the 32nd? A woman in an old T-shirt and skirt came out of the hut. I'm Sarah's mother, Roy? Morris said, holding my smooth hand with her rough hand. "She is waiting for you." I walked in from the sun, opened a tattered screen door, and walked into the dark shed, with an 87-pound body curled up in a wheelchair. She twisted her limbs. Her head turned around. We can't hug or even shake hands. She can only look at me with wide eyes and smile at me. But her smile is full of light! It penetrated the dark space surrounded by broken wooden floors, old recliners and cobweb-covered windows. I couldn't bear to look at anything else, so I just stared at her smile, which was so clear and confident that it even swept away most of my doubts. But I still have to ask, is this Sarah? Morris? She sat in a wheelchair and began to tremble, making a sound in her mouth. I thought she was coughing. But in fact, she was talking. Her mother translated for her. "I want to show you something." Sarah said. 4 1 Roy pushed her to an old desk on a coal ash brick. There is a computer on the desk. Next to the computer is a TV set. Her mother tied a small stick to her daughter's temple. Sarah was lying on her computer, using a stick tied to her head to call up a report on Dodge Land's website. She began to read the words and sentences in the report carefully. She looked up at me and giggled. I looked down at her, full of surprise and shame. Is this really Sarah? Morris. This great Sarah? Morris. Sarah and I met a few months ago. Morris wanted to fight her when he contacted her. Now, watching her struggling to write an article in this dark room, maybe no one reads it at all, I understand what this battle is all about. However, this battle is not with Sarah, but with myself. This battle is exactly the same as what sports are experiencing every day in today's cynical era. That is to believe that athletes can still struggle bravely. In a place far away from such doubts, a Sarah with a magical mind? Morris helped me win back my trust.