“I love you,” Doug said to me. “I love you, too,” I answered before we pushed the red hang-up buttons on our iPhones at the end of our weekly call. My wife gave me a funny look, as she did weekly, at the affectionate way we always concluded our conversations. I suspect his wife did, too. Doug has been my best friend since 1980, when we played Little League baseball together in Providence, Rhode Island. His team, which had yellow uniforms, was coached by a rough guy who would line the boys up