He was back today…
11 Friday Jul 2014
Posted in Baseball
Category Archives: Baseball
A Giants hat is *not* an invitation?
08 Tuesday Jul 2014
Posted in Baseball
So there is this place I eat when I am tired of the better places I usually dine for lunch. Sometimes variety actually trumps quality.
I have noticed on several occasions the almost hidden existence of an elderly man near the back of this cafeteria of unexceptional options. As I wait in line for the sugar and oil disguised as Chinese food I often give over to an internal debate on this guy. Who is he? Why is he? Did he fight in the BIG ONE? Would he like company? If so, does that include my company?
Some days he’s there. Some days he’s not. I like it best when he’s there because this means the place isn’t completely occupied by college kids and the rare staffer. More importantly, on days he is there I am not the oldest person in the building.
A few months ago I did get a good look at him. He looked like the classic old man: white hair, declining posture, sparkling eyes, relaxed…and…and…. he was wearing a San Francisco Giants hat. Being a fan myself, it was clear that the marvelous brown hat was an open invitation to start a conversation. You just don’t see that many and it may be a while before you see one again. Surely, anyone wearing a Giants hat in Tennessee must be interesting and consequently interested in talking about the Giants.
But, I was in a hurry. And didn’t. And felt guilty. Because. Because I wasn’t really in that big of a hurry. And yeah, maybe he didn’t want somebody barging in during his lunch.
Next time. Sure, next time.
After a few days, ‘next time’ arrived. To my surprise, I actually did keep my prior promise to my conscience. I lumbered over and opened with: A Giants fan?
Old Man: Yes. My son lives in California and we go watch games.
More small talk, none of it giving me enough rope to climb up to the higher parts of a conversation. So I left, feeling for no real reason, dejected. Every single person I have seen wearing a Giants hat almost leaps forward towards enthusiastic chatter like Larry David spotting a Prius driver. I got the feeling the hat was more about his son than my favorite baseball team.
The next few visits yielded no sightings of old man. And believe me, he’s easy to spot. He’s the one not wearing yoga pants. I started wondering what everyone wonders when the elderly are no longer at their usual hangouts.
So today I schlepped myself to the low expectation lunch and there he was, with a cap, facing away from me. I thought I’d give it another go. As I walked in front of him I immediately noticed the stark lack of Giants propaganda on his aging coconut. Instead he had a new hat, which I suspect he wore for me, if not for all of us.
Written upon the front of it in bold letters: Do Not Disturb
I grabbed my well intentioned platter of food failure, sat down facing away from everyone, and read unimportant e-mail off of a pathetic little phone, never looking up.
The All-Star Game
07 Monday Jul 2014
Posted in Baseball
This was my favorite game of the year as a kid.
As an adult, my least favorite. I try to actively hide it from my brain.
I am trying to figure out why and am open for suggestions.
A Good Night for Baseball is Most Nights
04 Sunday May 2014
Posted in Baseball
Pence prepares to be heckled by a drunk kid with a sunburn.
Sometimes you just have to. You just have to drive 4 hours and go see a couple of games starring your supremo teamo, in my case the San Francisco Giants. The natural choice is Turner Field as a weekend trip to Atlanta is about $2,000 cheaper than a weekend jaunt the bay. Turner Field is a great place to see a game. Lots of room, it’s rarely cold in the early part of the season, and they don’t even sell it out when they are in a pennant race. As opposed, to say the Giants, who have sold out every home game since three years before the franchise was created.
I shelled out for a good ticket for the first game of two I will be seeing. Getting a single ticket can get you pretty close pretty late in the day. But, as it turns out, you have zero input on who sits
next to you. It’s a lottery and it doesn’t benefit higher education.
I shuffled down to my seat and waited to see who would show up. Before the game started they brought out about 20 former players from the Negro League for us to honor. Oh, that’s cool, one might think. All of us Ken Burns Doc watchers know the story and therefore it’s really fascinating to see some of the teams and players of yore. And then it hits you. CRAP, that was NOT that long ago the game we all love and treasure was freaking segregated. These guys are still out there and they don’t look *that* old.
The got a standing ovation from my section, so we were off to a good start.
Once the game began, it started. The non-stop, somewhat crude heckling of the Giants by the Braves fans. One guy in particular, let’s call him ‘red head sunburned college kid’- led the charge:
“PENCE, YOU SUCK!”
“PAGAN, SIT DOWN.”
“PABLO, THAT’S A DOUBLE A SWING YOU GOT THERE.”
Ok, that last one was funny and perhaps accurate.
It got louder. The kids down the row from him joined in. They were all stone drunk by the third inning, except for the kids, whom I suspect may have been at least trying to figure out a way to get there.
Sometimes this type of thing just crushes my zen. Why can’t they just let the game be about…oh…not themselves for a few minutes? Seconds? Please?
I was waiting for that magic moment when the drunks have too much to even heckle, and the kids get hoarse and bored. It came about the 7th inning. A few homers from the Giants also helped settle the mood. All the while, I was getting along fabulously with my row-mates, who were funny and much more selective hecklers. They made each pitch count.
It felt like perfection. The balance had arrived and the Giants had never been behind so I didn’t have that stress in the mix. Just watch ’em win and high five the other Giants fans (who treat each other like their favorite lost cousins) on the way to the beer stand.
The Braves didn’t rally. They sure tried. But LOUD RED HEAD SUNBURNED COLLEGE DUDE behind me did. He rallied in the bottom of the ninth, basically just screaming “ROMO!” like it was Kirk yelling the name of Khan. Also, more concerning, he turned on his own team, in particular Dan Uggla.
“I BELIEVE IN YOU DAN. I BELIEVE IN YOU!”
Pause.
“Not really.”
I laughed out loud at that one, why hold back?
Anyway, Romo finished off my favorite second team and the place got very quiet and humble. The drunk kid, to my astonishment- looked directly at me and said in the most dignified and sincere way possible: Congratulations on your team’s win tonight.
He, after all, had both class and manners- all hidden from sight behind the Bud-Lite bravado. But they were there, just waiting for him to inhale for a second. He loved the game every bit as much as the studious guy behind him with the program glued to his face.
We all had a great time. In our own way.
Sometimes it all meshes. Some nights are perfect for baseball. Most nights.
Baseball During Work Hours, part 1
12 Saturday Apr 2014
Posted in Baseball
The weather forecast read PERFECT, so I got the day off and headed down for the Tennessee Smokies day game, located conveniently off exit 407. The pre-noon start time was a bit puzzling, but I was intrigued just the same.
With good weather secured, I engaged the fantasy plan on the drive down: I’d get a great seat, close, down the first base line. Maybe not directly behind the dugout, but a row back from that. This way, a line foul would decapitate the person in front of me and still allow me to catch it, the ball being slowed down and all. I don’t collect autographs, so I don’t need the ‘hassle the guys working’ seating location of directly behind the dugout. Also, since this was my day off, I’d allow myself a nice cool beer to with a pretzel chaser. Being the reasonable type, I’d wait until after noon, or the third inning, whichever came first.
.A day game on a weekday would almost certainly assure me the best seat in the house, perhaps with nobody next to me on either side. And an aisle seat, well, of course an isle seat. The best part of the plan was that it would be easy to execute. But, Steed, be safe, check the schedule for crazy themes that attract people who love themes but hate baseball. Relief. The schedule indicated the theme of the day was ‘health and safety’- and if that didn’t drive away the causal fan, I don’t know what else would.
As I pulled into the very short line outside of the stadium, a quick glance to the left turned up a lot of yellow. A LOT OF YELLOW. YES, THAT KIND OF NOT-SUNSHINE YELLOW. Oh, I see, this is where Sevier County Schools probably park their busses while the kids are studying away. Except these buses were from many counties. Uh oh. I schlepped toward the ticket booth with dread. They didn’t have to tell me, I could hear FIVE THOUSAND SCREAMING FOURTH GRADERS. WITH GOOD SEATS.
While I waited in line, the blaring pre-show entertainment was definitely geared towards those who have yet to bathe in the existence of algebra and prom.
When I got to the front of the line, the ticket lady looked at me with deep pity before I asked the inevitable question.
“What seats are left?”
“Bleacher. Only. And the berm.”
I took my nine-dollar ticket and kept walking until I was almost to the right field fence. But, wait- this seat is…kinda…cool. I am right in front of the bullpen. I’m in the sun. Nobody beside me. No kids, except the polite ones six rows behind me, not even in line of sight. The players are chatting with us. They…like us? They like us! THESE ARE AWESOME SEATS. I WIN, I WIN. MY FANTASY WAS DESTROYED BUT AT THE SAME TIME, REVEALED TO ME WAS THE TRUE NATURE OF THE UNIVERSE.
And that nature is: Be happy you got a seat, asshole.
Hank’s Homer and the Wisdom of 7th Graders
08 Tuesday Apr 2014
Tags
I was thirteen when Hank Aaron hit #715, breaking Babe’s famous home run record. I was rooting for him and rooting hard. I was either too stupid or too distracted to really notice the simple fact that Hank was black and Babe was white- and that that simple fact would scare racists enough to threaten Hank’s life over this event.
I guess if you are stupid enough to be a violent racist then you are stupid enough to be threatened by a guy hitting a ball over a fence. If those anonymous threat senders could have just visited my 7th grade class at Bearden Junior High they would have seen that it was actually COOL somebody just four hours down the road broke the home run record. Something to celebrate. Something to brag about.
I celebrate it now, 40 years after hearing it happen on the radio. It still sounds amazing. And the hidden voices that tried to silence him into quitting are lost in the faint declining echoes of ignorance.
God Bless America, back to the bench? (The Pretzel Conspiracy)
24 Monday Mar 2014
Posted in Baseball
The New York Yankees can and should keep God Bless America in their rotation. There is a history there, a profound one at that. That’s plenty of of chances to catch a plethora of performances of said song for one year. Agree? Kate Smith, we love ya, but the saturation point has arrived. About six years ago.
I don’t know how to start a movement on this topic without being accused of being an un-patriotic heathen. But it’s not about that- it’s just not that good of a song. Not one I want to hear EVERY SINGLE GAME. Plus, there is already a perfect song for the 7th inning stretch. More worrisome, I got a cold glare at Jet Blue for not taking my hat off for that particular number. Dear Lee Greenwood fan: according to my records, this is a (historical/tired) pop song and not an anthem. If we start this kind of trend, where will it end? With everyone removing their sandals for Sweet Caroline?
I’ve noticed a lot of parks are quietly dropping this gem from the lineup. I submit to you that this is clear, cultural progress. And, if they don’t drop it, fine. That’s just one more Bavarian pretzel opportunity for me.
Hmmm….maybe that’s why they play it in first place. Anyone got a copy of the the 2014 Pretzel Sales Prospectus? I got theory going on, here.
For your dining and dancing pleasure…
24 Monday Mar 2014
Posted in Baseball
The Twins win it all!
24 Monday Mar 2014
Posted in Baseball
The Minnesota Twins may not win the most ball games in the Grapefruit league this year. And, if you take a quick and painful look at the stats you will see they do not indicate an outstanding upcoming season. But, my friends, I’ll tell you where they leave every other team in the dirt: The pre-game music at Hammond Stadium is unparralled.
I’ve been to most of the Grapefruit stadiums. The proud Boston Red Sox offer nauseating doses of ‘new country’ hits that will be forgotten by the 8th inning of tonight’s game. They also have a live band playing the HITS, which constantly blend in a uniquely unappealing way with the house music. The Astros have some decent rap going on. The Yankees offer their charming but possibly dentist-visit-anxiety-level-inducing traveling piano music, Musicale Mark- who obviously listens to Monk, so points there.
But the Twins are spot on. I suspect one person, a person they should never fire or let retire, chooses it all. And this DJ was wise to choose one long era of music, 1962-1978- which, to be honest, was a tad bit new for many of the folks sitting in my row.
The on-base percentage of the selections was around 98%. Booker T and the Mg’s, Stax hits, Muscle Shoals marvels, that Steve Miller song you had forgotten, Eddie Money, the better disco songs, CCR, Louis Armstrong and beyond. And what they LEAVE OUT is even more impressive: Brown Eyed Girl, No Woman/No Cry, American Pie, New Country, Sweet Home Alabama, Midnight Hour and the rest of the overplayed chestnuts most of us have long since pushed the I-can’t-handle-it button on.
I do suspect this DJ went to my high school and spent most of his time out in the parking lot listening to this stuff on 8-track and possibly smoking things that would become legal in their lifetime, about 25 years after they quit smoking them.
It was the perfect soundtrack for a great, beautiful night of baseball. So, DJ whom I will never know, thank you- and please offer your services as quickly as possible to your Beantown neighbors.
Smells Like Spring Training- or, Why Does It Hurt When I Peek?
17 Monday Mar 2014
Posted in Baseball
As the Subaru pushes across the Florida state line, I immediately turn on the air conditioner to make a point. I am here. Baseball is here. You are there. And you are cold.
What could be more American than driving a Japanese car down I-75, Springsteen cranked, cruise control set to an illegal number, Cracker Jacks all over the floorboard- all the while moving closer to the dream/mission/odyssey to be physically present at seven spring training matchups that mean nothing, yet promise everything?
Springsteen encored with Born To Run about the time I slogged into my hotel. I am staying at the stadium-friendly Holiday Inn Express so I can walk to the game. No parking rip-off buzz-kill, please. Not on the FIRST one. Let me be ripped off by the five-dollar pretzel, instead.
The breakfast room is packed full of boisterous Yankees fans, of which I am not. Neither a fan, nor boisterous. I have been alone for the last 20 hours and the sheer volume of even one Yankee fan is deafening. WHERE ARE THE DAMN SPOONS? WHO IS IN CHARGE OF SPOONS?
I see a lone Braves fan in the corner just sitting there being polite and nursing a biscuit or three. Well, I think I’ll go right over there and just say hello. I don’t.
Covered in dangerous layer of chemicals we call sunscreen (yeah, I get the irony, that’s why I put it in there), I hustle down whatever-the-name-of-this-long-street is towards BASEBALL ITSELF, in this case, in the physical form of George Steinbrenner Field. The Yankee propaganda is as omnipresent as it is accurate. I know a lot of folks, many of whom I admire, HATE this team. Hate A-rod. Hate the pinstripes. Hate the payroll numbers. Hate the loud breakfast eaters. Well, I hate the pinstripes- but I can’t hate this team. I love baseball too much to despise a group of men that sweat it out all year to make it happen for me.
And let’s be honest, Tanaka, who is pitching today, is a joy to watch- the very essence of a master pitcher. And Jeter, who is still in Panama at the moment, is a basic all-around-hero to anyone who truly loves decent human beings with superhuman skills. But yeah, OK, I still hope the Braves pound the overpaid Yankees into the dirt in a way that will leave the fans quiet, humble and sad at Holiday Inn Express dinner buffet.
Hate, no. Enjoy watching emotional pain, yes.
I do my traditional pre-game scuttle around the circumference of the park, except you can’t do that here. So I stop at the last place you can go, the Walgreen’s Deck/Bar (YES, it’s called THAT) and then freeze, stare blankly, and then turn around like Forest Gump when he reaches the California Coast. This is followed by the secondary traditions: the pretzel, the gift shop visit to scoff at the orange and white NY hat, and the mandatory inspection of what must be the most narrow bathroom stalls in all of stadium-hood. And taking in the unmistakeable baseball smells, all of ’em. The good, the bat, and the Uggla. But mostly just the hot dogs. Why do they only smell magical HERE?
Finally, I settle into my seat and size up the folks in my row. All acceptable- a nice mix of nerds, former jocks who don’t know they are former jocks, chatty commentators with a 2.89 IRA (interesting/realistic average) , passionate fans of both teams, and even the dad who seems to continually belittle his youngest son for being barely interested- and for, well, having the attention span of a six-year-old. Let me know how that works out for you 11 years from now, pops.
The Yankees fans in row C-217 look wealthier and more confident, the Braves fans look more relaxed and gregarious. So, we could call it a draw except that Braves fans, impossible not to notice in such warm weather, have bigger breasts. And that’s not just the men, the women, too.
Turning the observations towards the guy sitting my seat, he seems to know more about the players and their stats than anyone else. This gives me a sizeable crumb of pride, but mostly just freaks me out. Just a year or two ago, I was dead last in that category in most rows I sat in. In fact, last spring training I was shamed by a Phillies housewife who had to point out who Evan Gattis was. She even knew his Spanish name.
Being newly in love with the actual stats, insights and details, I will spare you those now. A quick summary, though: The game made us all happy, even the losers. Tanaka was brilliant. There is your take-a-way: Bet your granny’s retirement money on Tanaka.
And the score? The Braves were losing by the 7th inning stretch. But losing doesn’t matter here, right? Then why does it hurt when I peek at the scoreboard?
Several fair-weather, sunburned fans took the stretch opportunity to shyly scoot out to their air-conditioned SUV’s and semi-fancy hotels. I followed them to make sure they got out OK.
Berm's Eye View: A baseball outsider looks out 