Tuesday, September 6, 2016
Back into The Wind
When the city feels like suburb
When the concrete seems like a sprawl
When an inch between you and me seems like the width of a turnpike
I'd break my knuckles to go back to 1982
When I , scared of vampires, lay awake on summer nights
While the breeze blew from the backyard window and the midnight blue wind tickled the trees.
Can you, old night blue wind, with ocean ripples, and infinite size, take me back there?
And Can you take me into Fall,
when all the kids wore new blue jeans and carried new denim blue binders?
Friday, May 10, 2013
Tonight in Kansas City
It's Friday night in early May and the Yankees are in first place. In a few minutes, the Yankees begin a 3 game series in Kansas City with an old nemesis. This nemesis(the Kansas City Royals) happens to be playing very well... like old times.
From the mid '70's through the mid '80's, KC was top of the class, nothing like the dreadful Royal teams of recent years. Amos Otis roamed the outfield turf with grace and dominance. Big John Mayberry swatted home runs. Before he was ripping apart offices, Hal McCrae,(the greatest DH who ever lived. Forget Edgar and Papi) drove in runs with relentless efficiency. Pitchers Steve Busby, Paul Splittorf, Dennis Leonard and Larry Gura carved up opponents with workman like skill. Frank White won gold glove after gold glove. Freddie Patek and then U.L. Washington-and his toothpick -played competently alongside the brilliant White. Willie Mays Aikens shined. Willie Wilson slashed 230 hits one year, stole 1,000 bases and had like 50 triples and 30 inside the park homers, at least that's what it seemed like to a nine year old. And don't forget about the Quiz, Dan Quisenberry. He had his comeuppance in 1980 and was one of the best closers around.
Above all, there was George Brett, one of the most notorious Yankee killers to ever swing a bat. When my mom saw his '78 card in my hand, the one with the profile of him chewing tobacco, she said 'who's that?" like she thought he was hot. George Brett was poised to destroy the Yankees, conquer New York City, and take my mother from me.
The Kansas City Royals won their first division title in 1976 and lost to the Yankees in the 5th and deciding game of the ALCS. This was the Chambliss game. This was the game where the great Brett hit a three run homer to tie the game in the 8th inning in Yankee Stadium. The Royals won their second division title the following year and again lost the 5th and deciding game to the Yankees. This time they took a 3-1 lead into the eighth and a 3-2 lead into the 9th. Freddie Patek cried in the dugout. KC won their third consecutive division title in 1978 and lost in 4 games to the Yankees in the ALCS. The great Brett had 3 home runs in one game but it wasn't enough. Three straight cracks at the Yankees in the American League Championship, three crushing defeats.
In the record books, the Royals' crowning achievement is their 1985 World Championship. But for me, it's George Brett's devastating three run homer off Goose Gossage in game 3 of the 1980 ALCS that sent the Royals past the Yankees(finally!) and into the World Series. Luckily, I didn't see this heartbreaking blast. I fell asleep in front of a little black and white TV somewhere around the fourth inning. The last thing I remember is Bucky Dent hustling toward the dugout after making a play to retire the side. I think the Yankees were ahead 1-0. When I woke up the next morning I asked my older brother about the game.
"Didn't see," is what I thought he'd him said
"I'll call sports phone," I said.
But then he repeated himself. I heard him that time. "KC'" he said. Ouch. I hated that evil heartbreaker, George Brett, and his Royals
The Yankees I loved when I came into baseball consciousness were certainly bad asses, especially in '77 and '78. The Bronx Zoo , led by Billy Martin and then Bob Lemon , Thurman, Mick the Quick, Reggie, Gator, Nettles, Sweet Lou, Willie, Goose, Sparky, Bucky, Catfish and Figgie, brought glory back to the Bronx. But even the most ardent of the midnight blue bloods can appreciate, respect, tip a hat, and acknowledge the bad assness of those Royals that admirably challenged the Yankees and then finally took them down.
Baseball keeps on going. The world is full of garbage and flowers, monumental shifts of hope and dread, inspiration, doom, catastrophe, mind boggling advancement, innovation, and wonder.
Baseball is a game that allows us fans to be boys, of course, to dream little dream slivers, to recollect good and great old days, to smell fresh grass, to hope even as we dread and fade and pass through life, even as all kinds of nonsense tarnishes this great, great game.
This summer, maybe the Royal
ball-club will rise again and poke its nose into the Yankees business. Maybe tonight in Kansas City, and maybe this October, a great rivalry will reemerge.
From the mid '70's through the mid '80's, KC was top of the class, nothing like the dreadful Royal teams of recent years. Amos Otis roamed the outfield turf with grace and dominance. Big John Mayberry swatted home runs. Before he was ripping apart offices, Hal McCrae,(the greatest DH who ever lived. Forget Edgar and Papi) drove in runs with relentless efficiency. Pitchers Steve Busby, Paul Splittorf, Dennis Leonard and Larry Gura carved up opponents with workman like skill. Frank White won gold glove after gold glove. Freddie Patek and then U.L. Washington-and his toothpick -played competently alongside the brilliant White. Willie Mays Aikens shined. Willie Wilson slashed 230 hits one year, stole 1,000 bases and had like 50 triples and 30 inside the park homers, at least that's what it seemed like to a nine year old. And don't forget about the Quiz, Dan Quisenberry. He had his comeuppance in 1980 and was one of the best closers around.
Above all, there was George Brett, one of the most notorious Yankee killers to ever swing a bat. When my mom saw his '78 card in my hand, the one with the profile of him chewing tobacco, she said 'who's that?" like she thought he was hot. George Brett was poised to destroy the Yankees, conquer New York City, and take my mother from me.
The Kansas City Royals won their first division title in 1976 and lost to the Yankees in the 5th and deciding game of the ALCS. This was the Chambliss game. This was the game where the great Brett hit a three run homer to tie the game in the 8th inning in Yankee Stadium. The Royals won their second division title the following year and again lost the 5th and deciding game to the Yankees. This time they took a 3-1 lead into the eighth and a 3-2 lead into the 9th. Freddie Patek cried in the dugout. KC won their third consecutive division title in 1978 and lost in 4 games to the Yankees in the ALCS. The great Brett had 3 home runs in one game but it wasn't enough. Three straight cracks at the Yankees in the American League Championship, three crushing defeats.
In the record books, the Royals' crowning achievement is their 1985 World Championship. But for me, it's George Brett's devastating three run homer off Goose Gossage in game 3 of the 1980 ALCS that sent the Royals past the Yankees(finally!) and into the World Series. Luckily, I didn't see this heartbreaking blast. I fell asleep in front of a little black and white TV somewhere around the fourth inning. The last thing I remember is Bucky Dent hustling toward the dugout after making a play to retire the side. I think the Yankees were ahead 1-0. When I woke up the next morning I asked my older brother about the game.
"Didn't see," is what I thought he'd him said
"I'll call sports phone," I said.
But then he repeated himself. I heard him that time. "KC'" he said. Ouch. I hated that evil heartbreaker, George Brett, and his Royals
The Yankees I loved when I came into baseball consciousness were certainly bad asses, especially in '77 and '78. The Bronx Zoo , led by Billy Martin and then Bob Lemon , Thurman, Mick the Quick, Reggie, Gator, Nettles, Sweet Lou, Willie, Goose, Sparky, Bucky, Catfish and Figgie, brought glory back to the Bronx. But even the most ardent of the midnight blue bloods can appreciate, respect, tip a hat, and acknowledge the bad assness of those Royals that admirably challenged the Yankees and then finally took them down.
Baseball keeps on going. The world is full of garbage and flowers, monumental shifts of hope and dread, inspiration, doom, catastrophe, mind boggling advancement, innovation, and wonder.
Baseball is a game that allows us fans to be boys, of course, to dream little dream slivers, to recollect good and great old days, to smell fresh grass, to hope even as we dread and fade and pass through life, even as all kinds of nonsense tarnishes this great, great game.
This summer, maybe the Royal
ball-club will rise again and poke its nose into the Yankees business. Maybe tonight in Kansas City, and maybe this October, a great rivalry will reemerge.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Dirt and Dollars This holiday Season
Seems like there’s at least two ways to generate revenue using nothing but dirt; serve it up as a collectible for the filthy rich, and hold it out as a last desperate hope for the dirt poor. Coming soon under a Christmas tree near you if you are nice and not naughty, and if someone wants to shell out $249, either out of genuine kindness(I can’t see how), some subtly suggestive ill-will on the part of someone who can waste $twofiddy,( more likely; take your pick on dirt metaphors and symbols) or a spirited episode of bipolar Christmas madness(is there any other kind?), there just might be, courtesy of the world's gold standard of journalistic integrity, a box, but not just any ordinary box. No, this “handsome wood box, exclusive to the NY Times, includes capsules of game used dirt(that is not a misprint) from every major league baseball stadium. That’s right, hallowed ground from all 16 National(soon to be fifteen; the Houston Astros are moving to the American League West in 2013. I couldn’t help myself} and 14(soon to be 15) American League ballparks. Including baseball shrines like Yankee Stadium (with its storied three year history), Wrigley Field, Dodger Stadium and Fenway Park. A must have for any baseball fan, especially those who attend games around the country. It even comes with a card with fun facts and checkboxes to mark off ballparks you have visited. The exquisite, handcrafted box features a drawer to store old tickets and other memorabilia. The box’s inside lid is burnished with a U.S. map showing locations of stadiums. Each capsule has a team logo and stands in a foam cutout. Comes with a Steiner Sports certificate of authenticity. 8.5” x .8 x 4 – brass hinges, clasp and drawer pull, capsules 1 5/8 in diameter and a quarter inch thick. (Memorabilia shown in drawer photo do not come with the box) (Darn! That Rod Carew card they oh-so-casually tossed in there had me thinking….) made in Brooklyn(where, presumably, they know a thing or two about game-used dirt.) Starts shipping December 9th. (Better hurry).
Dirt and Dollars This Holiday Season, part deux
Right around the same time The Times, journalistic paragon of the world, ran its baseball dirt for sale add, RockCenter, the MSNBC TV program hosted by Brian Williams, aired a show called “A Poisonous Mix: Child Labor, Mercury and Artisanal Gold Mining in Mali,” on the topic of child artisanal gold mine workers in Mali. There are, according to this show, 20,000 kids working the mines of Africa’s third largest gold producer. The conditions are horridly dangerous for children of all ages who strike at rock with pickaxes, lug around big bags of ore, and are exposed to harmful levels of mercury. Needless to say, this kind of work is not for the kiddies. They are at much higher risk for long term spinal injury, and so on and so forth. And some of them die on the job. Some children are not paid at all, some are paid a few dollars, and some are paid in dirt. Yes, that’s right. Bags of dirt. But oh, there could be gold in this dirt. Ah, now it makes sense. So in this holiday season, boys and girls of all ages there are at least two roads that lead to dirt and if you are not fortunate enough to receive the $249 box of baseball dirt courtesy of the NY Times, there’s always Mali.
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