NOTES
FROM THE SHADOWS OF COOPERSTOWN
Observations
from Outside the Lines
By
Two Finger Carney (carneya6@adelphia.net)
#383 November
21, 2006
HAPPY
THANKSGIVING
REVISITING THANKSGIVING
From the NOTES ARCHIVE: #45, December 3, 1993:
"Too
bad that the baseball season doesn't include Thanksgiving Day ... it's a great
holiday, and wouldn't we all rather see an ESPN triple-header, than a football
game? ... Turkey franks, crackerjack stuffing...."
That
was how I started my Thanksgiving Special NFSC (Notes #24) last
July. Well, I was wrong. Year-round baseball would be a bad idea. Again, it's all about timing, pacing,
catching our breath, looking away so we can re-focus in the spring.
In
our favored land, we have sports shingled nicely, like Tarzan vines, hanging
out in front of us all the time, so we can grab onto one as we let go of
another. Certainly it helps in Trivial Pursuit if you move with the
current, let football follow baseball (college and pros), then slide,
After the Bowl Is Over, into basketball and hockey, until spring is sprung
again. I did it for years, and still follow the Steelers and Penguins, but the
last few years I've found baseball can be year-round, if you have a
well-stocked library and subscribe to a few publications.
Anyway,
this Thanksgiving I watched the last 11 minutes of the Notre Dame - Boston
College game (my mother-in-law taped it, with uncanny instinct), then the
delightful Dallas-Miami snow-bowl, both games ending in Mazeroski/Carter-like
suddenness. And I realized I was dead wrong last July, turkey just goes with
football. (And I love games played in snow, because they bring back such
good memories -- we always played in the snow!)
But
I was still distracted enough by my main passion, to note that the college game
was every bit as exciting, and maybe a length-of-the-ball moreso, than the pro
version. Then it struck me, these college guys are playing damn hard.
And why? Because if they do their best,
and stand out, they have a shot at becoming millionaires -- better odds than a
lottery ticket, for sure. And that little insight made me reflect again
on how the minor league baseball players are just as much fun to watch
as the ones at the summit. They're trying harder, in many cases. It was
once imagined that long-term contracts (forget the number of zeroes)
would ruin baseball, would cause a complacency that had no room at the top.
Certainly, we see some terrific ball in the majors ... but we see terrific effort
in the "minors," and I think fans applaud effort over coasting on
reputations, no?
* * * * *
When
I wrote the above, nearly thirteen years ago, I was following baseball more
closely, from Little League thru the minors to the national brand. And I was
following the Other Sports more, too. I still follow the "Stillers"
(that's how we Pittsburghers say it, you know), and the Penguins. But I've
really dropped out of college football & basketball (except for the spring
tournament), and watch only the Stillers in the NFL.
Maybe
that's one reason that I have had second thoughts about making Thanksgiving a
baseball holiday after all.
Here's
how I'd do it, if I were Commish:
* Pick a
warm-weather site. Maybe Hawaii. Yeah. Real grass.
* Every MLB
team sends one player, so every fan of MLB has at least one guy to root for.
* No managers
or coaches.
* The players
decide on two Captains. The process is televised live.
* Once they
are decided upon, the two Captains flip a bat and do that hands-over-hands
thing to decide who gets first pick.
* When all the
players are taken, one team is given T-shirts with the name
"Pilgrims" and the other team gets a different color, with the name
"Indians." Hey, it's Thanksgiving.
* Should we
have umpires? Or let the players make
the calls?
* Longtime
readers of Notes know what's coming next: the outfield has some trees
and shrubs, to make it interesting.
I
think that's all for now. Let the players make up any ground rules they want.
Players can enter or leave the game any time, so there can be pinch-hitters or
runners galore.
One
more thing: no commercial breaks. Play until dark.
TOUR TO END ALL TOURS
You
might think that the title above is borrowed (stolen) from the excellent recent
book by James E. Elfers, a terrific play-by-play description of the Chicago
White Sox & NY Giants' trip around the world, after the 1913 baseball
season ... and that a review of that work follows.
But
you would be wrong -- I'll review The Tour to End All Tours (taken in
the shadows of the war to end all wars) next time.
No,
I'm using that title to describe my own latest tour. OK, it was really more a
vacation. And I jokingly say working vacation, since I had to
talk baseball much of the time, and give three presentations. Like that was
work!
For
newcomers to Notes, I was invited, following my presentation on Burying
the Black Sox at the national SABR convention in Seattle last June, and an
appearance at Elliott Bay Book Store, to give a series of guest lectures on a
cruise ship. Specifically on Holland America's Zaandam. With my
wife. We had never taken a cruise
before, but that didn't stop me from accepting in the wink of an eye.
I
suggested seven or eight different topics, and finally settled on a Final Four.
One that I suggested, but did not prepare, was on that 1913-14 adventure led by
Charles Comiskey and John McGraw.
Sailing out into the Pacific in those days was quite a bit riskier, and
after reading about the experiences of the passengers of The Tour -- I
took the book along -- I was sort of glad that we decided against it.
Besides
my book, I prepared 40-minute talks on Cooperstown (my backyard); Shoeless Joe
Jackson (I'd never devoted a talk to him before, and it was about time); and on
Baseball Humor.
As
it turned out, there was no time to give the last talk, so I can work on that
more. I think this topic had by far the greatest "degree of
difficulty" (an Olympic competition term). Trying to figure out what
"most people" will find humorous can stump professionals. And it's a
vast, unmapped subject. I had planned to start with Garagiola's old Baseball
is a Funny Game, go thru a scattering of cartoons from The First
Fireside Book, toss out a dozen or so "apocryphal" (but
hilarious) stories that are a staple of banquet keynoters, and dodge any
tomatoes that the audience might have with them for the occasion. Lecturing about
humor seemed challenging, and almost wrong. But I think I'll work on it ... so
I'll be prepared if Leno or Letterman calls.
I
described Hawaii (back in Notes #261, in June 2002) as "A World
Without Baseball" -- a paradise that would be too perfectly great to
stand, if it had baseball, too.
Well, a cruise is something like that, too: a world unto itself, a
moving island of fantastic eating and tons of options -- but (except for my
talks), no baseball.
OK,
there was some baseball -- in fact, I met a fellow SABR member, and
several others on board, who asked great questions at my presentations, and who
spoke baseball fluently. (One of the best things about SABR events is the
common language, making the breaks and meals sometimes better than the
sessions.) I suppose the cruise could have been more perfect only if it was
a floating SABR convention ... and I have made a mental note to look into the
chances of pulling together a baseball group cruise sometime in the future. Cruises
are wonderful places for any reunions.
The
five days at sea (out of San Diego) went well -- very well. Again, it was like
living on the Food Network, with first class service to boot. It was an
amazingly relaxing time, a time outside time -- like baseball. I got to read
a lot, something I find 'way too little time for back home in the Shadows these
days. And I avoided the internet, just to see if I could.
Hawaii
itself (we did an excursion at Hilo
on the Big Island, got off the ship in Honolulu, and spent several days on
Oahu's North Shore) is no longer a world without baseball. I had been
tipped off by a friend, and thought a few minutes about trying to see a game or
two over there, but settled for a little bit on TV.
According
to the Honolulu Advertiser, Hawaii Winter Baseball features four teams
-- the North Shore Honu, Waikiki BeachBoys, Honolulu Sharks, and West Oahu
CaneFires. I'm not certain if they each have their own park -- I think so.
Apparently the four teams play most days (Rain? In Paradise?) 25 or 26 games into the season, all four
teams were hovering around the .500 mark -- no dynasty here. I gathered that
the rosters are stocked by MLB, with players from the low minors, as well as
from Japanese teams. In the box scores, and the game I caught on TV, I didn't
recognize any names.
Get
this: At one park, premium reserved admission is five bucks; general admission
is $4, and it's just $3 to sit on the grass, or if you are over 60 (like me) or
in the military; $2 for those 18 or younger. At another park, the top prices
are $6 and $5. I left Hawaii feeling that the rest of the world ought to adopt
their dress code -- colorful, casual, relaxed. And I'd like to see baseball
move toward those very fan-friendly prices, too.
On
the North Shore, Barb and I mostly hiked and swam and ate well (again) and
enjoyed the 90-degree temps. Ten inches of snow had fallen just north of us, a
few days before we departed from the Shadows of Cooperstown. Well, what would
you rather wear -- sunscreen, or a parka and gloves?
This
became a terrific Tripleheader of a vacation when we left Hawaii and flew into
San Diego for the wedding of an old classmate of mine. Bill and I were together
for a half year of kindergarten.
I
might as well tell this story here and now, since I never got the chance in San
Diego. My friend Bill could be on the cover of that old book, Everything I
Needed for Life, I Learned in Kindergarten. I recall the day Bill came to
me, complaining that our teacher was making the nap time too long.
"Bill," I counseled him, "you won't get anywhere complaining
about it to me, or trying to talk Miss Jacobs into shortening the naps. It's
going to take the action of our whole class, don't you see that. A class
action." But he didn't seem to
get my point.
The
story is fiction, and works because Bill went on to become the top class action
lawyer on the planet -- I boast for him. After being close friends all thru
grade school and high school -- we lived across the street from each other --
we went in opposite directions. I've always worked for non-profits. Bill has
made a few bucks, bringing companies like Enron to justice on behalf of
swindled shareholders. Needless to say, his wedding was quite an event -- don't
believe what you read about Tom Cruise's being the Wedding of the Year. It was
Bill and Michelle's. And it deserves its own issue of Notes, but that's
not going to happen.
In
all, Barb and I were gone two weeks, with four of those days being taken up
pretty much by traveling (not counting the cruise as travel). It was one of the
most complicated packing tasks we've undertaken, since the cruise required
three levels of dress, and then there was the wedding -- along with all the
stuff I took for my talks: books and overhead transparencies -- which seemed
appropriate for an old-fashioned subject like Baseball.
When
I finally returned (we didn't care if we ever got back, as the song goes), I
found that the Notes web site had caught the flu or something, so I
couldn't post anything till now. Hence the unusual gap between issues.
CATCHING UP
Since
last issue, the Playoffs have been played out and there is a new world
champion, the St Louis Cardinals (from the same division as my Pirates --
coincidence?) I found myself rooting, in
the Series, for Jim Leyland and his Tigers. But their pitchers tossed it away,
drawing comparisons with -- the 1919 White Sox hurlers, of all people.
The
peak of the Series came early for me, watching Game One at the Cooperstown Hall
of Fame, in the gallery, surrounded by the plaques of 200-some 'Famers. Not my
first time there, but it still felt like we were all talking (too
loudly) in church. But in fact, it was just nice being -- one last time in '06
-- out with the crowd. No matter who wins, the World Series is like a
champagne toast at the end of a long season.
And
almost lost, somewhere in all the Series hype, was the great headline,
"Baseball Labor Peace Assured Through 2011." The "unprecedented era of labor
peace" (the words belong to AP's Ron Blum's) is the result of a five-year
contract, collectively bargained mostly out of earshot, thank you very much.
Bud Selig was quick to usher in a new Golden Age, but I think he was really
trying to distract us from the serious issues baseball still faces. The
imbalance of Haves and Have-Not teams; the backlash from the steroid mess; the
out-of-reality salaries. And, we are reminded one more time, the obscene
practice of scheduling the showcase games, the World Series, 'way too late at
night, out of the sight of us kids who turn in by eleven, or earlier.
It's
been some year, as I said leading
off last issue. Burying the Black Sox has buried me at times, and
limited my time to write and research. I'm hoping that will change in 2007. And
so I end this with baseball's familiar wait'll next year.