October 27th

October 27th.  It's NOT my birthday. It's the day PRIOR to my birthday. But in my time on this earth it has a fairly major significance. Especially since this year it falls on a Sunday as it did 33 years ago.

On this date in 1986 the New York Mets won their second World Series championship.  I was in New York City at the time and attended the ticker tape parade on the 28th. I attended that parade and had my photo taken on top of the World Trade Center on my 25th birthday. What a present that was! 

One would think that would be a great experience and it certainly was. But I got lucky again only five years later.  On this date in 1991 I was ON THE FIELD when the World Series ended as the Minnesota Twins won game 7 against the Atlanta Braves. How a baseball fanatic like myself could not be awed by such things is beyond comprehension.

On October 26, 1991 I was behind the wall next to the Braves bullpen in the bottom of the ninth. Kirby Puckett led off that half inning and I was standing in front of the large pin which held that portion of the wall in place.  When the ball was hit I knew from the sound that it was a home run. I pulled the pin up and headed out onto the field to assist the in-house law enforcement officials in making sure that no one ran onto the field. I paused, for one frightening moment as I crossed the foul line, thinking "what if it doesn't clear the wall?"  I was the first person on the field, not knowing if anyone else had followed me. I could be the "lone fool" on the field.  But, alas, it cleared and the place went crazy. I took my position on the third base bag until the grounds crew came out for it as the players celebrated in the dugout in front of me.

But that only made it necessary for game 7 to be played the next night. I started the night by working at the press gate. By the eighth inning of game 7 I was back in my position, behind the wall next to the Braves 'pen. (This was because we all agreed to stand in the same places as we had late in game 6. Baseball players, and fans for that matter, are quite superstitious at times). 

The game was tied at 0-0 through 8. I couldn't actually watch the Braves at bats, simply relying on crowd reaction and organist Ronnie Newman to keep me apprised of defensive outs. I turned and watched the Twins when they batted, however.  In the ninth they had a chance to win, but the rally ended on a Paul Sorrento strikeout.  Once again I turned away from the action while Jack Morris turned away the Braves in the top of the tenth.  

The bottom of the tenth started with Dan Gladden turning a single into a double, much to the surprise of myself who watched the play develop and thought it was a mistake.  But the high bounce of the turf came into play and the inning was off to a great start.  The inning progressed to the point where the bases were loaded for pinch hitter Gene Larkin. Larkin hit the first pitch into the alley, over the shallow outfield, and Gladden scored the only run of the game. I pulled the pin yet again and made my sprint onto the field as the decibel level rose to  an incredible level.  I had decided to forego ear plugs as to not miss any of the sounds from that evening.  

As I ran onto the field and got to the stripe which marks the beginning of the outfield, I raised my head just in time to barely miss running over Braves' second baseman Mark Lemke, who was walking off slowly with his head down. How much of an insult would it have been had I blind-sided him after his team had just lost one of the greatest World Series ever played?

I made my way to third base as the Metrodome was "up for grabs".  The players burst out onto the field as we ran past each other in opposite directions.  It was an incredibly surreal moment which I will never forget. It was 11:01 pm, CENTRAL time. I was born in Connecticut which meant it was now the 28th. I remember thinking, "what a great birthday gift this is....again!"

It was a misty evening/morning that night and a few hours later, after having a fairly large quantity of champagne poured over my head, I was in the concourse awaiting the first of the players to make their way up the stairs. The first player out was Gene Larkin. "How's it feel real, Gene?", I said to him. "Rod, NOTHING feels real right now!", was his response.  

I remember driving home. I had a Hyundai Excel and I had the sunroof and the front windows open. With Queen's "We are the Champions" on virtually every station I hit the crosstown around 5:45 a.m.  I arrived at home around 6:05.  The paper was in front of my garage and I recall picking it up to make sure that I was indeed not dreaming.  I wasn't.

Some people never see their team win a championship. I've been lucky to have seen TWO of mine win championships plus been involved in a third. The New York Rangers in 1994 and the New York Mets in 1969 and 1986. 

I've been a lucky sports fan, to be honest.  

Minnesota Vikings.......are you listening????

I'm just sayin'.

A Love Lost, A Love Found........

A Love Lost, A Love Found.......

Love is a strange thing. Any of you who have experienced it know what I'm talking about. It's not always about another person. It can also pertain to an inanimate object. Some objects aren't as inanimate as others. This is a story about one of those objects. 

I started playing over-35 baseball in the summer of 2012. I hadn't played in a competitive baseball league in over 30 years. I had forgotten how fast the ball moves when one is standing in the batter's box. I was so hyped when I started our season opener. We were playing at Memorial Park in the town of Prior Lake, Minnesota. I'd last been there as a legion baseball coach in 1996. I anticipated having my name announced in the lineup on the public address system, being in uniform, being in the dugout with my new teammates, standing on the foul line for the national anthem. They are all things which made game 1 of my 51st year incredibly memorable. 

My team took batting practice just before the introductions. The batting cage was located behind our dugout. I was thrilled by the fact that one of my teammates was a guy whom I had coached when he was in high school, some TWENTY-TWO YEARS EARLIER. 

I made my way to the plate for my first at bat and proceeded to strike out. It mattered little. I was back playing the game I loved. I played at first base and even though we lost it was a fantastic night.

Two days later we were scheduled to have practice. I began to repack my equipment bag when I realized that I was missing one of my gloves. Now for those of you who aren't knowledgeable on such things, baseball gloves come in many different types. There are "fielders gloves" which are worn by 7 of the 9 defensive players on the field. The catcher and first basemen wear gloves known as "mitts", which give them an advantage on picking the ball up on a short hop off the ground.  

I played first base in the opening game, so my fielder's glove was not used that night. I realized that the last place I had seen the glove was at the field before the first game. I called the opposing team's coach to ask if anyone had turned the glove into lost and found, but no luck. I had to resign myself to the fact that my "gamer' was now gone from my possession. 

My "gamer" had probably been my primary glove for at least a decade. It felt almost like an extension of my own hand at times. I was still primarily a third baseman for the vast majority of that time and a pretty good one defensively at that. I used to refer my "gamer" glove as "the place where base hits go to die." I loved that glove. With it I felt like most balls hit my way could be fielded and turned into outs.

Now came the hunt for a new glove. I found one quickly and worked to get it "broken in" as soon as possible. I played through the remainder of my baseball and softball seasons with my new glove. Ironically, my softball team won two summer league championships and a fall league championship in the ensuing 15 months. But I still lamented the loss of my "gamer."

Players get attached to their "gamers". When it's not there to be used players can sometimes feel uncomfortable. I see players do things like actually spit into the palm of their glove. I could NEVER do this. I don't even know why THEY do it. I've never inquired and I don't want to know, because no reason could be good enough to justify it. I may be a bit of a germaphobe. But I will admit to touching the manufacturer's logo patch to my bottom lip before nearly every pitch when in the "ready" position just prior to the pitch. It's part of the focusing process before the pitch is thrown. 

Fast forward to some three years after I lost my "gamer". I'm playing in a tournament about 150 miles from my home in the town of Alexandria. During the pre game, moments before one of the games, I was walking through the dugout and looked down on the bench. That's when I saw it. Yes, it was my "gamer." 

What are the odds of this happening? I wondered who was currently using this piece of leather. I didn't wish to confront the player who had brought it with him. I picked it up and looked into the pocket, thinking that I never thought it would be on my left hand again. I took it off and set it on the bench before the new owner saw me wearing it. I made the quick decision that I wouldn't ask the new owner how he had come to acquire my old friend. I felt okay with the fact that it was still being used at all, rather than lying around gathering dust. The glove's new owner was actually the starting pitcher for my team in that game, so I saw it in action during that game. 

I came away from the experience with a sense of being lucky enough to even SEE the glove again. The odds were incredibly high. The team I was playing on that night was a hybrid team made up of players from two different teams. The new owner plays for a team located 30 miles from my own team. I just happened to be on THAT team for THAT game.

So, my former "gamer" is now someone else's "gamer". Destined to keep recording outs for another few years.  

I used its predecessor for a few years. Never quite getting the feel that I was "at one" with it, but somehow it coincided with three championships which will always make me thankful for its partnership with me.

By the end of the decade the time had come to purchase one more first baseman's glove to probably use until my playing days are through. So I ordered a customized Rawlings model in royal blue- the primary color of my softball team and of my New York Mets. The accent colors are pink in remembrance of my mother who passed away at the age of 65 from breast cancer. The second color is orange in honor of my wife Bryn who was my biggest fan until she lost her battle with COPD in 2022.  She saw me use it a bunch of times after i got it. But the plan is for it to be my "gamer" until I can no longer "pick it" on the field. It....has become my next true love....on the baseball field.

.....I'm just sayin'.