My "Brush With Sweetness"

The Chicago Bears paid a visit to Minnesota today to face the 3-1 Vikings. I had a feeling that the Purple would prevail in this contest, although the game became closer at the end than it should have. But while at work early today I recalled my own experience with said "Monsters of the Midway". Here it is.

I didn't much follow the career of Walter Payton. He was known as "Sweetness", and I knew of his importance to the history of the game and watched with my mouth agape when watching his amazing feats each week on NFL highlight films.  

I had an opportunity for a "brush with greatness" while a member of the Tampa Bay Buccaneer Band. That's right. A lifelong Minnesota Vikings fan firmly entrenched in the trumpets and french horns sections of the band representing the creamsicle orange and white-clad Buccaneers. I have a separate blog entry planned for another time, but for now......

After debuting in the AFC West division in their inaugural season of 1976 (yes, the Western division. Tampa isn't west of much of anything, right?) they moved to the NFC central joining the Lions, Packers, Bears and my Vikings.  So this meant that each those teams made a trip to Tampa each season to play at "The Big Sombrero", as termed by ESPN's Chris Berman.  

During my time in the trumpet section we had a tradition where during the game four of the trumpeters would leave the stands and head down to the field.  Once they got there they would stand shoulder to shoulder in one corner of the area directly in front of the crowd and play six notes which signal fans to yell "Charge!" at their completion.  They would play this three times in succession and then move down the sideline until they'd made a complete circuit of outer edge of the field. I was lucky enough to be chosen to do this once during my 4 seasons as a trumpet player. (My final two seasons I was in the french horn section).  On the day I was chosen to be one of the fantastic four we were playing the Bears.  

The four of us hit the field and we played our way around the field, only playing while the Bucs were on offense.  The Bucs' sideline was first as we moved counter-clockwise around the floor of Tampa Stadium.  We made the turn and headed behind the area behind the Bears' bench.  I was the furthest to the right as the four of us watched the action on the field during a short period just prior to our next mini performance. 

While watching the game, a glance to my right showed a 4-5' gap between myself and one of the Bears players. With helmet under his arm and intensity in his eyes the player glanced to his left and we each acknowledged one another with a "Hey, man. How ya doin'?" We each nodded and then went back to what we were doing.  The player? #34, Walter Payton.  

We finished our rounds and headed back up into the stands to join the rest of the band.  The rest of the game was a bit of a blur as I tried to process what had just happened to me.  I had spoken to Walter Payton DURING a game on the sideline.  While the number of people who have done this is quite extensive, I never thought that I would be on it.  

While this may not be as glamorous of a celebrity meeting as maybe my meeting Stevie Wonder or any number of other professional athletes, it often comes to mind when I hear Walter Payton's name or mention of the Chicago Bears. Just thought I'd share it with you.

I'm just sayin'


Thanks, Walter.

Shadow Ball

This past Sunday, the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum inducted three gentlemen who were major players in Negro League baseball history. Bud Fowler, Minnie Minoso and Buck O'Neil . With this in mind I thought I would "replay" a blog of mine which highlights a widely unknown pregame ritual from that league and era. So as my own tribute to those gentlemen, here it is:

On July 2nd I posted on Facebook a blog concerning one single game which I coached in Rapid City, South Dakota. It was the greatest game of my coaching career and one of the greatest moments of my entire life.  My great friend and assistant coach, Jim Keenan, reminded me of one thing which I neglected to mention in my original blog writing. Before that game I had the team participate in something known as "Shadowball".

Shadowball was performed in the Negro Leagues of professional baseball back in the first half of the 20th century. It's hard to believe that for a time black baseball players were forbidden, through a "gentleman's agreement", from playing major league baseball for the sole reason that they were black. But believe it or not, it was indeed the case. 

Jackie Robinson was not actually the first black player in the major leagues. In the modern era, yes. But in 1884 Moses Fleetwood Walker played for the Toledo Blue Stockings. He lasted only half a season and in 1887 the owners voted to exclude blacks from baseball....period.

Shadowball was profiled in "Ken Burns' Baseball", the brilliant PBS documentary which first aired in the fall of 1994.  I couldn't really appreciate its initial showing because it aired during one of the worst months of my life. My dear mother had just flown back to Florida after visiting me in Minneapolis for the previous month. She lived for just one more month, losing her three-year battle with breast cancer on October 1st.  I did record each episode on something called VHS tapes (google that, kids) and viewed it over the longer than normal winter in an early version of what is now known as "binge viewing".  

I coached baseball and softball in Burnsville, Minnesota from 1989-2001. I coached from ages 8-18, boys' baseball and girls' softball both slowpitch and fastpitch.  I believe I started having players end practices with shadowball in my 3rd year.  Players immediately fell in love with it, to the point where they wanted to do it EVERY day. It allowed all players to imagine themselves making the plays they dream of just before they fall asleep.  I was greatly amused as I watched how my players had concocted their most outrageous plays. It was even more of a kick to watch our opponents when we would bust out the pantomime just before a scheduled game in lieu of taking regular infield practice.  Our opponents were so interested in what fun we were having that they sometimes lost focus and it made them more vulnerable to our early-game efforts.  Just not often enough.

My youth coaching career is a thing of the past these days. Mostly because parents don't know how to act in a civil manner towards coaches or game officials anymore. They don't. It makes no sense to me when you hear stories about parents verbally and physically abusing team coaches and officials.  I only had one issue with that during my tenure and that was when one father called me at 11:30 p.m. in a drunken stupor to tell me that his son should be batting third and starting every game.  So I got out with not much agitation.  I do miss it though.  Once when I had an 11-12 year-old team I didn't have time to change out of my suit from work and change into jeans and a t-shirt.  So I gave signs at third base with my sport coat lapels and my tie. It was a bunch of fun and the parents thought it to be quite entertaining. But Shadowball has to be my favorite coaching routine of all time.

By the way.... That ballgame in South Dakota in 1994? Against the defending National Champions? In their home ballpark? In front of over 1,100 fans? Oh yeah, we won that game 3-1. Did our Shadowball exhibition help us? Who's to say it didn't? But it didn't do us any harm, that's for sure. 

The great thing about Shadowball,for myself, is that since it's infield practice without an actual ball I can play it in my mind at almost any time. I think I may do that right now. Just gotta find my imaginary fungo bat. It must be around here somewhere.

How great must a game be in that it has a piece of equipment referred to as a "fungo"?  

..........I'm just sayin.  

A.Y.

Earlier today the world lost a good one.  News began to make the rounds that former major league pitcher Anthony Young had passed away at the age of 51.  He passed away in his home town of Houston, Texas.

My first knowledge of Anthony Young came while he was a pitcher for my favorite team, the New York Mets, in 1991.  He was known by many because of a streak of 27 consecutive losses as pitcher, a steak that ran from May 1992 to July 1993.  Now, for those of you unfamiliar with how pitchers earn wins or losses, the streak is actually quite misleading. During the time the streak was in progress he actually had 12 consecutive saves and had a consecutive scoreless innings streak of 23 2/3 innings.  It is often said that "most of life is timing", and this would be a classic case.  

I remember recalling "that's just bad luck" when he broke the previous record which had lasted some 81 years.  Shortly after the streak ended A.Y. actually appeared on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Leno had made reference to A.Y. much like Johnny Carson would refer to the early Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  

Now, at no time did I ever think that I would ever meet the man himself in person.  But that's how life is, I suppose.  

In January of 2013 I had a chance to attend my first New York Mets Fantasy Camp in Port St. Lucie, Florida.  One of the former Mets was one Anthony Young.  He was as nice and humble a person as I had ever encountered.  "The Streak" was not brought up during the introductions at the opening banquet, but I didn't expect it to be.  I did hear that he talked about it in a humorous way, mostly because you have to remember that one must have a decent amount of talent in order to be sent back out to the mound often enough to set such a mark.  

I didn't have the chance to spend much time with A.Y. in 2013, but on my return in 2014 I got a great chance.  I was drafted by the team coached by Ricky Bones, Alan Friedman and A.Y.  We had a great deal of talent and we took a 6-0 record into the championship game.  The afternoon game took place on A.Y.'s 48th birthday.  The ball which became the final out of that game is in my sports memorabilia collection, being that we won a championship that year.  The post-game photos include the man himself with a festive hat and party favor.  Never has victory looked so cool.

In the offseason he coached baseball in the Houston area and this leads me to my favorite A.Y. story. During Mets Fantasy Camp 2017 my team was playing his team and he was coaching first base. I was playing first at the time. The batter hit a double into the right field alley and when the batter headed toward second base I did what any good first baseman should do- I followed, or "trailed" the batter to second in case a throw to second got loose or there was a possible play to be made, especially if the runner doesn't know I'm there.  I jog back over my position and A.Y. tips his head and says, "What are you doing?" I said, "You mean trailing the play?" He says, "Yeah! Nobody does that.  I try to teach it, but my kids don't wanna do it." I told him, "Old school, baby! Old school!" We high-fived and went back to the game in front of us.  

At this year's fantasy camp he revealed to us that he was fighting a brain tumor.  We were all stunned but we were all able to see him and embrace him and say goodbye. We all thought the worst and hoped for the best, but most of us feared that it may be our last opportunity to give our love to the man.  He returned to the championship game two days later and once again led his team to a title.  

We found out a few weeks ago that the reunion would be taking place in New York in July.  We all began looking forward to seeing each other again but many of us hoped that A.Y. would be there along with us.  We all knew that he was fighting to be there with us, but today today's news put those hopes to rest for all of us.

We will see each other in just over three weeks but we will all be thinking of the man who won't be with us in person.  His spirit, however, will be with each of us and will give us so many stories to share with each other.

July 21st will be here soon and for me it's gonna be one thing.... Old school, baby! Old school! 


I'm just sayin'.

Shaq and Me

Tonight HBO will air part one of a two-part documentary on Shaquille O'Neal. Had a chance encounter with the man a few years back. While it may not be as much fun as the time I escorted Michael Jordan through the hallways of the Metrodome when the Chicago Bulls played the Minnesota Timberwolves for the first time ever. He ran into me and asked how to get to the court, so I walked him all the way through the halls, down the stairs which normally led to the Twins dugout, and onto the court level. It didn't strike me as to how cool this event was until I told my brother Rudy about it and he was more than slightly amazed. But my Shaq story is a good one too. To those of you who are fans of my writing, here's some more.

SHAQ AND ME

The Big Shamrock. Diesel. The Big Leprechaun. Shaq Daddy. Manny Shaquiao.  Mayor McShaq and MY personal favorite, Shaq Fu. These are just a few of the two-to-three dozen nicknames, many of them self-assigned, which identify one Shaquille O'Neal.  The NBA Hall of Famer is known by many names to many people, this is undeniable. But what does this have to do with yours truly?  Well, let me tell you a little tale.

Now, THIS brush with greatness occurred only 24 hours later and in the same room as my blog about NHL Hall of Fame goaltender Patrick Roy.  

On April 22, 2003 I was once again at the Signature Air commuter terminal near the St. Paul/Minneapolis International Airport.  The Los Angeles Lakers were in town having just lost to the hometown Minnesota Timberwolves in game two of their opening-round playoff series.

The Minnesota Wild, the heroes of the previous night, were in Denver for game 7 against the Avalanche after I helped load them onto their private aircraft the night before. While keeping half an eye and ear on the progress of the Wolves/Lakers contest I had the break room 13" tv tuned to the hockey game. The Wild had scored late in period 3 to force the contest to sudden-death overtime. So I'm jazzed about that fact to begin with. The basketball game has now ended and the Lakers will be at the Signature terminal within the next hour.  

Meanwhile, overtime has now begun at the Pepsi Center in Denver. I'm watching with great anticipation when just over three minutes into the first overtime period Andrew Brunette takes a pass from Sergei Zholtok and pushes a shot past Patrick Roy and the Wild had won their first-ever playoff series. I was ecstatic! I was watching on tv as I was on the phone with my late wife Bryn, I'm screaming into the phone, jumping up down in the break room, totally forgetting about the impending Laker team arrival. My staff hears me and I quickly run down the hall to let them know that their supervisor has indeed not lost his mind. But we've got about 30 minutes to kill anyhow, so we're good on time. I just have to get refocused, and that's what I did.

The Los Angeles Lakers who then included Rick Fox, the late Kobe Bryant and head coach Phil Jackson entered the high-ceilinged room for screening prior to their boarding the private jet back to the City of Angels. About 10 minutes after the screenings began the lights in the room went out. Now, keep in mind that this room has absolutely no windows and the long hallway which leads into it is dimly lit at best. The room went silent immediately. It was so dark that one could not see one's own hand pass in front of one's own face.  I suddenly hear a deep voice chuckling to my left near the doorway and one of the room's few light switches. I believe that I recognize the person to whom this chuckling belongs. Remembering that I am the supervisor in charge of this whole exercise I decided I should speak up.

I yelled, "Shaq?!" There was a short pause followed by a very deep-voiced, "Yes?" My reply was, "Can you not do that, please?" And sounding like a 7-year-old who has been mildly scolded he replies, "Okay." A few people in the room giggled and then the lights started to come back on at a painfully-slow pace. When they reached full power I recommenced the screening process along with my small staff in order to finish this process as expeditiously as possible.

When the big man himself got in front of me for screening I was fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to link me to the audio request which I had made a few minutes prior.  Well, at least I was HOPING that would be the case, trust me. At this time he was approximately 7'1" tall weighing about 350 pounds. I HAD to hope this because having just lost a playoff game by 28 points to the local cagers I worried that he may decide to squash me like a bug.  Heck, I was giving away 12 inches in height and 135 pounds. Thankfully this did not happen and he made his way to the exit and out to the waiting jet.

The Lakers went on to actually lose game 3 and then they began to flat-out abuse the Timberwolves over the following three games, winning the series four games to two.  So on consecutive evenings I got to interact with two future hall of famers, one in the NHL and the other in the NBA. Not a bad week, actually.

Shaq has gone on to become a bigger celebrity since his career ended and he can be seen hawking products from Pepsi, Taco Bell, Icy Hot, numerous Gold Bond products, home security systems, computer printers, Papa John's pizza, and General Insurance where he sometimes appears with a cartoon general who used to appear with a penguin as his sidekick. Why a penguin, I do not know.

When I see Shaq on television these days I often think back to this one moment in time when I asked the man known as Shaq Fu to please not act the fool and lived to tell about it.  

It's not the Greatest Story Ever Told, but it's MY story.

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