Back in the 90's, The Sox drafted shortstop Frankie Rodriquez. it was decided that he would make a better pitcher than ss, so they recast him in that role. He never seemed comfortable and to my eyes, never had the concentration needed. Brian Rose was another guy I felt the same way about. Rodriquez wound up muddling around the Sox for awhile and wound up in Minnesota, muddling all the way. An old instructor of mine stated that there were no great baseball pictures, because no one actually captured the moment. Here was my answer to him....
Off to "The Boneyard" as my life long pal Tunes and I have called it for let's see..how many years? ...pick a number over 50... I have mentioned Frank Malzone before, having seen him play when I was a kid and being introduced to him in Pawtucket. As much of a crass, bombarding ballpark Fenway has become, it is still not hard to sit there and think back and back and back. I still think of it as empty, banging seats and hearing the echo from that reverberate all over the park. Sure, that noise started that rally, didn't it? The Monster, Yaz, Freddie Swampscott, Dewey, Luis,Spaceman,The Rocket..stop me here...and Malzie....
The cheesiest ball park that I have ever been to? It took some soul searching, a lot of mediation and prayer to guide me to the coveted Most Cheesy Ballpark Award. While Riverwalk Stadium, home of the Montgomery Biscuits deserve an honorable mention for cheese well melted, there is a shred less of grated Kraft Parmesan than at Merchants Auto Stadium, home of the NH Fisher Cats, in Manchester NH. Even the sign welcoming you to "Fisher Cats Entertainment Experience" is a supreme tipoff. I thought I was going to a baseball game! I have never seen more between inning interruptions anywhere than at this park. While the Hot Dog cannon and Biscuit Bazooka have their charms, the guy in the ostrich suit whipping hot dogs into the crowd in NH wins the coveted package of Kraft Individualy Wrapped Slices Award. American, of course.
I doubt that the home team will get very far into the playoffs. Of course, I have been wrong before and they certainly did come back against the Spankees in the 2004 series. After going to my last regular season game the other night, I still have at least one playoff game left. As October sets in, Bart Giamatti comes to mind. "It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone."
In all of my running around, if I have met a sweeter and more gentle man, it escapes me. They are going to retire Johnny Pesky's number on Saturday and it is a fitting tribute to him, a man who has spent his life as a player and then ambassador of the game. He spends endless time talking to and signing autographs for kids. This is one of my benchmarks of a players true character. You go, Johnny...
Sorry I didn't have time to imbibe at the Time Out. Looks like the kind of place where flies go to die.....Next time I am in Greensboro, NC, I will pony up to the bar, have me a frosty and eat Slim Jims and a few rancid hard boiled eggs. I'll tell a few lies, tell a few bad jokes and probably get dragged outside and beaten. Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina.....
Greenville. As plastic a city and ballpark as I have been to in the South. It is even more plastic than the Fisher Cats Stadium in Manchester, NH, which I thought was an all time low. Players run out and duck through the arches. I actually felt a twinge of sympathy for "Spaz, " the mascot. Summer jobs being what they are, I guess even wearing a jester's hat and running around a ballpark is preferable to a lot of things, such as actually working at Mickey D's.
I swiped this from a New York Times article about Obama....I wish that I had dreamed it up. Hell, I live it....
Yes, the Sox break the Indians consecutive sellout streak tonight. I think the Sox sold out forever a long time ago but as I am on the Monster, sipping the eternal Diet Coke....I doff my cap to gentleman like the one in the photo who have made the Red Sox what they are today. This soul even has a website explaining how he puts his makeup on....By the way, at Wrigley, in Chicago, the announcer still asks gentlemen to doff their caps before the Anthem.
In varying degrees and for different reasons, we all scream for the Red Sox. At a game yesterday, I noticed how unified the crowd was - as if a giant wand was being waved above the crowd of (if you guessed 37,461, you're wrong!) fans,making them move as if synchronized. It was endearing in its own way. A dunderhead like myself, who will go to his grave never having done the wave, can sit back and tell stories while everyone else is on their feet for a 3-2 count in the first innings. God Bless being able to afford getting into Fenway. It might be the last refuge of the upper middle class. What struck me about the gentility of the Fenway crowd happenned near the end of the game. Behind me sat a pontificator. He was telling his young daughter every detail and nuance of the game being played. This was fine. He was loud. This was not. Toward the end of the game, she said, "Daddy, I can't see." His terms of endearment reply? "Thats ok, I can."
