As promised, here is the first of the “Talkin’ Baseball” team parodies, by Terry Cashman. Enjoy, Reds fans!
As I post these, I will be tagging each version of the song under Talkin’ Baseball. That way, as the series grows, it will be easy to find the full listing.
Capping off his record-breaking home run season, on this day in 1961, Roger Maris of the New York Yankees was named the American League Most Valuable Player. It was the second year in a row that Maris won the award. This time, he edged teammate Mickey Mantle by four votes, 202-198.
My favorite baseball player of all time is Cal Ripken, Jr.
I’ve never been an Orioles fan. I’ve never been to Baltimore. And, I’m sorry to say, the one time I saw the Orioles in Kansas City while Ripken’s career was still active, Ripken himself did not play. I felt disappointed, of course, but one could hardly hold it against him for taking a day off, considering his distinguished career and his 2,632 consecutive games streak.
Ah yes… The Streak.
Herein lies the reason that I admire Ripken: his steady play, his work ethic, his consistency, and the fact that he showed up to play day in and day out. I have learned to really appreciate these qualities in the workplace, and in people in general, as they are true rarities.
The Streak began on 30 May 1982, and for sixteen years, Ripken did not miss a single game. He played hurt. He played sick. Yankees pitcher David Cone hit the nail on the head when he said, “A lot of people who go to work every day can identify with Cal. The streak supersedes baseball.”
On 6 September 1995, Ripken played in his 2,131st consecutive game, thus breaking Lou Gehrig’s 56-year-old record. Among the fans in attendance at the game were President Bill Clinton, Vice President Al Gore, Yankees legend Joe DiMaggio, and Ripken’s family. Then, in the bottom of the fourth inning with a 3-0 count, Ripken blasted a fastball into the stands for a home run, which brought the crowd roaring to its feet.
When the game became official in the fifth inning, a banner reading “2131” was dropped over right field, and Ripken emerged from the dugout in response to the curtain call from the crowd. Even after Ripken returned to the dugout, however, the cheering continued, and Ripken emerged once again. This time, he did more than just tip his hat in acknowledgement to the crowd. He broke out into a slow jog around the perimeter of the field, giving high fives and shaking hands with Orioles fans as he went.
Even today, eighteen years later, seeing footage of that moment gives me the chills. It was a moment of true greatness, unlikely to be matched anytime soon.
On 20 September 1998, the Orioles’ final home game of the season, Ripken voluntarily took himself out of the lineup. He was not hurt, he just felt it was time. He explained simply, “The emphasis should be on the team. There have been times during the streak when the emphasis was on the streak. I was never comfortable with that. It was time to move the focus back to the team.”
To top it all off, throughout all the hype and the scrutiny surrounding this record, Ripken remained as humble as a man could be. “A lot of people think this is a great, great accomplishment,” he said. “But I really believe that somebody else will come along and play more games, because if I can do it, somebody else definitely will. I don’t consider myself superhuman and I’m not an iron man physically or mentally.” You don’t encounter class like that every day.
By the time Cal Ripken retired in 2001, he had accomplished more than just breaking the record for consecutive games played. He had been named Rookie of the Year in 1982, the American League MVP twice, and appeared in nineteen All-Star games. Additionally, he had won the Gold Glove twice, the Silver Slugger award eight times, and received the Roberto Clemente Award in 1992. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2007.
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Canton, Rafael. “Interview: Cal Ripken, Jr. Talks Unbreakable Records, Farewell Tours, and Being A Role Model.” Complex Sports. Complex Media 25 July 2013. Web. Accessed 13 November 2013. http://www.complex.com/sports/2013/07/interview-cal-ripken-jr-talks-unbreakable-records-farewell-tours-and-being-a-role-model
“‘I think the time is right’: Ripken ends historic streak at 2,632 games.” CNN/SI 20 September 1998. Web. Accessed 12 November 2013. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/baseball/mlb/news/1998/09/20/ripken_streak/
“Sep 6, 1995: Ripken breaks record for consecutive games played.” History: This Day in History. A&E Television Networks 1996-2013. Web. Accessed 13 November 2013. http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/ripken-breaks-record-for-consecutive-games-played
There are only two seasons – winter and baseball.
~Bill Veeck
In 1962, Ken Hubbs, a rookie infielder for the Cubs, was selected as the Gold Glove winner at the second base position. It was the first time in Major League that a rookie won the fielding award. In addition to the Gold Glove, Hubbs also won the National League Rookie of the Year award. He was considered the best defensive second baseman of his time, until his tragic death in a plane crash in 1964.
Here is a poem, written by an anonymous author, about the great Jackie Robinson.
*
After the war
After white on white on white
After Robinson
Yes,
Twenty-Six
years now
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
have come
And
Gone.
And the once empty rosters are no longer
Empty.
as the face of my mother
That day
My father spoke.
I remember the gloom of my fathers words
And what they did to my mother’s face
And what they did to my heart
– Those words my daddy spoke.
Daddy told us about
Josh Gibson
And how he was
Swatting white balls
In black parks
while Ruth and fellows
like Foxx
Were
Making hay.
Daddy told us about
Satch, Ole Satch
Lean and hummin;
Told about
Ole Satch
And how when Satch was
Striking black leather
In places
Like
Chattanooga
And Birmingham
And Pittsburgh
And Bismarck
And Cleveland
And Whichita
And Kansas City
And Havana
Told when
Satch was doing all those things
How
Grove and Dean and Feller
Were
Making Hay.
Yes,
Twenty-six years
since my father’s words
Twenty-six years
since his death
He had a belly laugh
My daddy did
And his laugh
if ever such a sound could reach your ears
Would be filled with the
Loud
and
Quiet joy
That men such as
Mays and Robinson and Aaron
Could have given him.
Not their booming home runs and feats of magic.
Just their faces
Just their faces
Just their faces
now.
A few months ago, I posted Terry Cashman’s parody, “Talkin’ Softball.” It occurs to me that I’ve never bothered to post the original song on which that parody is based, so I figured it was time I rectified that.
Besides the Simpsons/softball version, other versions of this song have been made over the years, highlighting various Major League teams. Perhaps, over the next few months or so, I’ll have to find and grant a turn to each one of those team versions here.
Careers end with a ground ball to shortstop, not with a home run.
~from Bull Durham
On November 6, 1969, two pitchers tied in the voting for the Cy Young award for the first time in baseball history. Denny McLain of the Detroit Tigers finished the season with a 24-9 record and a 2.80 ERA. Meanwhile, the Baltimore Orioles’ Mike Cuellar finished with a 23-11 record and an ERA of 2.38. Both men received ten votes from the BBWAA (Baseball Writer’s Association of America) as being the best pitcher in the American League.
Over the weekend, I finished reading a book that had been gifted to me by a good friend who lives in Seattle. She’s always known me as a baseball fan and an avid reader (not to mention my interest in history), so when this book about the Seattle Pilots came out, she made sure that a copy landed in my hands.
Bill Mullins’s Becoming Big League provides more than just a recap of the Seattle Pilots’ only season. It brings to us the story of the relationship between the city of Seattle and Major League Baseball during the 1960s and 1970s. This book delves into the economics and politics involved in, first, bringing the Pilots to the city of Seattle, and second, the attempt–and failure–at keeping them there once the season ended. I was not around to witness the glorious debacle that was the Seattle Pilots, but after reading this book, I kind of wish I had been.
While the Pilots are remembered today with some nostalgia and romanticism for the past, the reality behind their stint in Seattle was less than glamorous. Mullins traces the initial struggle to bring Major League Baseball to the city by Dewey and Max Soriano, and the wariness, if not outright resistance, of Seattle’s citizenry and leaders. In spite of its growth and self-identification as a city open to new things, when it came to sports in the 1960s, Seattle was still very much a college town. The city had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, through the door to becoming “Big League.” Mullins shows us how the Pilots became the first ugly steps through that door, and how that ugliness and constant political bickering resulted in the Pilots’ demise.
Interspersed between chapters of the discussion of stadium politics, Mullins includes chapters about the Pilots themselves. I found this to be a nice touch, reminding the reader that, for all the politics and business involved in baseball, there is still a game that takes place on the field–and the appreciation of that game is what makes such a struggle worthwhile. Readers get a glimpse of the team, the personalities of its players, and get to follow the Pilots through their one and only season in existence. While the team’s final record was mediocre, at best, the Pilots nevertheless exceeded performance expectations for an expansion team’s first year in existence. Unfortunately, as Mullins details for us, the politics of stadium-building hindered the desire for would-be baseball fans to come out to the ballgame. By the end of the year, the Seattle Pilots were bankrupt.
There is no doubt that copious amounts of time and effort went into the research and writing of this book. The scope of the book covers not only the Pilots themselves, but also explores the character of Seattle, its citizens, and its leaders in the 1960s and 1970s. Mullins elaborates on the mindsets of the citizens and of the city’s leaders, as well as the struggle to convince Seattleites that Big League baseball was what they wanted, even if they didn’t know it yet. He untangles the knots of political debate, the economic struggles, and the business decisions involved in the Pilots’ birth and plight, and he does it in a way that is not drab or cumbersome, as I have found in so many other books about history and politics. Mullins manages to take this overwhelming labyrinth of a subject and lays it out in a way that is not only understandable, but also enjoyable to read.
