Baseball

 

Baseball

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Sultans Of Swing: Dire Straits

I had been planning to write this baseball story as it was apropos to our Tampa Bay team playing the Dodgers.  I was confounded by what music I had that would complement the game.  No idea.  Then, this morning, our alarm, which gathers music from my library, woke us to Mark Knoffler and his group, Dire Straits.  Sultans of Swing.  Very coincidental.  My family believes that all things come to Robbo.  Nah.  Just blind luck.

When I was very young, a friend of mine was baseball crazy.  I knew little of the game, being of Scottish heritage, so I thought it important that I gain some knowledge.  His favorite team was The Dodgers.  And I learned of their treacherous history.  Moving from Brooklyn to L.A.  Betrayal most grievous by most accounts.  But with the advantage of time, the now, west coast Dodgers, were spectacular.  

It was 1959.  The Dodgers were all-stars. Many would attain baseball glory, voted in to the Baseball Hall Of Fame.  And spearheaded by great pitchers, this magical team played together, every game day.  Well almost every day.

Sandy Koufax refused to play games on Yom Kippur.  And I found out that one of the best pitchers in baseball was so religious that he would not play on his holy day.  We played sports on any day.  Every day we could.  What was this man thinking?  Who would not show up when their name was called?  Did he not agree to play when he took his first paycheck?  He was Jewish.  What did that mean?  Why was that so different? 

 I didn't even know what that was at that point in my life.  Our town was almost all white and had few visible minorities.   I did not know that Jews even played baseball.  

A Jewish family owned one of the best clothing stores in Orillia. When I was stretching in size and needed new pants or a shirt, we visited that store, and all I remember was how nice the staff were.  I was treated like family.  Someone listened to me and guided me in my (or my mother's) choice. Nice people. 

I had never knowingly met a Jewish kid of my age.  There were, to my knowledge, only a handful of Jewish families in a town of under 20,000 people.  We were catholics or protestants.  And no conflicts as far as I knew.  I was no doubt, as were many of us, incredibly sheltered from the big world. 

 And then I found myself rooting for Sandy Koufax.  And he could throw a ball like I had never seen.  When he pitched, the ball was a blur.  Almost invisible.  And I eventually forgot about his faith.  I loved Koufax because he could pitch.

And they had Don Drysdale.  He was a spectacular thrower, and far too good looking to play in Brooklyn. No wonder the team moved to Hollywood.  In those days they had the best team in baseball.  And the best looking.

So I became a Dodger fan, under the tutelage of my buddy Billy.  And my love of baseball lasted for decades.

1978

I decided that our young family should take a spring break vacation in Florida.  Things were going well at my job, and Kath had the week off from teaching.  Stephanie had just turned two.  We were ready to escape our long, cold winter weather, and touch our toes in the warm sand of Vero Beach, Florida.

Vero Beach just happened to be the spring training home of the Dodgers.  Imagine the luck.

The first afternoon of our first full day was spent at the ball park.  We watched the team and talked to many of the players, in homey, casual surroundings.  Players would wander over to talk to us and there was a connection.  Everyone was appreciative of the other.  How life used to be.  We were an integral part of of the whole.  We loved to be with the players, and the players paid attention to those of us who came to watch them hone their craft. The weather was all Florida.  Warm and humid and soft and welcoming.

And we spent time with Steph at the beach.  Idyllic.  Gone from memory were my work, Kath's kids in her class, shoveling snow, and the bitter Toronto winter.  On this day, we were a Canadian family without coats.

We decided on dinner at Charlie Brown's, a local steak house favorite.  While we were waiting for our table, we sat in a casual bar area and played backgammon.  The restaurant had cleverly set out a variety of games on different tables, to help take time out of the wait.  We had fancy cocktails and Stephanie had her first Shirley Temple, a faux-adult beverage.  A big hit with our little girl.

We were in Heaven.  Life could not be better.  And then, it suddenly was.

Steve Garvey came over and asked if he could sit with us and watch us play.  My first, and typical response was to tell him to "f.... off", and, "Can't you see we're busy".  I thought it would be hilarious.  But, alas, I could not bring myself to do it.  He was warm and smiling and ridiculously handsome.  And he was asking if he might sit with us.  He might not have understood the joke.  

Of course we made some room for him.  He explained that he was having a birthday party for Cindy, his wife (at that time), and she was on her way with her parents, who lived in the area.  He had wanted to learn the game and we took out time, explaining the strategy and answering his questions.  We talked with him for half an hour or more, and we never mentioned baseball.  He was charming and open.  He smiled easily and was comfortable and confident.  I think my bride was hopeful that his party would not show, and he would have to join us for dinner.  

That was not to be the case.  His little group came in and he took the time to introduce them to us, before they headed to their table.  Cindy was almost as pretty as Steve.  At least I thought so.  Kathy held a different opinion.

For the uninitiated, Garvey was the first baseman for the Dodgers.  He was perfect looking, about my height, and was always on camera.  Smiling.  The man was impeccable.  Groomed for show.  Sartorially splendid.  No hair out of place.  He never sweated.  He was the face of the franchise at the time.  And, thinking about our meeting now,  I might have even been a little taller than he was.  And I could play backgammon like a pro.  

Oh yes.  Dinner was good as well.  And Kat did not have to cook.

The next morning, the three of us were having breakfast in our hotel restaurant.   Kath and I were actually eating, and Stephanie was touring the room, saying hello to whomever.  When she came back, she was hand in hand with a man, who was her escort to our table.

He introduced himself as Steve Yeager, the catcher for the Dodgers.  Like I did not know that.  We had met him at the ballpark, previously.  He and his wife were headed out to do some shopping, and he asked if Steph could go with them.  They were looking forward to children, and they thought our little girl charming.  Well, we looked at each other and agreed that would be alright if Stephanie wanted to.  Like there was ever a doubt.  Off they went.  And my friend and I went back to our room for our first bit of privacy and to work on child two.  Everybody was happy.

And yes, Steph was returned, as promised, a big smile and gifts in hand.  She had done well without us.  The Yeagers thanked us and were impressed with Steph.  She had been a model child, apparently.  Which was not a surprise to us.  She was the perfect child.  Great parenting.

Kath did not want me to tell this story, as her reputation as a good mother might be put in jeopardy.  Who would ever pass on a child to a stranger?  Horny parents without coats.  That's who.  It was not like we didn't know who these people were.  However, I am obviously one poor listener.  I will hear about this, later, when she reads it.  Until then I live in fear.

On the health front, I was at the Cutaneous Clinic at Moffitt on Friday.  We did six more biopsies.  Three on my face, two on my back and one on my left shoulder.  A staff of three worked on me for well over and hour.  There were an abundance of "pinch and a burn!  Ready?"  I had bleeding issues the previous visit and they were not going to let that happen again.  Several areas required larger samples, as the surrounding area appeared tainted.  And others required additional depth, as the thought was, they might contain melanoma.  Three required stitches to close.

                                                               Scary enough for Halloween?

No physical activity for another two weeks, until the stitches are removed.  I am hopeful to see my surgeon at the same time.  We have a timing issue which I hope we can work out.

                                                                                Head shot

I honestly hope that your week has been less stressful than mine.  

                                                                            Rear view

I trust you are all staying well and avoiding trouble. We have had an outbreak at our community, after a wonderfully prolonged period of no problems.  One gentleman headed north for a brief visit and when he returned, he played golf with his buddies, without sequestering for ten days.  They celebrated and settled up their bets in the bar, after their round.  He and 25 others contracted covid.  The bar and restaurant have been closed.  The staff have all been tested and the entire operation has been treated and sanitized.  We are hopeful they are all well and they will open again - soon.  A good number of residents depend on our club for some of their meals.

As a footnote to my baseball story, we were at a Blue Jays' spring training game shortly after they entered the league.  Things had changed.  The players and the visiting team arrived by bus and did not fraternize with the crowd.  No player-fan conversations.  The better players on the opposing team had a contractual clause which allowed them to not travel with the team.  No wonder baseball struggles.  Athletes make bundles of cash and have no interest in growing their own sport.  They apparently don't like bus rides and they like people less.  Kids do not get to see their idols.   We have never been back.

My old and new baseball teams will continue their game(s) this week.  The Buccaneers won again and my Tide lost Jaylen Waddle for the year, with a high ankle injury.  Hopefully he can continue with his education and with his football career, next year.  He was a Heisman candidate and perhaps the league's most explosive player.  He will certainly be missed by all football fans. 

Love from The Sunshine State. 

Until next week, God willing.