A Personal History of Baseball, or R.I.P. KP

Those that know me, know that I am a Yankees fan. I go to Yankee Stadium many times in the year to catch the day's game, and I will pay top dollar for the cheap ass swill that they call "beer." I go to bars that have TVs that I know will be showing the game [Lighthouse Tavern in Brooklyn is my favorite (Cousins II was, but apparently it is closed); I have yet to find a consistent bar in Manhattan or close to my place in the Bronx; I don't like GYM in Chelsea, because the layout is poor, and the bars by my house are… nasty. Either I will be doing a tour of Manhattan sports bars this summer or I will be moving to Park Slope]. I will stay at home just to watch the last inning before going out for the evening. I will watch the YES network often, starting next month, only taking breaks for tennis and shitty reality shows until October. I will bitch about the weekend's games to co-workers on Mondays, who will look at me as if I am crazy. A majority of my friends will start avoiding me after games, or will compile a list of topics to change to when I start bitching about some aspect of the most recent game. I do have a few friends that I can bitch about the season with or share in the fruits of victory (J, Sars, and DEv). I don't watch all of the games though, probably once or twice a week, and I don't memorize the statistics and histories. I'm not a Superfan by any means.

I didn’t always like baseball though. Perhaps this started when I was playing T-Ball as a youth. This was a problem though, as I was not very athletic, and therefore not really interested in being the loser on the team who would stand in the outfield looking for dandelions or wasn’t able to bring his hand/eye coordination enough to hit the goddamn ball off the motherfucking tee. I would rather lose myself in a book. You see, I was a nerd. It’s tough to be in elementary school and a nerd, and being forced to humiliate yourself by whiffing on the ball that just sat there on a fucking stand. My father desperately wanted me to love baseball. At that age he was intent on bonding with me, and this was the method to get to me. So, because of my love for T-Ball, he took me to Major League games.

I grew up in Minnesota, in a nice suburb outside of Minneapolis. Good school system, nice homes and a very decent baseball team, the Minnesota Twins. I remember those years fondly. My dad took me to the H.H. Metrodome many times. In 1986, we went to the game where the dome teared slightly and water poured down onto the fans below. In 1987, Minnesotans watched in amazement as our decent team turned into a World Series Champion team. The team consisted of Kent Hrbek, Gary Gaetti, Frank Viola, Dan Gladden and, of course, Kirby Puckett, all lead by Tom Kelly. This season was called “Magic” by just about everyone in Minnesota. The Twins had yet to win a World Series, and at the beginning of the season, they weren’t expected to even get to the division series. But they played good ball, and with their new manager, Kelly, were able to take the division, as the fans counted down to the “magic” number. Homer Hankies were printed up for the first time, and the horrible song that accompanied them was introduced. The Twins went into the ALCS with no one expecting them to win. The Tigers fell 4-1, and the Twins went on to win the World Series against the Indians. Kirby had always been the favorite of the hometown crowd, and this year was no exception. He got the credit that he deserved and the ring to back it up. He became a hero of sorts to me. Probably because I knew he’d be able to hit the fucking ball off the goddamn tee. I generally don’t regard sports stars and movie stars as heroes. I usually go for politicians and activists who work to change the world for the better, but I was 9 years old, and Kirby was god.

Four years later, he proved that he was God-like. It was 1991, Knobby’s rookie year, and the Twins had ended the previous season in the basement. The denizens of the upper-Midwest did not expect anything in 1991. Our “Magic” had come and gone. Eventually, the Twins actually started to win games… a lot of games. The Twins somehow took the division and moved onto the ALCS to beat the Blue Jays. The Homer Hankies had been printed and we were ready for another “Magic” post-season: The Homer Hankies vs. the Tomahawk Chops. Fast-forward to the famous Game 6 at the HH Metrodome. The Twins were down to the Braves 3-2 in the series, and were fighting for their lives. The score was tied and in the 11th inning, Kirby came up to bat, and hit a homerun to keep the Twins in the series, which they took in Game 7. It was one of those “I can’t believe I’m seeing this” moments, and proved that Kirby was in fact a God.

Kirby played for another 4 seasons. He started his MLB career in 1984 and played through the 1995 season, every season with the Minnesota Twins. He was slated for the 1996 season, but woke up one morning to blurred vision, and found out that he had Glaucoma. His number, 34, was retired. Although he was no longer playing, he continued to be active in the organization and his popularity continued. He was inducted into the Hall of Fame his first year of eligibility in 2001, and was the third youngest person to be inducted.

The man changed my mind about baseball. I have him to credit for this mild obsession that I have on what, quite frankly, is generally a boring game. But it is the 2 minutes, hopefully longer, each inning where something happens: a bat comes alive, one of the outfielders makes a daring dive to catch a ball just out of reach, the pitcher beans the batter in the head with a wild pitch, an infielder makes an amazing catch to start a double play… that is what I love about the game. That is when the beer (“beer”) is forgotten and my eyes are riveted. Although he never played for the Yankees, he is the man that introduced me (actually it was Knobby, but… I met Knobby through Kirby) to Jeter, Paulie, Tino, Bernie, Jorge, Moose and Joe.

Thanks for the memories Puck, and R.I.P.

Baseball is My Drug.

One of Those Things That Makes This Country Great: Dumb People

How great a place is the United States of America? The United States of America, or just “America” as it is affectionately called, is a land built on freedom… and blood, don’t forget the blood. This country began by declaring it’s independence from England in 1776, oh beautiful. In 1777, the Articles of Confederation named this confederation of colonies: The United States of America. These articles were the general guidelines until the US Constitution went into effect in 1789. Our founding fathers built the country so that all white men could be free. Eventually, after realizing that they had been idiots on this point, they made it so that all men could be free, regardless of skin color. If you had a penis, you were free and able to vote. Slavery was abolished in 1865, by the 13th amendment to the US Constitution. Three years later the 14th amendment was ratified which stated that all persons born on US soil or naturalized under the spacious skies of the USA are considered citizens and are due all of the freedoms promised there in. It also states that no state “shall abridge the privileges or immunities” of those citizens and that no state shall “deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” This is the amendment that was cited to end racial segregation in Brown vs. the Board of Education. In 1870, the 15th was ratified to give ALL men of the US the right to vote, regardless of skin color, and eventually, in 1920, the 19th amendment was ratified to give women the right to vote.

The first 10 amendments to the constitution define many of the rights of the citizens of the United States. Those 10 amendments comprise what is called the Bill of Rights. In my opinion, the most important of these rights is detailed in the first amendment. This is the freedom of speech, press, religion, peaceable assembly and to petition the government. Although some may not think that it works 100%, or that the government strictly adheres to it, this is one of those basic rights of this country that really works for the people. It’s why CNN can show the news and FoxNews can show you (or choose not to show you) the “news.” It’s why we can blog about whatever we care to (although we may get sued or put under scrutiny). It’s why we have Catholics, Episcopalians, Jews, Buddhists, and Scientologists, and we’re all allowed to celebrate our faith (or lack of) freely and openly. You may be ridiculed for it, but that’s freedom of speech.

You’re probably asking: why the history lesson? “Why are you telling me something that I already know?” The thing though, is that you probably don’t. At least according to a recent study, “only one in four Americans can name more than one of the five freedoms guaranteed by the First Amendment.” I mean, 25%? Come on! And only one in 1,000, or 0.001%, can name all five! Usually I am not a stickler for shit like this, not everyone can know everything, and I know that there are some public schools out there that aren’t great in the teaching facts part of the curriculum, but this is one of the United States’ basic tenets. Sure, I can understand that someone may not remember which number is which amendment, and one in particular was so incredibly asinine that they repealed it 14 years later (God Bless the 21st!), but this is so basic to the rights of the Citizenship.

The thing that really blows my mind is that one in five Americans believe that the right to own a pet is protected by it! What in the amber waves of grain are they smoking? “God Bless America, which gives me the right to bear cats!” Um, NO!!! Seriously, maybe we should reconsider the whole free speech thing if one in five of us is a knucklehead. We wonder why test scores are so low among these purple mountain majesties, but if you took a look at the US Senate, who could divert more money to education, statistically 20 of them think that owning Buddy is a right protected by the Bill of Rights (of course, those 20 would probably be Republicans). These Americans, this 20%, has the ability to vote! I’m not saying that US Citizens who are the age of the majority should have to take a test to be able to vote, that defeats the purpose, but at least there should be some sort of public review at the polls or before the State of the Union address. There should be something so that the people in the fruited plains can catch up. What else do people think is in the Bill of Rights? The right to blow up any country that looks at us funny? The right to be loud, pushy and rude? The right to mar or destroy anything that isn’t personally agreed with? The right to a foolish sense of entitlement? Probably. I mean, these are some of the same people who cry, “America! America!” every bleeding chance that they can, but 25% don’t know what rights they’re hoping to protect. I don’t understand. I know that ignorance is bliss, but this just amazes me. I guess that I will have to resign myself to this sorry state of affairs.

I do hope though that this important fact is brought to light. Maybe it will encourage people to learn what those five freedoms are. Maybe the newscasts will air this story and actually air what those freedoms are instead of blowing through them at the tail end of the story that I’m sure they will. Maybe Anderson will blog about it, or put it on 360°. Maybe Matt will introduce his loving fans to it when he’s not assaulting Martha (she just wants to show you vegetarian options, man). Or Idol contestants can sing about it, after all they’re seen by millions, all: God Shed His Grace on THEEEEEEEEEAY! That would reach so many people, but that would be all educational and stuff, and that would not be good for the ratings. But patriotic hymns and anthems are well known, lots of people know the words to those, and they’re sung at sporting events and in elementary schools. Instead of reciting the pledge of allegiance, which I’ve always found to be a bit cult like and conforming, we should recite the Bill of Rights. That way, everyone knows of their inalienable rights from sea to shining sea. Hopefully, the Freedom Museum will be able to change things. Probably not a lot, but maybe a little bit.

The First Amendment is My Drug.

Footnote: As for: "And Crown Thy Good With Brotherhood," I just couldn't fucking fit it in there without it coming out smelling like cheese, so deal.