From Where I Sit

Ripken & Gwynn: Baseball Ambassadors

    Cal Ripken Jr. and Tony Gwynn were both elected into the Baseball Hall of Fame on Tuesday by huge majorities. Yes, you read that correctly - huge majorities. Which means that there were actually some schmucks who did NOT vote for their induction into the honored fraternity. This is amazing to me. It shouldn't surprise me because we all know that there's never been an unanimous pick for the Hall of Fame: not Ruth, not Mays, not Aaron. Now who in their right mind could think to themselves, "Willie Mays? No, he doesn't really belong in the Hall of Fame." Somebody did!

    The easy solution is to make the votes a matter of public record - everyone's votes get printed. This will accomplish at least one of two things. First, it should embarrass any self-respecting sportswriter from making a fool of his or herself by not voting for a Willie Mays or a Cal Ripken Jr. or a Tony Gwynn. If it doesn't prevent that, then at least we'll know who, in essence, voted against them and immediately take away their voting privileges.

    Aside from both of these player's Hall of Fame statistics is the fact that they were both two of the best ambassadors the game has ever had. In a time when sports superstars often show themselves to be self-absorbed, greedy, sometimes criminal, jerks along comes Cal Ripken Jr. and Tony Gwynn to show you that there still are some guys who "get it." They understand that they were blessed with special talents. They understand they were, and are, able to make a hell of a good living because of these special gifts they have. They have both been active in the communities in which they played and have given back to the baseball community in both time and money. You'd be hard pressed to find two better role models for young athletes or young kids in general.

    There are other reasons to be happy about this year's selection. In this steroid-crazed era in baseball history, neither player was known for his home run hitting. Yes, Ripken had 431 home runs but the truth is over 21 seasons he only hit 30 or more runs one time. In today's game, 30 home runs is an off-year for most sluggers. No, Ripken will always be remembered for his Iron Man reputation for having played in 2,632 consecutive games, obliterating the record of Lou Gehrig which stood for over 55 years before Cal came along. Ripken was consistent, responsible, reliable, hard-working - everything today's athlete seems NOT to be. Tony Gwynn was the closest thing baseball has come to a Ted Williams since, well, Ted Williams. In fact, Williams loved talking hitting with Gwynn. In 20 seasons, Tony Gwynn batted under .300 just one time. ONCE!!!! And that was his rookie year - he played in 54 games and batted .289. Remarkable.

     And now the most remarkable statistic in the career of both of these gentlemen. They both played for one team in their entire 20 year careers. NO ONE does that anymore - no one. This Hall of Fame induction will mean more to the cities of Baltimore and San Diego than most baseball fans could ever imagine.

    Living in Rochester, NY, I and my fellow Rochestarian baseball fans also feel as though we have a share in this election. Cal Ripken Jr. played his AAA ball for our Rochester Red Wings in the Summer of 1981. Those of us who saw him play back then knew he was a special ballplayer but I don't think any of us imagined that he would become such an iconic figure in the sport.

    That's all the good stuff - now for the slightly more controversial. Is the Hall of Fame even relevant? Many people argue this point. Pete Rose isn't in the Hall of Fame but there are people who think he should be. Last year, Bruce Sutter was inducted but Goose Gossage and Lee Smith are still not in. Mark McGwire only garnered about 23% of the vote today - is that just a slap on the hand to send a message or a signal to say that no players with a steroid suspicion hanging over their heads will make it? Bert Blyleven is ticked off he's not in the Hall and I'm ticked off that Jim Rice and Luis Tiant aren't there. Rice may make it next year but no one ever mentions Tiant and, in many ways, I think he was BETTER than Blyleven. Maybe none of it matters. Those of us who love baseball love to argue about its history and its players. As I just told my sons the other day, the reality is that it's foolish to even try to compare a ballplayer who played 70 years ago to one who plays today. The game, the equipment, everything has just changed too much and yet we do it all the time.

    Just for the record, I don't mind Sutter being in but he shouldn't have gotten there before Gossage and Smith. As for McGwire - NO. He wasn't nearly as dominant before he looked like The Incredible Hulk as he was after that. Blyleven can go in but only if Jim Rice and Luis Tiant are there as well. And I definitely think Pete Rose should be in the Hall of Fame. In fact, I think he should be in the Hall with special consideration given to his plaque and it's placement. I think HIS plaque should be prominently hung in the Men's Urinal to reflect the honor he's brought to the game.

    I've lost so much interest in sports over the past 20 years. There are still great moments, there are still great games, and, occasionally, there are some great ballplayers. But overall, none of it seems to be as much fun as it did once. There aren't just games any more - all sports are big business. Of course, many people will argue that it's always been this way and they're probably right. The games haven't changed - we have. I'm no longer a little kid who can believe that every ballplayer out on that field is just thrilled to be playing in the Major Leagues the way I want to someday. And still, every once-in-a-while a ballplayer comes along, a Tony Gwynn, a Cal Ripken Jr., and he's everything I'd like to believe I would have been had I been given the gifts.

    Congratulations Cal, Congratulations Tony . . . and thanks.

Triple the excitement!

    I played Little League Baseball for about six or seven years of my youth. For the most part it was a positive experience. Of course, I didn't always have the best attitude - I took sports a little too seriously in my younger days. Back then, as I recall, some of the parents did as well.

    In my family there was no such problem. My father couldn't possibly have cared less about Baseball (which was my favorite sport) or any sport. My father, who was always trying to find that one special idea that would bring him fame and fortune, didn't have any real hobbies. His work was his hobby. He was a builder and real estate broker and he tried to use as much creativity as he could in his projects. He did come to watch my Little League games but only after he had gone home and had some dinner first. Then he would get to my games around the 3rd inning or so. He was never excitable or passionate, just a casual observer.

    Many of the other fathers really knew the game. They could give us tips and really show their support by "talkin' baseball" with us. Not only did I NOT resent my father for his lack of familiarity or connection to the game but I admired it in a way. To him baseball was a game - just a game. It was not life or death - just a game. Although at the time, it was life and death to me, I guess through my Dad's example I kept in the back of my mind the knowledge that it was . . . just a game.

    I always said I'd never get involved with Little League if I had sons. I'm not a joiner and I never wanted to think about getting real involved with other parents, etc. Now my two sons are both in Little League and somehow I'm involved with both of their teams. My youngest is five and just started T-Ball this year. I've been the Assistant Coach on his team and the regular pitcher that pitches to our kids. I've been more patient than I thought I could be although it's getting tougher and tougher. The little kids have the attention spans of, well, who are we kidding? They have almost no attention spans at all!

    My older boy is nine years old and he's in the next level up where the kids begin to pitch to each other. His first year in this "Minor League" level was last year. His team, the Tigers, did not win a single game all of last year. This year they've been doing better but there's been one team they could not beat - the Phillies. This is a team where the father is a gym teacher so he gets his team together and starts practicing in February in his school's gym! No one ever told this guy that it's not about winning and to just have fun. For this reason, I have really wanted our team to beat this guy. We've always taken the attitude with the kids on our team that as long as you improve and learn, that's what is most important.

    Tonight, in our last meeting with the Phillies for the rest of the season, we won. I think the score was 10 - 6 but I'm not completely sure. All I know is that I haven't been that emotionally invested in a baseball game since Game Six of the 1986 World Series. Luckily for me the outcome of this game was much better than in 1986.

    We were leading 10 - 0 at one point and then we started to crack. In the fourth inning we were leading 10 - 5 (they had scored 5 runs in the 3rd inning) and they loaded up the bases with no outs. I figured we were going to collapse for sure. Now I don't know how many baseball games you've watched with 8, 9, and 10 year old kids but let me tell you, if a ball is hit in the air to the outfield you have about a 20-30% chance that it will be caught. Usually the outfielder will watch it land next to him or if you've got a real sharp kid, it may hit off his glove and roll to the fence. Okay, so the bases are loaded, the batter hits a pop fly to left field. All the runners start running even though there are no outs. The left fielder makes the catch at which point the coach, our scorekeeper (one of the mothers), her husband, the official Assistant Coach, and another father and myself who have become like the unofficial Assistant Coaches, start screaming for the left fielder who made the catch to throw to second base because the runner who was on second is half way to third. The left fielder throws to second base and another miracle occurs - the second baseman catches the ball and stands on second. Double play. By now, the runner from first is practically to second so I begin yelling for the second baseman to touch the runner from first and this is where the true miracle occurs - he listens to me! He touches the runner from first and I start yelling "That's three, that's three!" The ump gives the out sign, turns back to the other coach with a little half-smile on his face and shakes his head, "Triple play," he says.

    Half the people there had no idea what happened and, I'm embarrassed to say, I experienced a  moment of true, unadulterated joy.

    Our kids held on to beat the team they were certain they couldn't beat and they felt great about the victory and about themselves. After the game one of the kids said, "We did it, we beat the unbeatable team." And I stopped him and I said, "No, all you did was learn for yourselves what the coaches and I have been telling you all along. No team is unbeatable. You can do anything you believe you can do."

    I know it's just a game but it's such a great game.

Kirby Puckett: On Field Inspiration

    Someone asked me this weekend why I hadn't mentioned Kirby Puckett last week. It wasn't a snub, in fact, quite the contrary. I wanted and needed a little time to think about Puckett, his career, his untimely end.

    I was a huge Kirby Puckett fan. From day one, you could tell that Kirby Puckett was something special. He played with a rare enthusiasm we don't often see from our professional athletes any more. You knew, just by watching him, that he was living a dream and he knew it! Perhaps that why we all loved him so much, why we rooted for him to succeed. Those of us who grew up wanting nothing more than to someday play Major League Baseball don't necessarily begrudge those who were born with more talent or bigger bodies or faster legs. We're not jealous that the chosen few were chosen over us by fate. No, what we resent, is that those who do make it to "The Big Show" don't seem to appreciate it. Unbelievably, they don't realize that they are living out ALL our dreams. Once they make it, they forget all the guys they left behind in the dust of Minor League ball, College and/or High School baseball. Many of us, who may have loved the game as much, or even more, but just didn't have the same skill level as the pros, continue to follow the game throughout our lives and wonder, "what if?"

Kirby Puckett never forgot. He played every game as if he had just stepped onto a Major League field for the first time. That humility, combined with his total effort and hustle, is what made us all root for the little fireplug guy who looked more equipped to be selling beer in the stands than running down flies in the outfield.

I remember how heartbroken I was when he was forced to retire because he was losing sight in his eye. I had already learned long before that life wasn't fair but I was still shocked, and perhaps angry, that the guy I saw as a perfect example of what a ball player should be was being forced to end his career on such a defeated note. All the more reason I was so thrilled when he was voted into The Baseball Hall of Fame just a few years later.

Then, with the darkness that began to take his sight, he seemed to lose his way in life. There were family problems, legal problems, weight problems that led to health concerns. I certainly never knew just how bad things had gotten for Puckett. More than likely, I probably I didn't want to know. I'm uncomfortable referring to athletes as heroes but, at the very least, Kirby Puckett was an inspiration. He was a professional baseball player and, as such, he conducted himself on the field with class and sportsmanship. No doubt his example on the field made an impact on fans who loved the game.

I can't speak for the other areas of his life because I know little about them. I only remember that he was a joy to watch and while the memory of his career and accomplishments will continue to inspire, his spirit is, and will be, sorely missed.