42 days until Opening Day.
A weird thing happened on the way to baseball season.
I lost a bit of my love for hockey. Remember how excited I was for its return after the lockout? Remember how I welcomed hockey back like a long lost lover? I feel like I’m watching with half a heart this season. I think I’ve watched one complete game without turning the channel back and forth to something else.
Maybe it’s because this winter has been rough on mentally (it’s just seemed darker, colder and more dreary than most winters in recent memory) I’m looking forward to spring and baseball with a fervor that feels unprecedented. I am longing for baseball. Longing to hear the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, the quiet calmness that comes so often during a game.
I am tired of winter and everything that goes with it and I’m quite sure that’s playing into my feeling tired of hockey. Don’t get me wrong, I still love the game; I just feel weary when watching games lately, like by doing so I’m prolonging winter and everything that comes with it.
I just want baseball season to be here. I want the warmth and the extended daylight that comes during baseball season. I want to watch balls sail out of the park. I want to watch a pitcher’s duel. I want to study statistics and read box scores and agonize over the standings.
I want baseball.
Hurry.
Today is pitchers and catchers day for the Yankees, so here’s something I wrote which was previously published elsewhere (and has been edited).
It’s February. There’s snow on the ground and a promise of more snow this weekend. Some of my neighbors still have their Christmas lights up. Yet I wake up this morning with my thoughts on baseball, as if spring has already arrived.
The phrase “pitchers and catchers” has a way of confusing my brain into thinking winter is over. Even though the National Hockey League season is at what should be its halfway point, the first sign of spring training pushes me into baseball mode. It means it’s not too early to start thinking about opening day, about warmer days and longer nights and the hope that your team’s season will last well into October.
The arrival of pitchers and catchers sets off sonic, tactile memories; smells, sights and sounds that are entwined with both spring and baseball, memories that come from having spent more than 40 years (I won’t say how many more than 40) as a fan of the sport. They are memories I store in a small compartment in my head and at the first mention of spring training that compartment bursts open and it’s all there: the powdery feel of the gum in a new pack of baseball cards; warm spring breezes that smell like lilacs; Bob Sheppard’s voice reverberating in my head (for some reason, he’s always announcing Don Mattingly’s name in these memories), the sound of the television in my parents’ backyard echoing the call of a game into the neighborhood; the slow motion cadence of the game itself, signifying the laid back nights of summer.
Baseball season brings hope like no other. It’s a long season. Anything can happen. At least that’s what you tell yourself when your team starts off slow. April. May. June. So much time ahead of us and all that time is spent under the cover of warm weather and days free of snow and biting wind. Baseball season brings a freedom from the darkness of winter. It brings summer vacation and the promise of freedom and picnics and beach days. How can you not have hope when with the baseball season comes the release from winter’s grip?
Sure, it’s only February. There might still be snow ahead of us (heck, it snowed on Yankees opening day one year) and early darkness and the drudgery of sloshing through the rest of winter. But the mind works in mysterious ways. When I hear the words “pitchers and catchers” the fog of winter breaks and I’m ready to throw myself into baseball season. I want to hear the crack of the bat and yea, even Tim McCarver’s voice. I’m anxious to hear my father’s taunts about the Yankees and give him back my good natured jabs about the Mets. I want it to be spring already, with warmer mornings and box scores and hot dogs and peanuts and Cracker Jacks.
In the season of pitchers and catchers, hope feels eternal. Spring feels like it’s already here.
Play ball.
Alex who?
[I wrote this over at American McCarver last year and now I’m stealing it from myself and repeating it here because I can]
7/4/85: The Greatest Baseball Game Ever Played
You’d think as a Yankees fan my favorite Fourth of July baseball memory would be Dave Righetti’s no-hitter in 1983. And it was. For two years. Until a Mets game took over the crown. Yes, the New York Mets.
July 4, 1985. New York Mets at Atlanta Braves. The greatest baseball game ever played.
Back in the 80s I was a huge Braves fan. Even though I loved my Yankees, I had a soft spot for the National League and a permanent place in my heart for Dale Murphy. That whole Braves team was a joy to watch. Horner, Hubbard, Ramirez, Camp (we are not going to talk about Len Barker). They weren’t a good team. But they were a fun team.
My parents had a television in the backyard, expressly for the purpose of watching baseball games. On this particular Fourth of July, the Mets-Braves game took precedence and a bunch of us gathered in front of the tv with our beer and hot dogs to watch the game, which started late due to a rain delay.
The first seven innings or so were unremarkable, save for the field being waterlogged which made for some slip-n-slide action in the outfield which resulted in at least one Mets run.
It was 7-4 Mets headed into the 8th.
Let’s note here that the 1985 New York Mets at the time were my most hated sports team ever (that lasted until the 1986 Mets, who remain Number One Sports Enemy). I loathed everyone on that team. Gary Carter. Lenny Dykstra. Keith Hernandez. I didn’t want to sit around with a bunch of drunk Mets fans watching them beat my team.
My man Dale Murphy came through in the bottom of the 8th with a three run double and the Braves took an 8-7 lead.
Thanks to two rain delays, it was close to midnight when the ninth inning started. There weren’t a lot of fans left in Fulton County Stadium, most of them assuming the after-game fireworks they showed up for weren’t going to happen. The Mets tied the game up and as we headed into extra innings, I think there were about 200 people left in the stands.
After three scoreless innings, we sent someone out for a beer run at the end of the 13th. When the Mets went ahead 10-8 and the Braves came right back to tie it up, we sent someone else out for a Taco Bell run. By this time, my parents were in bed, the party cleaned up and a just a few of us were left huddled around the television in the backyard.
A few more scoreless innings passed. Darryl Strawberry and manager Davey Johnson were thrown out of the game for arguing a call. At 3am. Umpire Terry Tata would later tell a reporter “At three o’clock in the morning, there are no bad calls.”
It was getting close to morning. There were five people left in our group. There were about as many left in Atlanta. The players were weary, the field was a mess and at that point I didn’t even care who won. This was a game for the ages. Everyone would be talking about it for weeks and I’d be able to say I stayed up for the whole thing.
Bottom of the 18th inning. 11-10 Mets. Two outs, nobody on and Atlanta was down to their last available man. Pitcher Rick Camp. This was it. I was sure the game was over. Rick Camp? How the hell was a pitcher going to tie this game up?
By hitting the only home run of his entire career. That’s how. I let out a triumphant shout of near-victory that woke my parents. My father dragged his ass outside to see what was going on. “Holy shit, this game is still on?” He sat down with us to watch history unfold.
We were going into the 19th inning. It was almost morning. The cameras panned the stadium and we applauded the people who were still there eight hours after the game was supposed to start.
The game’s current hero, Rick Camp, came out to pitch. Unfortunately, his heroics didn’t last and the Mets took a 16-11 lead into the bottom of the 19th.
Mets starter Ron Darling came out to pitch at close to 4:00 am. Suddenly it was 16-13 with the tying run at the plate.
Rick Camp.
Could he do it again? Could this pitcher who was batting .60 before the game started pull of another hero moment? At the 1-2 count we all held our breath.
Strike three. Game over. 4:00 am.
Fireworks went off over Fulton County Stadium, as promised.
Everyone, even the Braves themselves, even the few of us still watching the game in my parents’ backyard applauded. I’d like to say that the effort put out by both teams in the game meant there were no losers, but the Braves would probably beg to differ.
And that was the greatest baseball game ever played.
*ed note: this was 26 years ago. my memories might be hazy, but mostly accurate. also, click through for large version of the game’s scorecard.
I wrote something about baseball for American McCarver.
In the end, we just went with a generic “Let’s Go Mets” with his name.
Because we’re assholes, but not total assholes.
Jason Snell nails it over at American McCarver. Bonus points for name dropping my favorite Superman villain.
Andrew Anker
Tigers over Yankees in 4
This is Verlander’s year. His 2-hitter in game 1 will shake the Yankees up and they won’t recover.Rays over Rangers in 4
The Rangers pretty much coasted this year and I like the underdog. The Rays got their wild card the right way and have mo.
In case you were wondering where we all stand on the baseball playoffs.
I stand firmly in the “Please god, let us have a Yanks/Phils World Series” camp.
“We play too many night games on getaway days and get into places at 4 in the morning. This has been my toughest season physically because of that. We play a lot of night games on Sunday for television and that those things take a lot out of you…They can put the Padres on ESPN, too. The schedule really hurt us. Nobody is really reporting that.”—
Adrian Gonzalez, blaming Sunday Night Baseball for the Red Sox collapse
Oh shut the fuck up. Seriously. NOBODY IS REPORTING IT BECAUSE WHINING IS NOT A STORY.
“We had the biggest collapse in baseball history BECAUSE OF ESPN.”
Jesus.
I’m just gonna leave this here.