Baseball Mothers.

With the start of the 2017 College baseball season less than a week away, I was reflecting back on my baseball playing days.  As a kid I loved baseball.  Read the box scores every morning.  Played in the sandlots and organized ball every chance I got.  Having a Father that loved the game and was excited that I played only fueled my emotion.  Every chance we got he would take me, my brother and whatever neighbor kids we could round up to the sandlot for batting practice.  But that is not the topic of this story. 

Last night while watching the movie, "Sandlot" for the umpteenth time, I recalled the line Small's Mother said to him.  She said she wanted him to go outside, meet other kids, have fun and get into a little trouble.  It got me to thinking of the role the Mothers have in all of the baseball playing boys. 

My Mother didn't throw me or my brother batting practice or hit us grounders.  However, she went to the field and shagged balls as we hit.  I can still see her in the outfield without a glove scooping up ground balls with her skirt.  She was pretty good at it too.  She could whip up a meal in minutes and often had to prepare two or three suppers a day, as we were all on different schedules.  She was a score keeper.  After she passed I found many of those scorecards.  I think she only kept the ones that I did well. 

Later in life as I started coaching my seven and eight year old boys in Little League, I became more aware of the importance of mothers in their baseball son's development.  My first year in coaching I had to draft a team.  Identifying the kids to pick in the early rounds was easy.  The later rounds was tougher.  I recall that first team and my last pick.  I had about ten kids from which to pick.  None had shown any ability at all.  So when it came my turn I selected a little lefty named David Rose.  Why David, you ask?  Well David's Mother, Ginger, had brought him to tryouts.  She was knock down gorgeous. I mean a real beautiful woman.  If her kid couldn't play ball, at least she was nice to look at.  (At this point I will pause and allow female readers to comment on my shallowness and whatever adjectives one would feel necessary to throw at me).

However, the story does not end here.  Ginger was as beautiful inside as she was outside and ended up being my Team Mom.  Byron, her husband, ended up volunteering to be my assistant coach.  We became good friends.  But there is some irony to this story.  We ended up with a pretty good team. David was a real nice kid and tried hard.  We had a pretty good team and made the championship game.  In the last inning of that game we had a one run lead.  The other team had the bases loaded with two outs and their best hitter at the plate.  He hit a line drive to left field and my little lefty with the beautiful Mom made a diving catch to end the game.  What a great draft pick.

The next year I had another pretty good team of eight and nine year olds.  Practices can be a challenge to keep the kids interested and make it fun.  Many of the mothers would bring their kids to practice and wait to take them home. In order to keep it interesting, I told the Moms and kids the next day we were going to have a Mothers vs. kids game.   My second baseman was a kid named Phillip McAbee. A really good player.  He could hit and field. It turned out that one of the mommas was an army brat and had been an All Europe softball player when she was a teenager.   Phillip's Mom was still playing slow pitch softball in Chattanooga.  Needless to say the Mother Team was pretty good.  When Phillip's Mom caught his line drive, putting him out for the second time, he sat down and cried.
I understand Phillip later received a voice scholarship to U of Tennessee.

All the Moms weren't as classy as MY Moms.  I once had to separate two of them from a "Cat Fight" at the Red Bank, TN Dixie League park. 

Two Generation Of Baseball Moms. One is done and the other just starting

Flash forward to the 90's.  By then my kids baseball careers were over and I had become a Lamar University baseball fan.  Sitting in the stands we had the chance to meet a lot of the baseball Moms of the college players.  A handful stand out in my memory.  Bryan Lovelace's Mom and Dad came from California to watch him play.  She would holler at him, "C'mon, Cutie Pie".  A name she must have given him as a toddler and thoroughly embarrassed him as a 21 year old college baseball player.  Everytime he would come to bat she would cover her face and not watch until his at bat was over.

Richard Templeton was a reliever in the mid 90's.  During one particular game when the Cardinals were playing poorly, His Mother got on top of the dugout and started berating the entire team for their poor play.  The Cards came back and won that game.  Mrs. Templeton was credited with the "Save".

As time went on, we began encouraging the Mother's to bring us cookies.  Many obliged.  A couple of Section BB favorites emerged.  Lisa Dziedzic, whose son was invited to the KC Royals spring training camp this year, made all of the games along with about a dozen of her other kids.  She made some outstanding pastries.  Another favorite, Frankie Harrington, also brought some nice treats.  Frankie had two sons, both pitchers that are still in the LU record books.  We got cookies for eight years.  She knew the game and when her boys made mistakes, she didn't cut them any slack. A great fan.

But, the favorite of all time was the Mother of Scotty Diaz.  Scotty didn't pitch many innings in his two years at Lamar, but his parents were always there. They sat behind us in Section BB and she had treats at every game which she enthuastically shared.  It was her desire to see her son pitch more that is still talked about today in Section BB.  Last I heard Scotty had earned his medical degree and is practicing medicine. 

As the new season is about to begin, I am looking forward to cookies from Reid Russell's Mom and the other baseball mothers yet to be named. 

Most of the baseball Mom's don't throw batting practice, play catch,  hit fly balls or call balls and strikes.  But, like my Mother and Ms. Smalls, they are the backbone of a baseball playing kid.  They drive the carpools, wash the uniforms, bandage the scrapes, ice the black eyes.  They root for their kid, worry about an injury, prepare the pregame meals, give up a new dress to have money for a new catcher's mitt, soothe a wounded soul following a hat trick and on occasion mediate with an overbearing Dad.   They spend hours and days in uncomfortable seats when they would need to be doing something else. And, in some cases scoop up grounders with their dress like Ozzie Smith.

Thanks to my Dad I could hit left handed pitchers pretty well, But, thanks to my Mom, I learned to keep score.  That I still do to this day.

Is There Algebra in Baseball

If you have read more than one of my blogs, then you know that I am a huge baseball fan.  Today you can watch multiple games on TV at almost any given time.  The basics of the game are still basically the same.  The presentation, marketing, analysis and a plethora of talk shows are new, but nothing beats the excitement of the game itself.




I prefer attending games in person.  However, watching the action on TV can be very entertaining.
But, radio broadcasts hold a special place in my heart.  It all started listening to the local minor league team on my crystal set.  As a result I have become fond of radio baseball analysts.


My three favorite radio baseball men of all time are:


1. Ed Dittert.  Among other sports, I best remember him for his late night play by play of the Beaumont Exporters in the 1950's.  He made me feel  like I was in the stadium with the Knot Hole Gang.


2. Loel Passe.  He was the Houston Colt .45s/Astros color guy in the 1960's.  He was a "homer" and full of enthusiasm.  I can still hear him shouting, "Now you chuckin' in there, Turk"


3. Harold Mann. The voice of Lamar University.  I always catch his radio broadcasts whenever, I can't be in the stadium.  On occasion he will give me a shout out.


As I was driving to work this morning listening to Harold and another radio guy talk about teachers having to take Texas History in order to teach in the State, when the subject shifted to Algebra.  My radio guy adulation suddenly screeched to a halt when both agreed that Algebra was useless and no one ever used it.  Well, Harold, this is a little baseball algebra for you.


Mathematician, Bill James, thoroughly analyzed baseball statistics to better measure and value players performance.  Billy Beane put the sabermetrics to practice with his Oakland A's.  How do you value performance? Is it Batting Average, RBIs, home runs, etc. Some people suggest that the most telling stat is OPS.  So, Harold and Jim Love, here is some Baseball Algebra for you.


OPS (Y) = OB%(X) + SLUG%(Z)


Variables:


T=At Bats                                          h=total hits (s+d+t+r)
s=singles                                            w=walks
d=doubles                                           p=hit by pitch
t=triples                                              f=Sacrificed Flies
r=home runs (aka round trippers)
Y = X + Z


Y =   h+w+p                   s+2d+3t+4r           
        T+p+f+p        +              T




Therefore,


Y = T*(h+w+p)+(s+2d+3t+4r)*(T+w+f+p)
                             T*(T+w+f+p)


A couple of Lamar U. examples.


Mike Ambort(LU single season HR record)           2005  OPS = 1.068
Erik Kanaby(LU single season batting avg record  2006   OPS =   .876


So, Harold, take this algebra to the air waves!

Grumpy Old Men and Baseball

Ever since I could read a baseball box score I have been a baseball fan. I played the game until the competition exceeded my abilities.  Originally, I was a Brooklyn Dodger fan, then a Houston Colt .45s/Astro fan and eventually college baseball fan. After moving back to Beaumont in 1980 I started following the Lamar University Cardinal Team.  Being a LU graduate it was only natural that I throw my support to the locals. It didn't hurt that LU had a successful program and had made recent appearances in the NCAA tournament.

In 1982 I was coaching my sons in Little League.  As a fund raiser the coaches were asked to sell 15 tickets to a Lamar double header.  Rather than spend time hustling ticket sales, I bought all of them.  My wife was a teacher and I told her I would take the boys in her class to the game.  We crowded the eight year olds into our van and took them to the park.  I barely had time to watch the game. One of the kids slipped in with a can of skoal and got sick.  I knew Lamar was winning, but that was all.  When the game ended, the announcer said that Tony Mack had pitched a "No-Hitter".  I never realized it was happening.

As time passed I became more involved in following the Cards and in the early 90's became a season ticket holder.  A few years later I reconnected with my childhood friend, George Fortune.  His son-in-law to be was playing for Lamar.  Eventually, George bought season tickets and we made a few road trips.  We went to conference tournaments in Lafayette, LA, camped out to see one in Mobile, AL and made NCAA tournaments in Oklahoma City and Wichita, KS.  In a few years Billy Waugh and Richard Placette joined our group and we attended more road games, including NCAA tournaments in Austin and Houston.  Our little group started adding other road trips for some of the regular season games. 

Gilbert, Jay, Billy George and Abdul

Around 2000 we moved our seats to Section BB in Vincent-Beck Stadium.  Our little group grew and others started to make the road trips.  As you would expect when a bunch of guys get together,  a little smack talk, joking and practical jokes took place.  Anyone making a mistake could expect to be the subject of some abuse.
                                         

Chalk outline on the spot where George fell chasing a fould ball
at the Conference Tournament at Sam Houston State U.

Since most of our group had moved their seats to the same location, we became know as the Section BB gang.  We were joined by Jay O'Neal, Gilbert Garza, Richard LeBlanc and Master Chief Ted Parsons.  Typically we will make one weekend road trip during the regular season and also to the conference tournament.  A bonus trip is always added anytime we qualify for the NCAA regional tournament.  The last few years the Grumpy Old Men of Section BB has diversified by adding the Caywood Sisters,  and Johnny Massey and his wife, Arlene.  On occasion we would be accompanied by out of town high school classmates Bobby Katz and Buster Coats, Donnie Garcia, John Stevens and Christina Yancey.  We even have shirts indicating we are Section BB fans.

The group is made up of mostly 60+ retirees.  Some are tall, some are short. Some are thick and some are thin. ( I take that back, none are thin).  Some are democrats, most are republicans.  Some drink, most don't.  No one smokes.   Time permitting, we have visited local sites of historical significance and tried local cuisine.  During tournaments we have seen as many four games per day.  We have watched future major leaguers at the college level. 


The common thread of the group is the love of baseball.   We share stories at the others expense.  We have heard the story of Massey's minor league career where he gave up a spring training home run to Hank Aaron. (Actually, we have heard this story numerous times).  

GOM of BB John Massey, Richard LeBlanc, Jay O'Neal, Gilbert Garza,
Pattie Caywood Sistrunk, Jim Wright, George Fortune, Jim Wright,
Billy Waugh

Our last road trip was to Natchitoches, LA for the weekend series with Northwestern State, which included a stop at the Columbia Shuttle Museum in Hemphill, TX.  We had a record group of 13. 
Since there was only one game per day, we had time for sight seeing.  While Jay, Gilbert and Richard went to the Bossier City Casino, the rest of the group toured the sights.  We were even entertained by one of the local cast members of "Steel Magnolias". 

The rest of the time was filled by eating.  We had meat pies, red beans and rice, burgers and a special trip to the "Trail Boss" for steaks.  During each trip we usually have at least one anecdote that is talked about.  In Huntsville it was the chalk outline, in Corpus it was the hop scotch, the ticket scalping at Austin, the snoring, Sheldon Arnaud talking in his sleep in French, the heat of Ft Worth, and so on.   This trip was no exception.   The Trail Boss Restaurant provided the venue.  All thirteen of us went to eat there right after the Saturday game.  Many were wearing their "BB" shirts.  Gilbert Garza was one of these. 

Gilbert being short of stature went to the rest room.  While he was standing in front of the urinal two small boys came up behind him and asked if he had gone to the game.  The 70+ year old Gilbert replied that he had.  One of the young boys then asked, "Were you the bat boy?" Gilbert almost wet himself.

LU won all three games.

The Heat Was On at Disch-Falk Field.

For nearly twenty years George Fortune, Billy Waugh, Richard Placette and me have been following Lamar University Baseball.  We usually would make a road trip and always attend the conference tournaments.  When Lamar would qualify for the NCAA regional tournaments, we were there. 

Billy, George, Richard, Jay O'Neal, Gilbert Garza and me
in a road trip to conference tournament



Due to geographic location, Lamar usually ended up playing at the Regional tournament in Austin.  This is not a friendly place to play as Texas usually draws the big crowd and usually got the "home cooking" from the umpires. 

George Fortune

In 2002 our foursome had made the trip to Austin where we won one game and were eliminated

10-9 by Baylor in the semifinals.  This set up the championship game between Baylor and Texas the next day.  The temperature was hovering around the 100 mark.  Since we had bought tickets to the entire tournament and had paid for the rooms for one more night, we planned to attend the championship game.   As we were hanging outside the sold out stadium prior to the game.  Billy and George informed Richard and me they had sold their tickets to the game.  Richard and I wanted to see the game and discussed what we would do.  We all drove together and we decided if we could sell our tickets for a profit, we would would leave.  Some people call this "scalping", I prefer to call it Keynesian Economics.  As I stood around the crowd holding up the tickets, people would approach and ask, "How much?"  I wasn't going to give them away and the price was too high for the the first UT fans that asked. 







After a few minutes I was approached by a guy in shorts.  Immediately I knew he wasn't interested in attending the game when he showed me his badge.  He said, that it was against the law to sell tickets on university property, and he really didn't want to take me to jail.  Since I didn't want to go to jail, I gathered up Richard and we told Billy and George we were going to watch the game.  They would have to stay outside and wait until it was over before we could head back home. 

Richard Placette



That was only part of the story.  Richard and I found our seats while our traveling buddies were left outside.  About the second inning, I look down the stands and George is walking up.  It turned out they had run into one of Lamar's coaches' family and were given one ticket to the game and one to the VIP tent which had air conditioning and closed circuit TV of the game.   A little later Billy got a ticket from someone and he came up.

Not only did they sell their tickets to the final game, but they got in the game free anyway. 

At least I didn't go to jail. 

Texas won.

Billy Waugh



Let's Play Two

Baseball, You Bet!  When I first started following baseball the major league baseball teams played games in the classic parks like Ebbets Field, The Polo Grounds, Comiskey Park, Yankee Stadium, Crosley Field, Fenway Park, Forbes Field and Wrigley Field.  Today, only Fenway and Wrigley remain.

I had the opportunity to see a game in Fenway, the old Yankee Stadium and Baltimore's Memorial Stadium. This winter one of my friends brother in law organized a trip to Wrigley Field and George Fortune and I managed to get on the invite list.  Twelve of us made the trip.  Other than two hour flight delays going and coming due to record rains in Chicago the trip was well worth the effort. 

I had set three goals for the trip.  One, see a game in Wrigley, two, eat a Chicago deep dish pizza and three, eat a Chicago Dog at the ball park.

The night of our arrival we piled into two cabs and went to Lou Minalti's for pizza.  We ordered five large deep dish pizzas.  We ate three and a half and carried the remaining one back to the hotel desk clerk that recommended the place.  I have to say it was probably the best pizza I have ever eaten.

Saturday was game day. First pitch was at 12:05.  We arrived at the park around 0730am.  A nostalgic setting for a classic park.  There is no parking.  We walked around the entire park.  The first 10,000 fans would be given a key chain.  At exactly 1005am they opened the gates.  We were in the first 10 in the park.

 I must have heard the words from various members of our group, including myself, "We're at Wrigley Field" The park was old.  It didn't have the amenities of the new ones.  No "Jumbotron".  Not an abundance of concession stands. But what an atmosphere!  The fans were nice and the help was courteous.

The Cubs beat the Astros 7-2.  I could have been a Cubs fan.

Just Another Day in the Park

I developed my love for baseball as a kid in the early 50's.  The closest Major League  team, geographically speaking,  was the St. Louis Cardinals.  What I knew about the teams was what I read in the papers or an occasional sports magazine.  Everyone had a favorite team.  Some were Cardinal fans, a lot of Yankee fans, but for me, it was the Brooklyn Dodgers.  I would read the box scores everyday.  In the Sunday paper there was always a listing of all of the statistics.  There was usually a game on TV on Saturday, but I would rather be playing than watching.  Therefore, my connection to the Big Leagues was through the daily newspapers. 

Beaumont had a minor league team and some of those players made it to the "Show". Other than that, my only contact with the Big League teams came sometime in the 50's when the Ralph Kiner led Pirates played some other team at Stuart Stadium, the home of the Beaumont Exporters.  My Dad got me out of school early to go to the game.  I remember Kiner hitting a double off the green fence.

Other than that one occurrence, I had to settle to my daily routine of a bowl of Wheaties and reading the sports page every morning.  At the end of my senior year in high school, in 1962, Houston got a major league franchise and they become known as the Houston Colt .45s.  Major League baseball was only an hour and half away.

It was an impromptu decision that led to my first major league game.  One afternoon Bobby Katz, Gene Coleman, Jimmy Rutledge and myself decided to go to a game. By then we were all in college and had a little more freedom.  Sandy Koufax was scheduled to pitch for the Dodgers.  Jimmy had a new Chevy Corvair so we piled into his car and started the drive to Houston.  Country boys didn't go to the big city very often and there was no IH 10 at that time.  When we got to Houston the traffic was horrendous.  Not to fear, Jimmy had a CB radio and requested shortcuts to any "Good Buddy" that would listen. Nonetheless, we go to the park and bought our tickets.  Since it was "Koufax" and we were late we got SRO seats and sat in the aisle behind home plate. We had missed the first three innings.
The Colt .45s knocked Sandy out of the box in the fifth inning.  But we did get to see him pitch. 

After the game we couldn't remember where we parked and wandered around the park for an hour trying to find that Corvair.  But, we had finally seen a major league game. 

I lost contact with Jimmy over the years.  Bobby recently retired and moved back to Texas after working all over the US.  I moved back to Beaumont in 1980.  Gene, after marrying my next door neighbor and getting his doctorate in kinesiology, has been the Houston Astros Strength and Conditioning Coach for over 30 years.  We never lost our love of the game.

Another longtime friend, Buster Coats, who shared the same passion, but wasn't around to make that first game has worked overseas most of his career.  While planning a trip back to Texas, he suggested that Bobby and me meet up with him for an Astro game.  Gene's wife, Barbara, got wind of our trip and she suggested that we meet Gene and tour the Astro clubhouse and facilities.  We jumped on that offer like a "duck on a June bug" 

This past Saturday Buster, Bobby and myself met Gene and had one of the most enjoyable days I can remember.  We got to walk on the field, tour the dressing rooms, training room, weight room, video room, etc.  Gene was a gracious host and his stories about his years in the Big Leagues was most entertaining.  He reminisced about Yogi Berra, Nolan Ryan, Roger Clemens, Presidents Bush and  told many other anecdotes from his many years there. 

\
 

After the tour we got to our seats in the Crawford boxes early enough to watch batting practice.  Bobby's wife, Linda, got hit by a ball and the paramedics showed up with ice bags.  The nice young man that caught the ball gave it to Linda. 

In the eighth inning, Barbara, had arranged for the us to be the "Fans of the Game".  We were interviewed by the Fox roving reporter on TV. 

Since that first Colt .45 game, I have seen playoff games, two world series games,  an 18 inning game, games at Oakland, Chaviz Ravine, Fenway, Yankee Stadium, Baltimore, NY Mets, Texas Rangers, Philadelphia and spring training at Phoenix.  I still read the box scores, watch TV games and 100s of college and minor league games.  But, this past weekend with old friends tops them all.

This Rescue Didn't Require a Super Hero

Pattie at the Bath

( With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer)

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Cardinal nine that day
The score was 3 to 3 with but 3 more innings left to play.
And then when Mena died at first and Jude didn’t hit the ball,
Pattie left her seat to answer Mother Nature’s call.


As Pattie left unnoticed, Buchanan got a hit
Then Zentek drew a walk before Pattie could even sit.
Mathis stroked a single as we all stood up to cheer                                              
Pattie was in the process of recycling her last beer.


With the Cardinals out in front, with a one run lead
Kat received a call from her sister who was in need.
It was then that we realized that Pattie was not in her seat
She failed to witness the significance of Mathis’s fete.


Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout
But there is no joy at Vincent-Beck, The pretty Pattie is locked out.


Note:
While watching a college baseball game between Lamar and McNeese, Pattie went to the rest room and got locked in the stall. She had to call her sister, Kat, on her cell to come get her out. The two Caywood sisters are big baseball fans and have had seats in Section BB for several years. When she returned, everyone in our section was shaking their keys at her. While driving home, I recalled the poem of my youth, "Casey at the Bat" and shamelessly stole from it.

The Older I Get, The Better I Was!

If you have read earlier blogs, by now, you know that I am a baseball fan.  I have been accused of riding around at night looking for lights.  I rarely miss a Lamar University home game.  Along with a group of friends that share my baseball passion, we make several road trips each year.  Last year included about 15 games at the Southland Conference tournament in Corpus Christi and the NCAA regional tournament in Ft. Worth (Seen above) where Lamar was eliminated by host TCU and Baylor.

While we are not root, root, rootin' for the home team,  someone is always looking for a practical joke to play on the others.  We have drawn body chalk outlines on the surface where one friend fell the day before.  Paid an unknown kid to give a ball to another buddy who is always chanting, "Give that foul ball to a kid"  Any many other jokes, pokes and/or "smack" talk.

(The culprits: Richard Placette,George Fortune,Bill Waugh

Jay O'Neal, Gilbert Garza and Jim Wright)

This year it was my turn.  It just so happened that our home opener was on the 28th anniversary of my 39th birthday.  I was informed at our preseason kickoff supper that it had been arranged for me to throw out the first pitch on opening day.  I told them I wasn't going to do it but after shaming me on what was involved to set this up,  I reluctantly agreed.  It wasn't that I didn't really want to do it, but that I might not do it well.  That is, bounce the ball as so often occurs.  Several years earlier I had rotator cuff surgery to repair two torn tendons in my throwing shoulder.  I still have five anchors in my shoulder and don't have 100% range of motion in my throwing arm.  I know that if my throw came up short and the ball bounced, I would be booed by my friends and ridiculed for the remainder of the year. 

I wasn't sure if I could use a full overhand throwing motion or I would have to "short arm" the throw.  When I got home that night, I found one of those stress balls and threw it down the hall..  Ouch!! A full-windup over hand throw was out of the question.  I took a couple of short arm tosses and it didn't hurt.  So I knew that was the throwing motion I would use, but, could I throw it the distance?

I took a ball to work and thought about throwing it, but decided I only had one throw and was going to save it for the first pitch. 

Game time:   Ten minutes before game time The LU rep escorted me to the dugout.  I started to get nervous standing there while the National Anthem played.  The PR guy handed me the ball and pointed to the mound.  I started to walk to the mound and realized it was a lot further from the pitchers mound to home plate than it was down the hall in my house.  I had decided I was going to stand on the front of the pitchers mound to make the throw shorter.  (Most other first pitches are thrown from that spot).  As I got into position to make the pitch, I could hear one of my buddies hollerin', "get on the rubber".  I remembered my son telling me to "aim high", that it would be better to hit the backstop than for the ball to bounce in front of the catcher.  I waited for the catcher to get set and in an instant it was over.

 

The 82 mph fastball popped the mitt of LU catcher, Joey Latulippe, knee high on the outside corner of the plate.
THE YEAR IS MINE!!  I have already picked up 2mph on that fastball and by the end of the year it will be an 88mph slider on the black.  Baseball, You Bet!!

I'm talking baseball....Mickey and the Duke...

Back to the Day Care Centerat "The Backstop.

In addition to playing sandlot baseball every day of the summer, The Boys of Highland Avenue also collected baseball cards.  Yep, these are the same cards that our Mothers threw away when they cleaned the attic/closet, etc when we went off to school.   The same ones we attached to our bicycles to make noise.  The same ones that would be worth a lot of money today if we would have kept them.

In the 50's baseball cards could be bought for a penny and each one included a piece of bubble gum.

With a nickle you could get five cards and five pieces of pink bubble gum.  Today cards cost a lot more and there is no gum.  The bubble gum was not of good bubble blowing quality and after getting the taste from it you would normally throw it away.  In the hot, humid Texas summers it could make a big mess on your shoes if it didn't hit the trash can.  Not everyone threw their gum away.  My little brother had begun a collection with his purchases. Somehow, he had managed to chew 25 or 50 pieces of gum into one large ball.  He kept it in the refrigerator at home and on game day he would retrieve it and put it in his mouth.  It gave the appearance he had a wad of tobacco much like Nellie Fox.

On one of those hot days my brother, Chub, and his bubble gum "wad" were at the back stop for our daily game.  Since he was about three years younger than the rest of us and could catch the ball, he got to play first base.  The game progressed with Chub on my team and George Fortune on the other.  George batted left handed.  When he came to bat, the outfielders (2) moved to center and right as left field was now out of play for him.   Chub was day dreaming when George hit a screaming line drive down the base line.  The ball caught Chub above the left eye.  He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.  With blood gushing from the wound over his eye, he looked up and said,  "Where's My Gum".    Bobby Kinnear retrieved the "wad" and when Chub got home from the doctor with about ten stitches in his head, the "wad" was waiting for him in the refrigerator. 

If we had a museum at "The Backstop", the gum would be on display



The Back Stop Was My Day Care Center

Riding on IH 10 West of Beaumont you will see a magnificent new football complex.  Amid some controversy, the football stadium and natorium was included in a rather large bond issue to build new schools for the school district.  The stadium was named to honor the school superintendent.  It is officially known as the "Carroll A. "Butch" Thomas Educational Support Center".  It is now called "The Butch" by some.  Reflecting on the name decision to call it an "Educational Support Center" took me back to my youth and our "Support Centers"

For a group of boys growing in the 1950s all that was needed was a baseball, a bat and enough gloves for half of the kids.  In our day we always managed to have a baseball.  It was  brown from repeated use and sometimes the threads were breaking or coming unwound.  One bat was available, maybe two.  They both probably had some small nails where they had been broken.  Alvin Stephens had the best bat.  George Fortune got some gloves from his Uncle the Coach and several of us would provide the balls.  The baseballs also had many scratches from repeated foul balls hitting the asphalt or shell roads or striking the back stop.   You could play baseball without a backstop, but it was not desirable.  Without one the game slowed down as we had to stop and retrieve errant pitches and fouls that would otherwise be contained by the back stop. 

The boys of Highland Ave. were fortunate.   We had a back stop.  It was located on the school grounds of C.W. Bingman Elementary school where most of us were students.  It was this back stop that served as the focal point from the time we were nine or ten years old until we got too big to play on the improvised diamond.  We never had enough for two nine player teams, but had enough to play.  We had to improvise some rules like; no right fielder therefore any ball hit there was foul.  The bases were bare spots in the dirt. Close calls were mediated in a fair manner such that a dispute never interfered with the game. 

There was a core group of boys; Bobby Katz, George Fortune, Bobby Kinnear, Buster Coats, Alvin Stephens, myself and my little brother, Chub, that would assemble at the backstop every day during the summer.  A few of us would make phone calls to try to get others to play.  Many mornings I rode my bike about two miles to pick up Don Ray so he could play with us.  Others made phone calls and often Russell Reich, Andy Moorefield, Johnny Richardson and James Kelsey would play.  There were others from time to time, but you could usually count on 10 to 12 each day. 

Each game would start with the traditional team selection.  The game couldn't begin until the dew had evaporated from the grass or the ball would get soggy.  We would play until there were too few of us left to conduct a game.  From the back stop we would usually ride our bikes to Jones 7-11 or Mazzu Bros Gulf Fillin' Station for a Mr. Cola or Grapette or some other real cold beverage.  We would buy some baseball cards and chew the bubble gum.  We were either Yankee or Dodger fans and emulated our favorites. I was Roy Campanella, George was Duke Snider and so it goes.  The next day it was meet at the back stop and do it all over again. 

The funny thing is I can't remember ever asking permission to go to the backstop or it never occurred to me that my parents might disapprove.  In the summer they went to work and we went to the school grounds.  Baseball was our baby sitter and the Back Stop was the Day Care Center. 

It was at the Back Stop that we developed our social skills.  We were competitive and wanted to be the best.  We learned that you must compromise or seek consensus to have a good game.  No one person was always right.  No one got into trouble. You needed everyone to play as fielding two teams was more important than  skill levels.  No adult supervision was required.  It was baseball and the rules of the game were all that was needed.  That is where we learned to play and respect the game.  It was FUN!

None of the gang made it to the majors.  In fact, only about half of us even played in high school.  But of the names I can recall there are five Engineers, a CPA, A journeyman Electrician, two educators and several that I have lost complete touch.  All have lived successful lives, raised families and been contributors to society.

Out of curiosity, I recently decided to check out the back stop.  It, or a replica, is still there.  Right on the corner of S. Kenneth and Winfree.  However, I don't think that it gets much use as a Day Care center anymore as what used to be the field is now  a parking lot. 

The Back Stop

Maybe "The Butch" will develop young men and women in it's role as an Educational Support Center, I dunno.   What I do know is The Back Stop and others like it all over the country did just that.

It is on that note, that I am leading a campaign to name the back stop pictured above as the   "George Wayne "Buddy" Fortune Back Stop and Day Care Center". "The Buddy"

A Blind Hog Finds an Acorn Every once in awhile

It was Christmas of 2006 when my daughter gave me a coupon to buy tickets to see the Houston Astros play during the 2007 season. Great present. We just had to select the date we wanted to attend.

Being a Lamar University College Baseball fan, I wanted to wait until their season was over. I then realized that this would be the year that Craig Biggio would reach 3000 hits. To determine the date I developed some complicated mathematical formulas and selected the date with the highest probability he would get 3000. (Actually, I figured he would hit .240, sit out day games and the Astros would hold him out of the line-up if he was likely to get that hit on the road). Anyway that date came and we were in the stands. Biggio was three hits short of 3000. A habit I learned from my parents, we arrived at Minute Maid Park early and had some time to take some pictures. One of my high school friends, Dr. Gene Coleman, is the strength and conditioning coach for the 'Stros. Before the game I decided to take a few pictures of Gene. That's when the luck really began. The above picture not only includes my old buddy, but #7 Biggio. Also, stretching is ladies heart throb, Brad Ausmus and current Astro Hunter Pence. I have no idea about #85's identity. As "real luck" would have it the DuPont stock ticker was scrolling by. I worked for DuPont for 38+ years.

In summary, Biggio got the three hits + two more to put him over the 3000 mark. Sure Hall of Fame numbers for someone that played the game the way it should be played. Oswalt started the game, pitched 7 innings and gave up one earned run. Berkman hit a homer in the late innings to get Houston back in the game. Carlos Lee hit a "walk-off" home run in the 11th inning to give Houston the win.

This was one of the Top Five Baseball games I have ever seen.