From Noland Smith (#1) thru Aaron Brown (#87), I could tellya the name/# of every player on the 1969-70 Kansas City Chiefs roster. I knew their position, what college they went to, when their rookie year was, and I studied (lived for) them so much, if you showed me any of their faces - I could tellya their name.
Same year. Same stadium, baseball, Municipal Stadium. Pristine. Green - all round. It was beauty. Yes, a scoreboard alit (we had to know how many hits Dick Drago had given up, how many times Jackie Hernandez [who?] had struck out - but the rest was green.) The wall, all the way around - green. What better than to turn the focus on what happened on the field between the green wall and the fun wooden right field bleachers.
We got lost.
Bonus baby was soon shortened to baby. Oh sure, I enjoyed the antics of Joe Gordon getting in the face of blue for a ball thrown in the dirt being called strike three - not to mention absorbing, kinda funly, the TV antics of Solly Hemus, Billy Martin, Bobby Cox toe to toe, nose to nose an ump, ultimately getting thumbed, THEN, the real fun started. If by chance I'd snuck down from my $1.50 right field seat to an empty seat right behind home plate - it was ok. I'd heard all those words they were saying, calling, spouting. Fervor, to win. I loved it.
I still subscribe to the Kansas City Star. Sadly, the box scores no longer appear. ("Well, folks can, and do, get that off the internet.") That's kinda sorta fancy for "no one any longer purchases want ads, thus we have insufficient funds to print them", which in turn is fancy for "We've got to save space to report players punting the football into the stands, throwing the ref's flag into the stands, relating the story where the guy disciplined his 4 year old son with a 'switch', juicing, domestic battery, stand/don't stand, "I want out", yada, yada.
Patooey.
Are you aware the vertical length of a newspaper page is 21"? I awakened early today - this is a recording. One of my favorite, oh favorite sounds is the newspaper delivery guy's car (damn he needs a new muffler) and the delight when I hear the newspaper hit the sidewalk. Yum. I slipped the string off that bound the paper, quickly set aside the front page (I'll read it next) and plopped back, hot coffee by my side - and anxiously dug into Sports for today.
Patooey. 15" (of the allotted 21" front Sport's page) is filled with (turn your head) shit. Nothing sport's related. About a tantrum. About "me". Yes, there is 'me' in team - but I'd much prefer the 'me' in "MebbE you need to get the hell outta here if you ain't happy. Sorry the game, calls, didn't turn out for YOU."
Whilst fun, I could give a rat's about ketchup, mustard, relish... who was gonna kiss who (then end up in divorce court soon), the Wave - and fer sure the 87' tall BLUE MOON sign taking up half of right field. Blue Moon Odum, hell yeah, BLUE MOON so big you can read it from Shawnee Mission, no thanks.
QB didn't see you when you were open? Threw your hands up in disgust? Oh that does wonders for the remainder of the team. (Remember YOUR only pass?)You gotta first down? HEY, DANCE, celebrate, celebrate, dance to YOUR own music (mebbe your can get your own reality show) - after all, it had nothing to do with the other ten players around you.
Hand the ball to the ref has been replaced by potato sack races, bowling, leap frog, flips, dances (I think that's what they call 'em), yada.
Patooey.
Color me old school I don't care, but gimme GREEN. Gimme a broken up double play where the 2nd baseman comes to take a swing at the guy who just jeopardized the career of his shortstop teammate. Gimme Whitey, Ozzie, Tony, redfaced, albeit with probable bad breath, in the face of blue. Sweat, bruises, maybe a spot of blood on the uni - even mebbe a tiny brawl when some 5'6" idiot whizzes one at 98 MPH behind the batter's head(who by virtue of the Designated Hitter rule won't have to stand up [bat] and be a man.)
I wanna know what Whit is batting. What Buttkicker's FG% is. How former Chiefs/Royals are doing with their new teams. I could care less about Scott Boras, no trade clauses, gold chains - so heavy that, once put on, broadcast "That's what speed usedta do." Gimme a day where when you thought of Donna, you thought of the usher, not the Prima. Long ago at a place I once worked, I happened to use the restroom right after some high ranking dude just departed. SHOOOOO-WEEEEEE. It DO TO stink!
Siri, we're lost - but you've now saved me time. I can finish the sport's page in half the time now.
Sorry for the soapbox, but I'm certain they'll figure out some way to adorn it with ads, hire it an agent, and charge $63 to park to come see it.
I'm old, I know. I'm grumpy, or can be. I don't care. Gimme "The game", not all the other crap. Tame the ME as if you'll notice the E comes before the M in team.
I can just hear Harry... HOLY COW!
Love, Victurd.
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