ASG: Hasn’t Seemed Like Old Times in Long Time

July 8, 2012

July 12, 1955: County Stadium, Milwaukee. Stan Musial’s lead off HR in the bottom of the 12th caps the Nationals’ exciting comeback 6-5 win over the Americans in the annual MLB All Star Game. Even over the radio from the produce truck I was unloading that day, you could feel the pride and excitement of the NL players for having battled back from an 0-5 hole, late in the game.

Maybe it’s just me at my age, but I feel little excitement over the upcoming 83rd Annual All Star Game to be played at Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City this coming Tuesday night, July 10, 2012. Compared to 1955, when I was working as part of a crew at the old A&P grocery store at Lawndale near 75th in Houston, and we were busy unloading a large produce shipment from the docking bay, and we were listening to the blare of a radio we had blasting away in the area at the time Mr. Musial put a wrap on things, I’ll get to watch this 2012 game on a giant screen HD color television set in the evening from my favorite chair, of course, but it still doesn’t bear the excitement for me that the 1955 game did, and that rush came over me from days in advance of the first pitch.

Other than the bookend facts that I was 17 then and I’m 74 now, what else has changed in the past 57 years?

How about – “just about everything” – as an answer. Some things have changed for the good. Some have moved for the  bad. And some are just changes in the direction of  different from before. Certainly our advances against racism and sexism are for the very good, even if we still have a lot of ground to cover in our social acceptance of people who are different from us. From an American standpoint, and based upon my meager grasp of how economics work, it seems bad to me that we no longer are the manufacturing force we once were – and it does bother me that we owe so much money to China and other nations that we now pass forward to the backs of our children as our national debt – and maybe that doesn’t matter but … When people tell me that our national debt doesn’t really bother them, it makes me wonder how they handle their personal debts, and that starts me on the road to theorizing that the way we handle our personal debts has to be either tied to our national as either a cause or a result of our national “slap it on the card” mentality.

What do I know. I’m no economist. All I know is – we’ve gotten by OK for years on a very simple financial approach: (1) If you buy it, pay cash; and (2) If you don’t have the cash, don’t buy it. – Other than our house and cars, we have stayed away from mortgages and loans. Now those things are paid for – and we are debt free.

The differences between 1955 and 2012 all seem driven by our advances in technology, especially in the areas of electronics and medicine. There’s probably some good, bad, and neutral in each area of “advancement” we can list, from the Internet to medicines that prolong life. i.e., as in “We have better communication ability today, but at what human expense – and toward what aim? So our kids can learn to text while they are at either the ball game or the symphony? So the distractible art of apps class can get rich and rule the world?”

And what about prolonging life through new medicines and treatments? “What for? So we can extend our availability as consumers? Where is the gain of extending life without improvement added to the beneficiary’s qualitative experience of life? Look! Watching Days of Our Lives or the entire 162-game annual televised schedule of the Houston Astros can only take us so far – and anything we can do without ever leaving the couch is of questionable health value to those with the potential for more.”

Somehow, this new expanded communication web that we have woven has made its own contribution to our lesser interest in the annual baseball all star game. And this mellowing has also been helped by all the recent erasures of distinction between the American and National Leagues. The individual league offices and presidents are gone; the differently endorsed league balls are gone; and even the separate league umpiring crews have been dissolved in favor of the generic MLB brand that operates directly under Commissioner Bud Selig.

Oh sure, the DH rule remains as the big difference between the AL and the NL, but it remains there, not as a permanent symbol of difference, but as Bud Selig’s seal club on the NL’s holdout from accepting the designated hitter rule too. Someday, when the NL finds itself in a position that Jim Crane and Astros found themselves in at the point of sale, when the NL wants to achieve or avoid some end that we cannot even see today, Bud Selig, or his like-minded successor,  will pull out this deal: “You may have what you want, NL, but you will have to accept the DH rule to get what you want. So, how important is this issue to you?”

In 1955, we fans really believed that the NL and the AL were two different animals that really cared about beating each other in the All Star Game. That’s no longer true. We have too much ongoing information, misinformation, and disinformation going on  today to believe that blindly in anything. And what about the generations of our children and grandchildren? They have grown up with even less of that old league-allegiance gene. I shiver to consider the obvious.

It cannot seem like old times today because those times are gone. Today, more than ever, we all need to be proactive in deciding and choosing what we want from life beyond the steam of our own passions and wistful ambitions. Otherwise, we shall all get swept down a relentless river of constantly rehashed new electronic information that only stops long enough for those floaters who choose to make credit card purchases before the current starts back up again.

Enjoy the 2012 All Star Game, folks. – And “Go Nationals.”

Houston Babies Take July 4th DH from Katy

July 5, 2012

July 4, 2012 / George Ranch Deep Pasture / Sugar Land, Texas: The Houston Babies defeated the Katy Combine by scores of 14-7 and 12-2 in an 1860s rules vintage base ball doubleheader in the holiday heat. A good time in nothing less than good sportsmanship was had by all. The Babies say: “Hats off to the valiant combatants of Katy, who gave it their last ounce of valor in fighting the good fight all through the morning and noon temperatures.”

The Deep Pasture Field at the George Ranch was hotter than a firecracker by the time the Houston Babies began the first game of their double-header with the Katy Combine yesterday, the Fourth of July.  Before a small crowd of cranks (fans), the two vintage base ball clubs finally got underway about 10:30 AM. Due to limited shade and seating facilities, both clubs and fans took up residence in the two grandstands under the big oak tree along the first base line. We had to be careful though. Once we discovered that a large knothole n the oak was actually the front door for a large hive of wild bees that had taken up occupation of the same space long before we all arrived, but it worked out. We didn’t bother the bees. And the bees didn’t bother us.

In respect for the fact that we were all here to freely celebrate the 236th anniversary of our great nation’s birth in a way of our own choosing, we

Against the background of the great house from 1891, a Katy player takes his cut at the pitch in Game One.

spent a few pre-game moments acknowledging the fact. Then we all rose to our feet as Houston Babies curmudgeon and tenor superb Mike McCroskey led us through a singing of Our National Anthem.

It was a great moment. Thank you, Michael McCroskey, for the instillation of all that reverence for all that is right about America. The mood just seems to flow through the bloodstream that serves the needs of your glorious God-Given pipes.  (Yeah, I know. I’m writing in the flowery style of many 19th century reporters today, Just want you to know it’s intentional from the git-go.)

The Babies took both games, going away, by scores of 14-7 and 12-2. Ancient Babies hurler Bob Blair (1-0) showed up hurl the Babies to a win in Game One and “Old Reliable” Larry Hajduk (5-0) took the second pitching win with last inning relief help from Mike McCroskey.

Solid pitching and barbarous hitting were the order of the day, Led by Alex Hajduk (7 for 9) and his 3 doubles and 2 homers, plus a 7 for 8 day by Larry Joe Miggins and a 5 for 7 day by Zach Hajduk, the Babies cranked out 26 runs on 41 hits in the two games we played. Zach Hajduk also came close to a home run, but he missed the credit when he failed to touch home plate on a clearly safe play at the plate and was then tagged out as he walked away.

Due to the heat, the first game was shortened to 6  innings; the second game was halted after 5. Nobody had any complaints about lost opportunity.

I say “we played” in reflexive deference to the fact that I was acting yesterday as interim manager in the absence of the vacationing field manager, Bob Dorrill. Ordinarily, I’m just the Houston Babies’ General Manager. Taking over the Houston Babies for Mr. Dorrill was like taking the wheel of a well-oiled machine. All I had to do was wind up a lineup and let it fly. The Babies bolted from the gate like a box of exploding fire crackers.

Once they started, the Babies-Red Machine didn’t stop. Thanks for getting them ready, Mr. Dorrill. the Babies’ hot  pursuit of victory and their protection of perfection in 2012 has been relentless. And now, with the hot and sweaty hand of August closing in tight, it appears that the Babies will most likely not risk loss again prior to the October fall weather season.

Tom Murrah made the “Catch of the Day.”

Right fielder Tom Murrah of the Babies made the catch of the day when he went back on a high fly ball and caught it as he backed himself into a space-hurdling  fall into a sitting position upon the pastoral green.

Murrah held onto the ball for the third out. He jumped up quickly and then offered a quick glance back at the spot where he had landed, probably to see if part of his spine or tailbone had been left behind at the point of impact. – Wish we had “the catch” on tape. It was a great one. Tom Murrah also went 2 for 3 on the day.

Assuming that I have deciphered the scoring information properly, the rest of the Babies hitters went this way on the hits per times at bat beam yesterday: Jo Hale, 3 for 7; Phil Holland, 2 for 8; Bill Hale, 3 for 5; Robert Pena 1 for 3; Bob Stevens, 3 for 4; Mark Hudec, 2 for 5; Larry Hajduk, 1 for 5; Bob Blair, 1 for 4; Jimmy Disch, 3 for 3; and Mike McCroskey, 1 for 1, a double made possible by the bare-footed speed of McCroskey’s pixie-sized, roadrunner-fast, but “Sweet Caroline” beautiful daughter. She was as cute as a little water bug and twice as fast on the base paths – or, about fifty times as fast as her sweet, but molasses slow-of-foot father. “Miss McCroskey stretched her father’s good hit into a double and then came into score upon the hitting of other Babies players.

Mark Hudec filled in beautifully at first base for the injured Larry Joe Miggins. Larry had to play left field to better protect his injured catching hand, Hudec is an athlete who appears ready to strengthen the team at several defensive spots on the club.

After the games, many of the players gathered in the open patio near the offices and big house for a holiday lunch of  hot dogs, potato salad, Fritos, and Blue Bell ice cream dessert. A rain came up to put us on the run for covering, but we managed. It was the 4th of July. Things like an unexpected rain were supposed to happen.

July 4, 2012: The Houston Babies celebrate like it’s 1888!

Best wishes this morning to Tom Flores, the Katy mentor who spent Game One behind the plate as our Blind Tom (umpire) in Game One. Tom  almost passed out and had to be rescued from heat damage late in the game. Hope you are OK today, Tom Flores. We all want to thank you too for giving the new cranks (fans) the general rundown on the basic rules that make our game a little different from contemporary baseball.

Also, atch for ongoing news about the Houston Babies and vintage base ball in Houston, right here in the column-world of The Pecan Park Eagle.Well have more to report over time as things happen.

July 4, 2012: The George Ranch Deep Pasture Field.

The Houston Babies – simply want to say; “Happy Birthday, – USA!”

Plus one post July 4th thought: The Astros finally got rid of Carlos Lee’s big fat contract and, when they did, GM Jeff Luhnow pulled the string with Miami upon Lee’s approval – and it all happened on Independence Day, 2012. Let’s hope that irony is prophetic of better days ahead, ones with fewer frog-sttrangling multi-year deals with marginal stars.

MSN: Beyond Human Contact

July 3, 2012

Mum’s the Word. Go to the “Most Common Questions” link in our Help Forum.

Dear Pecan Park Eagle Blog Readers:

Here’s the short version of my little story of the day in these parts: After twelve plus years on the Internet, I have a brand new primary e-mail address and it is houston.buff37@gmail.com – You may have to cut and paste the new address to render it usable, but please do. I won’t be using MSN’s Hotmail any longer than it takes me today to finish the transfer of  all my baseball research correspondence folders and past blog column folder information from the old site to the new.

(OK, I’m not doing the actual data transfer myself. My 27-year old much geekier son Neal is doing it, but I’m watching the process intently.)

What happened at Hotmail is this. – After five years of blog notice email broadcasting from my Hotmail site to friends and subscribers about the posting of new columns, all of a sudden, the MSN service provider could not tell the difference between me and spammers that use these sites to push Viagra and quick profits on gold coins. They started blocking me out of my site about once or twice a month and, each time they did, they put me though this horrendous process of proving my identity before they allowed me back.

I tried to explain to Hotmail what I was doing in written form, but I received no response. Along the way, I learned that MSN, like many Internet service providers, does not offer direct human contact by phone. Yo either work it out their may through the machines or you go to the robot-run help forums to seek answers from other user to what they call “common problems.”

My son Neal says G-Mail is a much better answer. – We’ll see. – And I will keep adjusting my expectations in the brave new world of the Internet to the realities of my personal experience. My generation received one strong trait education that survives to help us most through the lessons of this kind of thing on the Internet.-  We used to call it perseverance.

At any rate, please change my e-mail address in you address box. Thanks. And have a great 4th of July.

Come see the Houston Babies play the Katy Combine in 1860’s-rules vintage base ball at 10 AM on the 4th of July at the George Ranch near Sugar Land.

And speaking of the Fourth, come see us tomorrow at the George Ranch. The Houston Babies and the Katy Combine will be celebrating out American Independence Day in the old-fashioned spirit of vintage base ball at 10 AM and we invite all of you to come watch. Vintage ball is the closest thing that baseball history has to a Garden of Eden and Big Bang. and, if you ever had fun on the sandlot as a kid, get ready for the most fun you’ve watched in a very long time.

And, who knows, your next step may be to get into the game somewhere yourself the next time.

O, yeah! – GOD BLESS AMERICA!

 

Dear Carlos Lee:

July 2, 2012

Dear Carlos Lee:

Thank you for your nearly six years of service to our Houston Astros. Many of us hope you’ve gotten a lot more from your nearly one hundred million dollars in pay than we’ve gotten as fans in the purchase of playoff and World Series tickets during your stay here, but having said that, don’t get me wrong. It certainly wasn’t all your fault. You would have been a fool not to have taken that deal. One Hundred Million Dollars for six years of play was a really fat one for a man of your prospective qualifications back in 2006.

Besides, today’s big pacts all share this common trait package: The salaries are guaranteed. The celebrations are not.

You did what you did for your family and yourself. You even acquired a nice ranch property down in Wharton, no more than an hour’s drive from Minute Maid Park in Houston. That’s a pretty easy drive south on Highway 59 after games on long home stands too. You’ve got the quiet of the country, plus the opportunity to carry on a little horse and cattle business, even during the season. Who could blame you for hesitating on your right to make the yes/no call on the trade to the Los Angeles Dodgers. We get that comfort zone factor too, Carlos. We really do.

The trouble is, after not even 48 hours of being put on hold, the Dodgers apparently have decided to do with you what I recently did with an overdue pizza that got hung up in the kitchen. On that one, I decided that I could live without the pizza that probably sounded better at first than I really knew it would be of much help to me. So, I cancelled the order.

And now, apparently, the Dodgers have done the same with their offer to the Astros for you.  They got tired of waiting on you to make up your mind to approve the trade, but, like me with the hung-up pizza offer, it gave them pause to think. And guess what? Upon further review, the Dodgers have decided they can live without you.

That outcome both saddens and disappoints. It’s sad to think that you have given up the chance to be a difference-maker for the Dodgers in their drive to take the NL West, and then to win the playoffs and maybe even the World Series. Some of us would have rooted for to do well there, but that possibility is now off the table.

It disappoints because, based on the Astros road game woes and their current broom treatment by the Cubs, the club appears to be on their way to NL Central bottom. And now we know that you probably are only here because of your comfort zone with that one-hour drive to the ranch after Houston home games. And where does that leave the Astros and us fans?

Carlos, please, if Jeff Luhnow has enough magic left in him to come up with another deal, please take it! Help us get something out of the fact that you most likely won’t be here again in 2013. If you don’t go by way of some deal before season’s end, all we will have is the memory of you as the guy who wouldn’t leave, and for what?

I don’t men to sound so impersonal, but baseball is a business, right? Of course this part of it is – and we fans play a part in the business side of things too, don’t we?

We fans have opinions too. The difference is – the owners negotiate with the networks and the players through their agents, but nobody deals directly with us fans, We fans are the demand voice of the marketplace. Baseball supplies us with the game and its bi-products at certain market prices. If the smart folks that run things are right, the demand for those services and products will be picked up the public’s willingness to pay the bill.

When we Astros fans see Jeff Luhnow trying to trade you, we know that our GM is simply doing all he can to help the future of the club and that it is not an act of disrespect or failed appreciation for your past contributions that directs him to seek a trade. It’s all business in these matters and you understand that part of the game too. We fans expect Mr. Luhnow to try and move any older player with some value now, but no real future in the current rebuilding plan. We fans hope you will help the long-term goal goal too, even if it mean’s sacrificing some personal convenience in the short term.

Carlos, you are not helping the club by standing pat. On the other hand, the team is helped by every little piece that is picked up as a potential building block to the future. 2013 doesn’t matter. The Astros have nothing to  win or prove through the standings in 2013. As Bill Veeck once said, we can finish last without you.

Regards & Good Luck,

Bill McCurdy

The Pecan Park Eagle

The Dog with Two Names and Two Masters

July 1, 2012

I don’t know if today’s borrowed story is really true. I’m still grounded enough to the real world to recognize that a lot of low-life sentimental scamming goes on, but I’m also still enough of an idealist to believe that sometimes human nature rises to new heights in the name of true love, loyalty and sacrifice.

All I know for sure about this one is that a fellow named Paul Mallory reportedly once owned an incredible Black Lab, and because he did, his story here impressed a good friend of mine, Neal Brown of Mississippi, – impressed her enough to send it to me today under the e-mailish-all-over-it” title of  “best dog story ever.”

I’m not even factually sure about the “best dog story ever” part, but I am sure of this much in my own heart: If this handsome canine’s story wasn’t true, it sure should have been.

“I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.”

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly.

 I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.

I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”

 ____________ _________ _________ _________

 To Whomever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.

Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”

He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.

And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.

I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with … and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.

Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.

If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight – every night – from me.

Thank you,

Paul Mallory

____________ _________ _________ _______

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags have been at half-mast all summer.

 I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

 “Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.

 The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes brightened.

 “C’mere boy.”

 He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.

His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.

“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.

“So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.

“Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”

Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room.  And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

If you can read this without getting a lump in your throat or a tear in your eye, you just ain’t right.

A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a blank check made payable to ‘The United States of America’ for an amount of ‘up to and including their life.’

That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

 – G. K. Chesterton

 

 

Houston Gets National SABR Convention in 2014

June 30, 2012

The local Larry Dierker Chapter will host the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR) National Convention in Houston in the Summer of 2014.

This morning we awake to big news for local baseball fans. Yesterday, June 29th,  we learned that SABR (The Society for American Baseball Research) had announced at its 2012 National Convention in Minneapolis that the same 2014 event had been awarded to our bid from Houston to hold the big gathering in the Bayou City. Now it’s a done deal. Our Houston Larry Dierker Chapter of SABR will host the convention with some considerable help from our good neighboring Austin friends of the Rogers Hornsby Chapter.

So, what is SABR, anyway, you may be wondering?

And the answer is many things that are all woven together by a deep common love for baseball, and everything else that entails, from the  lyrical narrative story of its history to its user-friendly yield of variously measurable statistics. From the long-term study of how baseball actually formed as our national pastime to the thoughts and theories of saber-metric statisticians like Bill James, from history to art, from fiction to fact, and from literature and poetry to physics and math, SABR members cover the waterfront of perspective on their mutually shared love of the game.

Asking about the size and shape of SABR is a little like the old proverb of “how does an elephant look to a blind man?” The answer is the same. It all depends upon which part of the elephant the blind man grabs.

A Very Brief History. On August 10, 1971, 16 baseball-dedicated individuals met at the National Baseball Hall of Fame Library in dear old Cooperstown, New York, to form the Society for American Baseball Research. The membership has grown over the years because of the varied attraction we summarily bounded through earlier. How we each fell in love with the game is almost in itself a never-ending tale of childhood sandlots and all those early joys and disappointments. With the death of the childhood sandlot in this more structured and protective world, of course, we now have to wonder if today’s generations will have the same opportunity to fall in love with the game as er once did.

in the meanwhile, the beat of SABR’s dedication to the game goes on – and all that scope of interest and investment lands in Houston only two years from now.

There will be an array of papers and presentations on the history and science of baseball, and plenty of topical talks and panel discussions on contemporary issues that now affect the future of the game. So, if you are not a SABR member and would like more information on all the benefits it offers to members for a very low annual fee, please check out the SABR national website.

http://sabr.org/

For information about our local Larry Dierker Chapter and how you may get involved with one of the most active and personally rewarding  chapters in the nation, please go to our local website.

http://sabrhouston.org/

Finally, I really cannot express enough how beautifully this news fits in with our local chapter plans to publish “Houston Baseball, The Early Years, 1881-1961,” the in-depth study of Houston’s baseball history prior to the coming of the big league game in 1962. With SABR coming here, fellow book team members, we will not have to first take our Houston story to the world. – The world of SABR is coming to hear it in person from us. – All the more reason for all of us making our production the finest of its kind that’s ever sailed down history pike.

Visualize it, team. It is the summer of 2014. The book is here and available to SABR Convention attendees. And we, the members of our hang-tough research team, are here to both speak about our subject area experiences and convene together for discussions and Q&A sessions on what we have learned about a recorded history of the game that reaches all the way back to 1861 in Houston.

Bring it on, SABR. It’s time that the world at large finally learned that baseball did not begin in Houston, or Texas, with the coming of the  2005 World Series, nor as a late-srriving little brother to football. Baseball ruled Houston at least twenty prior to the first appearance of that oblong-shaped pigskin ball.

An early welcome to SABR is in order. – We shall be looking forward to seeing all of you in Houston in 2014.

Baseball’s a Thing of the Heart

June 29, 2012

The gossamer wings of baseball make it suitable for flight like the heart-thing it is from the moment they pick up on the winds of our belief in the core of what this game is really all about under the blanket of human ego, greed, compulsion, and addiction we have now built upon it through the professional version. In its essence, baseball is (or once was) one of those major American runways from which the human soul first learned to soar.

 

Baseball’s a Thing of the Heart

by Bill McCurdy

 

The gossamer wings of baseball soul,

Float gently in the breeze,

Soaring high, from here to the sky,

On the winds of thoughts that please.

 

We grew up reflecting, wistfully back,

To moments measurable in time,

From Big Six Christy to Babe Ruth’s Sixty,

Each memory soared sublime.

 

Then came the voice of Barber,

To mind sketch on our brains,

The frames of sculpted sentiment,

As “the catbird seat” explains.

 

We bought  the face of heroes,

On colored baseball cards,

To float in what we could not see,

In the words of the radio bards.

 

We took these winds and ran with them,

On vacant lots and streets.

Our bodies hugged the earth’s sweet crust,

But our spirits soared in sheets.

 

In sheets of high plane color,

Filled in by all who soared,

Our souls reached out and found our wings,

Life’s breath was not ignored.

 

And now when things like drugs and greed,

Hi tech us from all corners,

Attacking all the sweet spots,

Sometimes I fear we’re goners.

 

Gone from the floating hope,

For a better world above,

That we once found with baseball,

Bare feet – and a ragged glove.

 

So fight for all worth keeping,

Baseball – gave us – our start,

There needs be no loss-weeping,

For our game’s a thing of the heart.

Proposal: The Astros’ 2013 AL DH Club

June 27, 2012

With a group of Astros fans checking in to the extreme on the move of the club to the American League next year, maybe it would be better for

Face & Uniform of the 2014 Houston Astros Official DH Club Member.

Astros management to meet the problem head on in 2013, rather than run to the risk of simply ignoring their threat to never darken the doorway of Minute Maid Park again, once the Selig bomb goes off in actuality. The hard-core opposition statement from most of the disenchanted reads something like this:

The Astros have been a National League club for fifty years. Bud Selig had no right to make their move to the American League a condition for gaining his approval on the sale of the Astros from Drayton McLane to the Jim Crane group. If any team needs to make that move, it should be Bud’s old club, the Milwaukee Brewers. After all, Selig moved the Brewers from the AL to the NL after the 1997 season to help MLB achieve the even-numbered club membership in each league that protected baseball from a practical requirement of inter-league play. Now he wants a club to move back from the 16-club NL to the 14-club AL next year so that two odd-numbered 15-club leagues then will have no practical choice but to accept full-season inter-league play. 

What’s the deal? What has happened in 15 years to reverse the general goal from protecting the separate identities of the two leagues to making sure that each league melts into a generic reflection of the other through perpetual inter-league play? – We can answer that one in two letters – “DH.” Selig wants to wear the NL down and finally into accepting the damn “designated hitter” as the rule in their league too.

We want none of it. We hate the DH because it is not real baseball. Once the Astros go to the AL next year, we are out of here. We will never attend another Astros game for the rest of our lives.

The Pecan Park Eagle would like to suggest that the Houston club should launch a programmatic attack upon the potential loss of all these seriously disenchanted Astros fans next year by establishing something we call “The 2014 Houston Astros Designated Haters (DH) Club” as a plan that is marketed for next year. It’s membership advantages should be marketed heavily as soon as the 2013-14 off-season begins.

Here are the basic features of the 2014 Astros DH (Designated Haters) Club:

(1) Eligibility: All Astros fans who have expressed hatred for either the AL move or the designated hitter rule and who also have sworn that they will never attend another Astros game once the club moves to the AL in 2014;

(2) Benefits: The advantages of joining the 2014 Astros Designated Hater Club force us to wade far into the alphabet:

(a) Uniforms: Everyone who joins will be issued an official DH Club mask and uniform, and are they super? You dad gum betcha they are! As the picture in this column shows, they are styled identically to the same face and garb that Commissioner Bud Selig wears every single time he makes a serious decision effecting the future of baseball. – Just never wear they outfit at work or home. Unless you also work for the so-called Commissioner of Baseball, you are likely to be fired and then laughed out your own neighborhood once you drive home.

(b) The DH Club Suite: Every DH (Designated Hater) will receive automatic admission to the DH Club Suite at Minute Maid Park for all 81 games of the 2014 regular season. The suite comes equipped with a dozen dart boards and a wide variety of Bud Selig 8×10 glossies for those who wish to displace their hostility in a harmless way.

(c) Special Services: Trained anger management personnel and counselors are on duty at all times. Magicians are also on duty, passing out rose-colored glasses which (thanks to the placebo effect) help some people to read the designator hitter rules and intentionality in a slightly more positive light. “After wearing these special glasses,” said one subject in our clinical tests, “I came to understand the rules section a whole lot better. We should never think of the designated hitter as a tenth player who only enters the game to bat for the pitcher. We should think of the designated hitter as the alter-ego of the pitcher – who also happens to be an alternate personality that is capable of hitting .300 – or crunching 40 homers a year – and probably even looking different from the same fellow who takes the mound to pitch when the club is in the field.”

(d) Literature: In addition to a copy of the rules on the DH and the magic glasses, DH club members will benefit from the placement of Bud’s “My Greatest Thoughts.” These copies hang by chain beside each commode in each rest room. Also included are free copies of Bud Selig’s new novel, “Gullible’s Travels,” a story which finds Bud shipwrecked in 2010 on a strange shore. While he is still unconscious, Bud is tied to the earth by a tribe of tiny baseball fans and only released when he promises to revoke his stupid rule which allows home field advantage in the World Series to go to the team representing the league that wins the All Star Game of that same season. Once he safely escapes, nothing changes. As it turns out, Bud Selig apparently lied to the tiny fans just to get away. “I had to lie,” says Bud in the analog section. “My own hide was on the line.”

(e) Food Service: Bologna sandwiches wrapped in paper that features a bust of Bud taking a big bite are the only hard food fair, but Houston tap water, spiked by a variety of whatever’s available energy drinks which are plentifully in supply during the game to meet the heavy demand for wet-washing-it-down liquids.

(f) Special Season’s End Meeting with Bud Selig: The Commissioner has agreed to attend the final game of the 2014 home season at MMP and he is prepared to harvest what he hopes will be a resolution of their resentments. Club members will have several options facing them at day’s end: (f1) They may shake hands with Bud Selig in forgiveness; (f2) they may carry resolution to a spiritual plane and make plans to join Selig for a sweat lodge healing; (f3) or the DH (designator hater) folk may simply re-tie Selig to the ground and, this time, make him not only keep his All Star Game promise to the earlier little fans in his novel, but also live up to one more new promise:

No more designated hitter here. There. Or anywhere. Not in the American League. Not in the National League. Not in the minor leagues. Not in college ball. Not at the high school level. Not in Little League. And not even in tee ball. – Got that? – Good! – ‘Cause you don’t get up til you do!

Professional Baseball in Beeville, Texas

June 26, 2012

Beeville Orange Growers, 1910.

Like their original team name of the 1910-11 Beeville Orange Growers of the Southwest Texas League, professional baseball in the little ranch and farm community about fifty miles north of Corpus Christi where I was born was short-lived. “Orange Growers” fell as an appropriate mascot for Beeville once it was quickly discovered that the winters in these parts froze too often for a really good citrus crop to survive. Serious growers had to head much further south to the Rio Grande Valley to find the milder temperatures that mad commercial citrus farming practical.

Beeville loved the game of baseball, but its community worked the fields and ranges of the mesquite-land hard during the daylight hours of the long work week in the days prior to electricity and night baseball. There was no time to take off and go pay to watch a baseball game during the work week and Saturday was market day, when people shopped for their weekly home and work supply needs. The Saturday games face a stiff level of competition from practicality. And Beeville people always were – very practical – if nothing else.

That left Sunday. The Lord’s Day. Sorry, Baseball. You lose again on the professional level. “No Game Today” was the silent sign of those times.

Nonetheless, the games went on.

Beeville winters proved to be too cold for commercial orange growing.

The 1910 Beeville Orange Growers were managed by Harry “Trapper” Longley, followed by J.C. Woessner. They finished the Southwest Texas League season with a 52-64 record, good enough for 5th place in the six-team group and some 19.5 game behind 1st place Victoria Rose Buds.

The 1911 Beeville Orange Growers took on the patina of a future Texas Longhorn legend when Billy Disch came to town to manage the club and to also kick in a little extra help on production as a 38-year old outfielder. The ’11 club also included the first of Beeville’s four native major league stars in the presence of 19-year old Melvin “Bert” Gallia. The 1911 Orange Growers posted a 63-54 record, good enough for 3rd place and a 3.5 games behind finish back of the 1st place Bay City Rice Eaters. Beeville was awarded the pennant when Bay City inexplicably refused to play them  in a post-season championship series.

Victory wasn’t enough. Beeville’s longest successful run in professional team baseball was done. Beeville returned as the Bees in 1926 as a member of the Class D Gulf Coast League, but, after a 4-9 start, they moved to Laredo and were renamed the Oilers, going on from there to finish first and win the pennant, but not for the homeland which hatched them.

Joe Hunter Field, Home of the Beeville Bees, 1976-77.

Beeville’s last reprise in professional baseball came a half century later as a member of the independent  Gulf States (1976) and Gulf Coast League (1977). The club was known as the Bees in 1976 and I’m fairly certain they  used that same moniker in 1977. They didn’t win anything or produce any future stars, but they seemed to be holding their own when both leagues fell apart serially due to payroll shortages in some of the other cities. Beeville may have had their own problems too since both of these efforts were pretty much operating on a shoe string.  The club used Joe Hunter Field on the campus of Coastal Bend College (then known as Bee County College) for their home games. It’s nice playing field, but the stands probably don’t have room for more than a thousand fans.

The City of Beeville, Texas today has a population of about 14,000 people. Coastal Bend College resumed its baseball program in 2012 after several years of austerity cutbacks and I understand the school plans to continue both their baseball and basketball programs next season, The city also promotes and supports an active organized youth baseball program that feeds talent into the high school program as well.

As mentioned earlier, Beeville, Texas has also produced four native sons who went on to successful careers as major leaguers:

(1) Melvin “Bert” Gallia, pitcher (66-69, 3.14), 1912-1920;

(2) William Curtis “Curt” Walker, outfielder (.304, 1,475 hits), 1919-1930);

(3) Lloyd “Lefty” Brown, pitcher (91-105, 4.20), 1925, 1928-1937, 1940;

(4) Eddie Taubensee, catcher (.273, 784 hits), 1991-2001.

Beeville also produced a 5th native son and outfielder-1st baseman Rudy Jaramillo for the Texas Longhorns and later service as a batting coach for both the Houston Astros and the Texas Rangers. Rudy never got any big league AB’s on his own, but he grew into a teacher who knew how to get a point of view across on hitting that helped many others to reach the heights he missed himself as a player.

Next spring I’m planning to trek down to Beeville and my original home town to watcher the Coastal Bend Cougars bring old Joe Hunter back to life again. It actually hasn’t been dormant. Beeville’s A.C. Jones High School has been using it for years and it is also a pretty popular venue for all of the high school playoff games that take place each spring.

Joe Hunter Field, Beeville, Texas.
What is the seating capacity?

That’s about it, for now. If you know, or if you have a logical guess about the seating capacity at Joe Hunter Field, please feel invited to either drop me a line by e-mail or else, just post a comment at the end of this column where everyone can read what you have to say. I’d like to hear from you.

Have a nice Tuesday, everybody!

 

Seems Like Old Times

June 25, 2012

That’s Harold Arlin behind the Pirates broadcast mike at Forbes Field in 1972. Arlin did the first radio baseball game broadcast over KDKA in Pittsburgh on August 5, 1921. To Arlin’s right is Hall of Fame broadcaster Bob Prince, who entertained Arlin that early 70s night on his sentimental short-stint return  for the evening.

Seems like old times. Every time I fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to tide me through lunch, a part of my brain gets the idea that I will be back on the sandlot in no time for Round Two of our All Summer, All Day, Everyday Baseball Sandlot Slugfest. I can even pick up the chatter of the morning’s early ramblings from “Eagle Field” at the Pecan Park intersection of Japonica @ Myrtle. The voices of my friends and their cries for justice and equity on our self-governed game calls in the morning segment are as clear today as they were sixty plus years ago. Then I take a step or two away from the kitchen table and the reality of things lands with hard certainty. There won’t be any new sandlot games for me this afternoon. Or any other day soon. I’ll have to get my baseball fix as per always these days watching the Astros, Skeeters, and our ever-loving closest thing to sandlot Houston Babies vintage base ball club play. And I’m fine with that settlement for as long as I can be near the sound of a baseball popping either leather – or flying off its impact of its collision with a wooden bat on its way to some fenced-in distant horizon.

It’s funny how the sounds of the game so dominate my most primal memories of how baseball came into my life. And, for me, like for many of you, it came into my life on the sonorous sounds of radio baseball game broadcasts from the 1940s and 1950s. In fairness to the wonderful media people we enjoy in Houston, I think many things have happened to take away the descriptive poetry and character that some of those early radio broadcasters both had and used.

For one thing, many of them worked alone, whereas, today, all broadcasters work as members of teams over the air. Solitude invites the poetic expression; team work invites interaction with your partner. Take the simple example of the high pop fly. Ours here is handled by the third base man:

Red Barber Type Might Say: “Irvin swings hard … and there’s a very high pop fly to the left side … apparently floating up into the Robin’s egg blue sky and headed for the stratosphere near third base … Cox dances onto the balance wheel … looking straight up in pure hunger for the Law of Gravity to make its latest ruling … and here comes the descent … and Cox snuggles the long distance popper into his glove for the second out in the top of the sixth. …. and he flips it over to Reese for a celebratory trip around the Dodger infield.”

2012 Type Mike Might Say: “Irvin swings … and there’s a high pop to the left side … Cox settles under it. … and he … takes it for the out. What do you think of that one, Pat? That one was really up there, wasn’t it?”

2012 Partner Pat Says: “Yep. … It sure was, Mike. …. It reminds me of the ball I almost caught in Omaha once.”

2012 Mike Says: “Actually, Pat, that ball went far enough to remind me how far the fans can also stretch their baseball ticket dollars if they want to take advantage of the club’s new Second Half Mini Season Ticket Package. …”

I’m being a little unfair. In Houston, we have some of the finest broadcasters in the nation calling Astros games over both radio and television. Bill Brown and Jim DeShaies, with considerable help from the “columns” that Greg Lucas writes within the body of each game he works are nothing less than the best at what they each do. Brown has no superior when it comes to the art of mindful description that never looses touch with the fact that viewers do not need a telecaster to describe for them what they can already see for themselves. Instead of over-polishing the already shining apple, Bill Brown interjects historical reference that helps keep the game from stumbling over its own quiet visual inertia. He keeps the score and the game situation intact – and he brings out the best in his creative, articulate, and very funny partner,  jim Deshaies. As a partner who brings two loaves of fresh bread to the broadcast breakfast table, nobody does it  better than “JD, the Baker of Baseball Perspective.”

On the Houston radio side, my favorite guy is Dave Raymond, the only Stanford Tree in the Houston Baseball Broadcast. Raymond is bright, an excellent communicator, a poet in his own right, and the kind of guy who would have been a great radio broadcaster in any era. Until the near future local broadcasting air clears, we can only hope that Dave Raymond will be a long time member of the Houston media contingent.

Seems like we’ve got a few reminders in our midst of how blessed we are in Houston to have so many really excellent broadcast people serving our needs for information, drama, and entertainment about and from – the game of baseball.

Seems like old times? All I have to do is think of the latest Jim DeShaies over-the-air story to be taken there.

For example, on the Astros last trip to Los Angeles, several members of pitcher Bud Norris family were there to watch him pitch against the Dodgers.At one point in the game, Norris came to bat and lifted a lazy can-of-corn fly ball out to left field. It wasn’t much of swing or play, but it was enough to bring Bud’s sister leaping to her feet and smiling and applauding all the while.

Noting the picture of Bud’s sister’s inexplicable actions on-screen, broadcaster Bill Brown expressed his wonder over the reasons for her joy.

Jim DeShaies quickly added, “Maybe she just had ‘fly out to left’ in the family pool.”

Just like old times, that kind of line is still funny today.