KingFish Tales

Bragging Rights?

This piece was originally written in response to a posted thread called, "Big time bragging rights for your most memorable major league game". It was a thread that one of the Admins from the old Sleeperpicks site threw done as sort of a challenge to all members' to name the most memorable baseball game. This was way back in March of '00. Of course I got carried away. I almost always do when I start writing. That most memorable major league game became for me a litany of baseball memories. I’ve added a few lines here and there as the memories just keep adding up or coming back to me out of the clear blue. I sincerely hope you enjoy the read as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Big time bragging rights for my most memorable ML game huh? Let me see?

How about seeing Bill White hit one over the right field pavilion in old Sportsmen Park in St. Louis down on Grand Ave? Or,

Watching Hoot Gibson throw a gopher ball to Hank Aaron who proceeds to step up and smack it for a homerun over the center field wall only to be called out at the plate for stepping out of the batters box. It is the one and only time I (or anyone else for that matter) ever saw Gibson laugh out loud during a ball game. Or,

How about seeing two no-hitters, both in LA. Fernandomania and Kevin Gross of all people. Who would have thunk it? Or,

How about Stan the Man uncoiling out of that serpentine lefty stance of his and stroking a screaming line drive over the center field fence. I swear it didn't seem to get over 20 feet off the ground and was still going up when it cleared the fence. It made the air sizzle. I forgot who the pitcher was but I do remember him flat on his face out on the mound because he feared for his life. Or,

My little league team, St. Paul the Apostle, finally beating the rival St. Phillip Neri for the Catholic school championship held down at the old park on Grand Ave.? Third base was our home plate, (there was a game that afternoon between the Cards and Cubbies and they didn't want us messing up the infield) I hit a line shot off the base of the left field wall for an inside the park Homerun. Hardest I ever hit a ball in my life. Or,

How about the joy the whole city of St. Louis felt when we discovered that Lou Brock for Ernie Broglio wasn't such a bad deal after all. Or,

How about charging home plate from the Hot Corner in a Championship Pony League game against the Public school champs? Slow motion frames scrolled in front of me as I watched the hitter (the other teams skinny little runt of a no hit pitcher mind you) come out of his bunt stance, cock the bat back and proceed to knock the cover off the ball and take out my two front teeth? Or,

How about stealing home and being spiked in the knee by the panicked pitcher as his chased after his own errant throw to the plate. I was called out until they found the ball under the laid out catcher that I had decked. Or,

How about the tears we spilled in St. Louis when a much-loved Curt Flood decided to take the first real step to change the face of baseball for all time? I will always admire his courage but I'll never forget the hurt when he left the game. Or,

How about being in the left field bleachers, in my little league uniform, glove in hand during the 64 all-star game (I think, its hell getting old you know, can't even keep the stories straight). I was ordering a 25-cent coke at the concession stand on the upper row of the bleachers when the crowd roars. Everyone at the stand turns around at the crack of the bat and all I see is a Ken Boyer grand slam headed right at me. I time it perfect and leap as high as I can. Of course the concession guy with two 16 oz. Buddyweisers sees the same thing and leans out with one hand over each of my shoulders (still firmly grasping the overflowing cups mind you!). The picture in the Post Dispatch was a classic of a this kid in his little league uniform stretched full out while these dual beer waterfalls are drenching him. I swear, if it wasn't for that I had that ball the whole way. It was mine! As it was, the ball knocked the glove out of my hand. My leather ended up on top of the stand and a cop got it down for me. I got a free coke and popcorn out of it. Ken Boyer got a grand slam and I got to ride all the way home in the back of the Catholic school bus right where the nuns (escorts) stuck me. "You smell like a brewery young man!" Last I knew, mom had the newspaper clipping stashed away somewhere. Nope, won't ever forget that one. Or.

How about getting to go back home to St. Louis one recent summer and catching a Cards game? Of course Big Mac jacked another one for the home team. The "crowd went wild" just doesn't do justice when describing the deafening roar that ensued. Or even,

How about watching "Field of Dreams" for the first time and crying when the son gets to play catch with his dad? Or,

Taking my son to his very first big league game at two and a half years old. I paid big bucks and got field level front row seats right behind the visiting teams dugout. I was determined to make this first game a memory that he would always have to cherish as his own. The Dodgers versus the Cards was on the bill that afternoon. My new home team playing my old home team as we had moved west about four years earlier. We got there before batting practice on a bright warm sunny day. My son Jason had to have his hotdog and popcorn firmly in hand before heading to the seats. Once the lush green of the outfield came into view the wide eye stare reaction that I had been expecting popped out across his young face. "It's so big daddy!" We proceeded to make our way down to the seats and settled in just as balls were rocketing all over the diamond. The youngster didn’t say a word as both the dog and popcorn kept his mouth full the whole time but I feared for a whiplash injury as his head snapped back and forth trying to keep track of it all. The stands continued to fill up as the groundskeeper cleared the field and then we stood as the anthem was played. Vince Coleman strode out of the visiting Cards dugout. We were so close you could hear him scratch. He limbered up in the on deck circle as my son watched every move he made. The pitcher finished his warm-ups just as Vince started to dig in. The Ump bawled out, "Play Ball" and the pitcher stared intently at the catcher to get his first sign. The air was charged with an electrical excitement as the crowd noise began to rise to a roar. Just then I noticed a small tug at my side. I didn’t react right away, as this was the moment I, at least, had been waiting so anxiously for. Another small tug and I tore my eyes from the unfolding scene to look down at my son. Those oh so innocent big eyes stared up at dad’s face that I'm sure was etched in intense concentration. My heart of course melted and the game was forgotten for the moment until these fateful words were spoken. "Daddy, is it time to go home yet?" Or,

How about being able to watch your own son take the field in his own little league uniform and actually get a hit in his first at bat? Or,

Sitting down and instructing him on the proper way to care for his glove. The smell of that leather and oil never leaves does it? That and the scent of freshly cut spring grass are enough for me. My now fifteen-year-old son still plays catch with his dad now and then but in his rather spare time his interests have turned more towards those of the female persuasion. Although I'll probably never select him in an auction draft, he has grown up knowing his fathers passion for the game. That's plenty enough for me. Or,

How about arranging a field trip with your boss, his two young sons of nine and five years old with yourself and your now, eleven year old son. You have to understand that the term boss doesn’t describe the friendship that had developed long before we had any children. Being the financially conservative fathers we were, we stopped at McDonald's and the kids ate like kings. We both thought to ourselves, well that will save us a bundle of cash compared to the prices at the stadium. After fighting through rush hour traffic on a rather warm and sultry afternoon to get to the early evening game and then waiting what seemed like forever to get into the parking lot, we finally found a spot to park. Just then the youngest of the boys pipes up and says, "I’m not feeling well Daddy!" We quickly pulled into the spot and the boss picked his youngster up to check him out. Just then the combination of the McDonalds’ and the long car trip took effect and the boy tossed his dinner out across dads loving shoulder and back. The older son stared on laughing and then suddenly fired away with his own dinner in a show of sympathy for his younger sibling. Of course my boy took one look at the duel colorful displays of vomit and up his dinner came as well. Now we're standing there in the middle of the parking lot with three hurling young- boys but we're determined to carry on. We finally get everyone settled down and cleaned up. Fortunately the boss had brought along a spare T-shirt. After a few quick sips of cool water the boys seem ready to go. We made our way across the crowded parking lot. With a sigh of heavenly directed thanks we finally got into the park. Oh course the youngster was the first to comment and I guess we should have anticipated it. "Daddy, I’m hungry!"

I could go on. The stories are many. All are very true and real to me. The memories of them will forever be mine. No, I really can't claim bragging rights but I do claim that this game, this great American pastime, this singular pleasure, Baseball, has meant as much to me over the years as almost anything else. I trust it, it's been as they say, "Very, very good to me".

Rotoball/Fantasy Baseball, whatever you want to call it, has vastly improved my overall knowledge of the game. Now I’m at a point where I feel a driving need to share my insights and fond memories with all those that know and love the game as I do. A tradition of this game has always been to pass along the memories. I can only hope that one or more of the memories listed above have the same effect on you the reader, as they did to me.

Spring is just around the corner and the fun is about to begin all over again. The long winter months are slowly giving up their icy hold over us. The coming smell of clean cut grass, a well oiled glove or a simmering dog on the grill, the championship banners snapping on the breeze of a cloudless crystalline blue sky, the crack of the bat, the pop of a high heater into the catchers mitt, the growl of the man in blue barking out the call, the howl of the now clearly annoyed crowd, the stinging infield chatter and all the rest, very simply, can't be beat.

Bragging rights? No, I don't think I’d ever lay claim to that but I just plain love this silly old school boys’ game. So let’s Plaaaaay Baaalllll! Or even better still, "Let’s play two!" Mr. Banks, I couldn’t have said it better myself!

So Sayeth the Fish!
Karl Fischer

My most sincere thanks go out to several friends that helped to dig this old piece up for me. It had been a post on the old SP site but through several upgrades of my P/C it had been lost to me as a file and in the mean time much to my dismay, the SP site had shut down. I panicked for a bit but my friends were there for me, in force! The quick response to my desperate plea for help was both gratifying and at the same time a bit humbling for me. It is good to have such friends. This article was used as a peace-making offer between the Sleeperpicks and the RotoJunkies sites. Seems we had a mutual enemy that attempted to get us to attack each other for some strange personal reason. I wanted the members of the Junkies site to realize that we were baseball fans just like they were. The love of the game had to overcome the yet another obstacle. Fortunately it did and the situation seemed to all work itself out over time. I’ve since added quite a bit to the original piece so I hope that even the repeat reader can enjoy it as much as I do. Thanks again to all for their valiant efforts in helping recover the original work. I cherish it dearly and promise not to loose it again!

Your comments as always would be most greatly appreciated!<\/A>