Results tagged ‘ Indians ’
One of the many things I discovered while researching Bob Feller’s Opening Day no-hitter in 1940 is that paranoia surrounding a no-hitter goes back longer than any of us have been alive.
The story of how Feller tried to jinx Randy Johnson’s no-no in 1994 is pretty awesome, considering he was pacing the press box and telling anyone within ear shot, “You know, I am the only pitcher to throw a no-hitter on Opening Day.” That included visits to the TV booth and the radio booth — and, by visits, I mean that Feller burst into the booth and just started yelling, not caring that the mics were live and the broadcasters were in the middle of an inning.
But I have to admit I was even more entertained by what I read in the clippings the Indians sent me from the actual newspaper coverage after Feller’s no-no 75 years ago. In an article titled, “Indians Refuse to Discuss No-Hitter,” we are given a detailed account of some of the conversations that went on when Feller was really close, but not quite there yet, to nailing down history.
I realize this game was a loooooooong time ago, and maybe the way people express themselves has changed a bit. But I also have to wonder if journalistic liberties were taken with some of these accounts. For example, here’s what the Plain Dealer had to say:
“I’ll stick my hand down your throat to the elbow”?
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great line. I sense it would be a real crowd-pleaser on Twitter these days. But is that really how people talked back then?
The rest of the story is pretty great, too.
Now, this just makes me feel oddly comforted. There’s something so cool about reading something an article that was written 75 years ago and still could apply today. This scene would have played out EXACTLY this way if Feller were throwing a no-hitter today. And that’s just really great.
But then there’s this, and I have no idea what to make of it, except that it’s hilarious:
Either way, it’s awesome.
This is pretty awesome.
On Sundays, the Indians open the clubhouse to the players’ kids after the game. ALL kids — sons and daughters. Apparently, the “no girls allowed” mantra that has infiltrated clubhouses for generations is slowly dissipating.
Kids’ presence in the clubhouse, before and after games, is nothing new. Sons of players have always been invited in, especially after a win. You’ll see them hanging on the couches watching TV, or spinning in the chair at pop’s locker, or chowing down in the dining area. (One of my favorite images is of a five-year-old Carlos Lee mini-mi, that little round cherubic face holding three bags of potato chips grinning like he just won the pre-K lottery).
It’s a nice thing for the kids. The players are gone so much, unable to really have a normal family life during Spring Training and baseball season. Those few precious moments that a kid can tag along with dad loom large. Being able to bring the kids to work, and hand them off to mom before the game, helps create just a little more normalcy in a life that is anything but normal.
But through the years, it always bugged me. What about the girls?
Obviously, the clubhouse isn’t an ideal environment for a girl. Grown men changing out of their uniforms isn’t exactly something you can introduce to your eight year old daughter.
The Indians came up with a simple plan that eradicates that issue. The guys hang their street clothes on a rack that the clubhouse manager wheels into the shower area after the game. Players shower and change into their clothes in there, instead of at their lockers.
It’s a wonder no one had come up with that idea earlier. Not only do I love this, I love that the players thought up the idea and were in full support. Today, there are legions of grown men who grew up in clubhouses because dear old dad was lucky enough to play Major League Baseball for a living. They have a lifetime of great memories hanging out with sons of other players, watching dad work, and spending quality time that they wouldn’t have had if they hadn’t been allowed to tag along.
Why shouldn’t daughters grow up with the same memories?
For every Reid Ryan, Jose Cruz Jr., Conor and Cavan Biggio and all of those K sons of Roger Clemens, there was a Peyton Everett, Quinn Biggio, Sophie Ausmus, Mia Blum and Hannah Berkman.
During the mid-2000s, the Astros’ roster was comprised mostly of players who had only daughters. Lots and lots of lots of daughters. Doug Brocail had five. Adam Everett, three. Brad Ausmus, two. Jeff Bagwell, two. Geoff Blum, four. Roy Oswalt, three. Lance Berkman, four.
Wouldn’t it have been nice for them to hang out with dad on the occasional Sunday?
Good for the Indians. Here’s hoping more teams follow suit.