October baseball is right around the corner, and with any luck, both of Gotham's big league clubs will be in the race for the World Series trophy.
Given as I am to always looking to the past, the present and the future as a whole (well, it is our slogan, folks), I can't help but alternate my vision. Any Mets or Yankees fan that has spent a large chunk of their time following their teams this year has seen some pretty wonderful baseball. Whether it's Alex Rodriguez on his way to another MVP-type season or Jose Reyes and David Wright growing up each and every day together as All-Star teammates, there are memories being grown before out very eyes.
Years from now, when my kids are a little older and they start actually (hopefully) watching baseball with their old man,I can explain to them how good Derek Jeter really was, what it was like to see Tom Glavine become the very last 300-game winner.
However, the romantic in me ultimately leads me back to Flatbush. Regular readers know this journey well, but I know you'll won't mind another trip back to East 39th Street.
The mind wanders, and snippets of music waft in, and I'm taken back to the house where I grew up, the street on which we lived, the group of friends that I also called teammates. Those endless summer days that were spent on somebody's stoop. The usual suspects were always around, Tommy Sullivan, Chris O'Donnell, Rob Smith, Billy Hooven, Eric Neilus, Bobby Foronjy and Evan Brown, Orin and his little brother John would come by from time to time, as would Jimmy Gillespie, Jimmy Gannon and Ed Smith.
We spent our summers playing and talking baseball every day. Though our daily discussions spanned the entire sports world, inevitably, it was baseball that stirred the pot on East 39th Street between Glenwood and Farragut Roads. Way before the internet, WFAN and SportsCenter, it was somebody going to Joe's Candy Store, picking up the Daily News, then after each getting a chance to peruse the sports section, gathering on that day's selected stoop to debate and discuss the previous night's events.
It seemed the only way to prepare for playing that day's full schedule of wiffle ball, stickball, or strikebox. No grass in the concrete jungle that was Farragut Park (though I hear it does now), so while the weekend was saved for CYO baseball, during the week, we made our own "stadiums".
Our favorite "park" was the driveway of Rob's house, because directly across the street, the Stochslaters had a side yard, with a hill, and a huge oak tree in left field, that of course was the "Green Monster". Of course, until I saw the real deal decades later, I couldn't imagine a more incredible sight. To this day, I still get chills just thinking about it.
Billy, Eric and Bobby were the resident Yankee fans, while the rest of us were true blue fans of the Amazins', so you can probably imagine how spirited the arguments got. Ultimately though, the love of the great game outweighed all. Being a fan was the most important thing.
There were very specific rules, of course. A.) If you couldn't name every single player on the team you rooted for, you were not a real fan. B.) There was none of this "I root for both teams" nonsense. C.) As with all boys, we had our favorites. However, if you chose to assume that person's name during an at-bat, you had to mimic their batting stance exactly, and of course, bat from the correct side of the plate.
Failure to comply was usually dealt with swiftly.
Being that my favorite players growing up were Lee Mazzilli and Mookie Wilson, the ability to switch hit -- patiently taught to me by my dad at age 7 -- came in quite handy. (The irony that my first-ever interview, conducted while an intern at WFAN, was with Wilson, and my first-ever nationally published article included an interview I had with Mazzilli.) When it was too hot to play outside (which was very rare, as was central air in Flatbush), it was Strat-O-Matic time, our version of Playstation.
Nights were spent mostly at home, though there were special occasions we would watch games together, like the 1979 All-Star Game. My guy, Mazzilli, hit an opposite-field homer to tie the score in the eighth inning. In the ninth, he walked to force in the winning run.
Though some guy named Dave Parker got the MVP, let's just say the walk home to 891 was sweet.
October baseball is right around the corner, and with any luck, both of Gotham's big league clubs will be in the race for the World Series trophy.
Given as I am to always looking to the past, the present and the future as a whole (well, it is our slogan, folks), I can't help but alternate my vision. Any Mets or Yankees fan that has spent a large chunk of their time following their teams this year has seen some pretty wonderful baseball. Whether it's Alex Rodriguez on his way to another MVP-type season or Jose Reyes and David Wright growing up each and every day together as All-Star teammates, there are memories being grown before out very eyes. 