Quite a few years ago now, my parents took us to Cooperstown to see the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies for Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford. There were others that were elected that year, but I really was only concerned about Mickey Mantle. I had never seen him play, but I had heard a lot about him. My mother is a great New York Yankee fan and she made sure that I was aware of them, too.
After getting myself separated from my parents during the ceremony on the Hall of Fame Library's lawn, I made a beeline for the temporary wooden fence that served as a barrier between the throngs of admirers and the inductees. I don't really remember much about their speeches, but I was fascinated by the whole process.
Later, Tam and I were able to roam the grounds and the lobby of the Otesaga Hotel in search of autographs of people that I had never heard of. Of course, our mom and dad knew of them all. We encountered Bob Feller checking it at the front desk, Satchel Paige out on the back patio, Ernie Banks heading upstairs to his room, and Whitey Ford holding a drink out on the porch. There were others like Eddie Matthews signing his autograph on a Hall of Fame Game scorecard that I had all while he held it firmly on my head. Unfortunately, he signed the message to Tammie and I didn't take that too well. There were just numerous similar encounters with these greats and it truly was a memorable experience for me. This all happened almost forty years ago and I still remember it very well.
Also during that trip, my parents purchased the book, The Greatest in Baseball by Mac Davis and gave it to me to read. I don't know if I really have a favorite book, but there is no doubt that in 1974 that this was it. There were stories of Ruth, Gehrig, Mathewson, Robinson and Mantle among others. I devoured those stories throughout our ride back home to Camillus and my love for baseball was cemented right then and there.
In addition to reading about baseball (and other sports!), I loved to practice stances, pitching motions, fielding fundamentals and situational hitting. Not on my own, but with a cast of many imaginary but very formidable associates. Although I was never a very good ballplayer, my love for the game continued throughout my life.
When Tam was sick and in hospice, my nephew, Sean wrote a very touching story about watching a New York Yankees game for the last time with his mom. Tammie was also a big fan and enjoyed all of the same 1970's World Series games that I did. I am most sure that she would have loved to have known that her Yankees were returning once again to the series in 2009. A World Series that they would ultimately win and a championship that they haven't won since.
The night that Tammie died the Yankees were playing in the American League Championship Series against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (why aren't they still the California Angels?). I received a call from my mother and when I saw her number come up on the caller id., I knew what she was going to tell me. Despite realizing that Tam's death was inevitable, the news was stunning. I thought back to all those wonderful memories of our youth and retreated to my bedroom and turned on the television set.
For years, I haven't really been able to watch a game from start to finish of any of the teams that I root for. Odd, but I am so superstitious and adverse to stress that I just can't stand to look until the ending is no longer in doubt. As the game came on the screen, the score was 5-2 in favor of New York and the incredible, Mariano Rivera was on the mound. Essentially, this series was over and I decided to watch.
I realized as Rivera smoothly toss the ball towards home plate that this game that I had placed so much importance on was not actually important to me at all. This was not life and death and it really was just a game. In between the tears, I focused on the crowd, the swirling paper debris around home plate and my memories of very great sister. Baseball and sports had in large part lost their appeal to me and I have focused on other things.
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