Notes #421 — October Games

                             NOTES FROM THE SHADOWS OF COOPERSTOWN
                                           Observations from Outside the Lines
                                     By Two Finger Carney (carneya6@adelphia.net)
 

#421                                                                                                              OCTOBER 22, 2007
                                             OCTOBER GAMES
 

            Whoever thought I’d wake up on the eve of a World Series muttering Damn Red Sox?  Don’t get me wrong, I kind of like the team, and I have many BoSox fan friends, and I feel glad for them. But I really thought this might be the Indians’ year. The Sox ended their drought, not that long ago.
 

            It helps to remember where I’m coming from, in my rooting. Fifty years ago, when I got hooked on MLB, my Pirates hadn’t played an October Game since 1927. In some ways, I’m still feeling the joy of the end of that drought, which came in 1960. The two Series for the Pirates since then — wonderful, but there will never be another 1960, not in my lifetime.
 

            Not for Pirate fans, that is. But for the fans of the Chicago Cubs and the Cleveland Indians, yes, it can happen. Hence, Damn Red Sox. I give them credit for coming back after being down 3-1 (it reminded me, of course, of 1925 and 1979, when my Pirates pulled that off, in the Series). But did they have to make the last games so lop-sided?  I love Game Sevens — but not those kind of endings. Maybe if the Sox had won the finale with a last-ditch rally, or in extra innings, I’d feel better about it. But they didn’t. Damn Red Sox.
 

            I’m also grumpy because I had to jump back and forth between the Sox-Indians’ game, and the Steelers — the only NFL team I watch. They were down 14, but that’s not as serious a deficit in football, and sure enough, they came back to tie, only to lose on a field goal after the clock ran out. The unwanted juxtaposition of baseball and football forced me to make unwanted comparisons. I was reminded how often I have a bad taste in my mouth after an NFL game, because of the officiating. I was reminded of the huge difference a ticking clock makes in at sport. But there was a silver lining, the game was in Denver, home of the Rockies, and there was snow on the ground at Coors Field yesterday. If the game is snowed out, I want to see fans out there building snowmen. Have a contest, a prize to the one that best resembles Bud Selig. Put the photo on postcards.
 

            There was a day when October was worse and I was much crankier. And I was reminded of that by the presence of the Indians, so deep into the month. Took me back to 1995, and to a journal I was keeping here in Notes that October. I’m going to re-run just part of it here, and if anyone is interested in more, they can go to the Notes Archive and look up #116 & #117, two oldies just posted. (Notes made its internet debut in March 1999 with issues #184, but over the years, I’ve added a bunch of the earlier issues to the archives. I recommend 116-117, because of what else was going on then — I was reviewing books on Pete Rose, the O.J. Simpson trial was on, and folks were arguing over “Chief Wahoo” — who didn’t seem to be nearly as controversial in 2007 as he was in 1995, but maybe the noise just never made it to here in the Shadows.
 

            What was ruining 1995 for fans across the country was an experiment by those MLB marketing geniuses, called The Baseball Network — known better in Notes as The Nyetwork. Nyet, Russian for NO, summed it up — it seemed like we never had the chance to watch the games we wanted to see. It was a failed experiment. But that was a great October to revisit, and I hope you agree.
 

            After that, there is a World Series recap — no, not that Series, the Red Sox and Rockies square off later. Nope, my recap will go back to a replay of an infamous Series, 1919’s. Then I’ll tack on one more item, and that’s it for another week.
 

From the NOTES Archive: The following is excerpted from Issues #114-115, October 7 & 14, 1995. The journal concludes in #s 116-117, both posted in the NOTES Archive.
 

1995
 

AN OCTOBER JOURNAL   (THE BEGINNING)  
 

October 3. The Nyetwork served up Yankees a la Mariners here in the Shadows, and I tuned in, sporadically. Boggs’ well-placed single somehow outweighed Griffey’s two blasts. Meanwhile, on radio, the Red Sox-Indians game seemed much more interesting, until the rains came along and diverted me to Colorado, where I listened to the Braves hang on — picking up a win by striking out tomorrow’s starting pitcher with the bases loaded in the ninth. Beware the teams that are both good AND lucky! Off in the distance, the Reds go up early and it’s no contest in L.A., and the highlights suffice for this one.
 

October 4. The morning news is jammed up with the O.J. aftermath, the game was over too late for my morning paper, so I learn of Tony Pena’s game-winning wee-hours homer as I drive to work. Pena was almost one of the Family of Pirates that won in ’79 — he came up a year later — and his name in the box score always catches me by surprise. Still going? I make a mental note to ask my Boston friends if they have this game on video.
 

            ESPN radio all morning is better than any sports page, fabulous, babe, as it whirls around the horn with fans checking in, from every city in the playoffs, it seems, or rooting for one of the Magnificent Eight (would you prefer “Big Eight”?)
 

October 5. Suddenly, I’m nostalgic for October afternoon games, the kind we can sneak home early for, or peek at on the TVs now hanging around most workplaces — you know, the ones everybody surrounded for the O.J. verdict?  Because the Yankees took 15 innings to win last night’s game, Leyritz’s retaliatory so there home run coming long after I set up my VCR and hit the sack. (I can listen to radio at work sometimes, but I can’t sleep!) Another five-hours-plus game! My tape ran out in the bottom of the 14th — who’d have guessed it would go that long?  Baseball!
 

            I caught the Indians’ highlights before turning in (gimme a break — why saw up Belle’s bat?  Can you imagine Babe Ruth letting anyone do that, to the one he notched after every fresh dinger?  X-ray Belle’s arm, stupid.)  Hershiser looking like a model ’88. Atlanta and Cincinnati seemed to have safe leads, but the morning boxes show the Dodgers almost came back. Baseball.
 

            So it’s 2-0 in games all around, setting up the possibility of no games at all this Saturday and Sunday, when I can stay up all night (I’m off Monday, a strategic floating holiday.)  And if there are games, they’ll be on earlier!  Go figure.
 

            Tonight, mail from my latest e-pal on America Online, Paul Adomites, with news from the morning paper in the ‘Burgh — the owners have given tentative (grudging?) approval to McClatchey’s deal, so if the details can be worked out, the Bucs will stop (packing) here. I make a mental note to write something on “the argument from tradition” for a future issue of Notes.
 

 

AN OCTOBER JOURNAL, Part Two  
 

October 6. I began the evening watching the Yankees-Mariners game that went 15, knowing (a) the outcome and (b) that my tape shut down after 14. Knowing the outcome makes watching (or listening to) a game a whole different experience. I listened to “the Buckner game” rebroadcast about a year ago, and was struck by how many opportunities were missed by the Red Sox early on, and how really intricate that game was, start to finish. What a shame that we recall it for a single play (or misplay)! The Yankees game re-heated lost some flavor — like when Griffey homered in what, the 11th?  I knew it wouldn’t hold up. Also knew Sierra’s hit wouldn’t clear the wall, but what a great relay to cut off that winning run and keep the game going.
 

            With company over, I started watching tonight’s game late, and at first the TV was just on in the background, silent. My wife and her friend were prompted by a close-up of Randy Johnson to comment, “That is one ugly guy.”  I tried to explain, he ain’t ugly, he’s Randy Johnson, and gave them a short litany of accomplishments from his 1995 resume. “He’s still ugly.”  I was unable to agree. Like Randy’s mother, fans cannot be objective.
 

            That was shortly before some idiot hit Gerald Williams with something, and another threw a tomato — we guessed. With the sound off, it was hard to tell what was going on.
 

            Somewhere on another planet, Tim Wakefield was pitching, but apparently not the one who got the Sox to October. Too bad, and who knows how he might have done with me, the accomplice,  rooting for him with better contact?  Tim once gave Pirate fans a winter full of hope, after his dazzling ’92 epiphany. But ending as he has, Sox fans will spend all winter worrying. I hadn’t realized they had lost 13 straight playoff games — starting with that game!  Uncanny. But then, this is a very good Indian team.
 

            Somewhere else Tommy LaSorda was losing, Nomo chances left, and will Hideo be denied Rookie of the Year out of respect for Japanese baseball?  The Yankee game ends with Charlton in charge, pitching like ’90, or like he’d like to face the Reds. A quick cut to Atlanta, where the Damn Braves rally again, then the Damn Nyetwork says Goodnight and I have to read about the Rockies’ win in the morning paper. As the commercial says, major annoying.
 

            On the same page, an AP story says Bill Giles and Giants’ VP Larry Baer are trying to head off a tar-and-feather posse of fans by promising that next year we’ll see all the games. Thanx, but in the future, don’t sign anything till we read it, OK? 
           
            With the Strike pushed into some closet, with Bud Selig (now there’s a face that’s ugly to fans, ladies), the Nyetwork has revived the atmosphere of fan protest, that sooner or later ought to make MLB think about a Fan Advisory group of some kind, don’t you all agree?  Let Bob Costas head it up, if he’s not Commish!
 

 

AN OCTOBER JOURNAL, Part Three  
 

October 7. Just two games going tonight. Atlanta is chopping the Rockies, the first WC to be eliminated. I tune in late to the only game in my neck of the baseball woods, it’s already 5-5, then suddenly Edgar Martinez slams the Yankees and there will be a game five. I find myself rooting for Seattle, inexplicably — I like this Yankee team. Maybe it’s the Steinbrenner factor, or the hired guns thing. If the Yankees win, I know I’ll see the Indians, but otherwise? 
 

October 8. Game Five. Pirate fans have been there before, in 1972, when perhaps the best Pirate team ever went down to the Reds, in an unforgettable finish. I still feel that the Bucs would have won in seven, and I’m sure that’s how Yankee fans will feel forever about this series with Seattle.
 

            It was only fitting that the game went into extras. These two teams turned out to be very evenly matched: Seattle, who played well enough with and without Griffey to overtake the Angels and have enough left to elbow them aside at the end. And the Yankees, picked to win by everybody, underachieving but still formidable, weighed down by expectations and potential, and by the price tags as persistently visible as their pinstripes.
 

            I watched the first nine innings on a tiny B & W set borrowed from my kitchen, the other sets in the house reserved. Randy Johnson still looked awesome — not ugly. Mattingly’s tie-breaking double in the sixth, bouncing high over the wall in left, seemed to be enough for a while, but I made a mental note to come back to that inning later and see. Would Sierra have scored if the ball had stayed in play?  Seattle escaped that inning, it could have been much worse.
 

            Of course the Mariners would come back. It’s what they do. Cone, dog-eyed and pouty, finally surrendered to the pressure, with a short burst of wildness. Johnson at last gave in, too, Velarde’s hit finding Coleman’s weak arm (the ex-Met factor biting both teams now), but at the end it was Black Jack McDowell yielding the final flurry of hits that sealed the verdict.
 

            Yes, Cora seemed to be outside the line beating out a bunt to get it started. But the Mariners would have figured out other ways to win, it Edgar’s double had only tied, and not won it. The Yankees played valiantly, in the crush of enemy noise, with the odds shifting against them with each Pinella finagle. Had this one been played back in the Bronx, with the same result, I wonder how the fans would have reacted to McDowell’s breakdown — and how McDowell might have responded. Some pictures don’t go away.
 

            I hate five-game playoffs. Not just because the best team may not win, but because when two teams play so hard against each other that neither deserves to lose, they deserve seven. And so do the fans. We can’t get enough of games this good.
 

 

AN OCTOBER JOURNAL, Part Four  
 

October 11.  Walk-a-Mile-in-Their-Spikes Dept:  I was screened from seeing the Reds-Braves opener — all I could think of toward the end of the Mariners’ win over the Tribe was 1954? — so I was hungry today for details of the 11-inning, 2-1, musta-beena-thrilla. Instead, I read (and heard, mostly on ESPN radio) about the empty seats at Riverfront. Who’s complaining? Only the folks sent to cover the game, with expense accounts.
 

            When Pirate fans took this same heat for not filling Three Rivers a few Octobers back, it was from these same people. Let’s see if we can put this to rest, right here and now.
 

            First, all but west coast baseball fans unanimously agree that the games start too late. Well, they’re too late for the home town fans, too, not just those who watch on TV. At least the rest of us can watch the late innings in bed and be asleep a few minutes after the last out. Cincinnati always has drawn from a wide area, and wouldn’t you think twice if it was a two or three hour drive home after a game that will be over after 11 PM?  OK, you’d go, but your kids need to be in school tomorrow.
 

            Second, fans who are used to paying $3.50 or $4 for nosebleed seats all summer, are ticked when the same seats have a $25-$40 price tag. Those seats would sell out at $5-$10, but MLB sets the post-season prices, not the home team. And we know what marketing geniuses those MLB folks can be.
 

            Third, there is a tempting alternative: see the game free on TV at a favorite pub or at home, and save a bundle on food and beverages. Yes, some fans are actually on tight budgets in 1995!
 

            I honestly don’t think The Strike or Marge Schott are factors, and that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever said about either. If your down on MLB in general this year, and Schottzie’s feeder in particular, you’ll want to blame them, but I don’t. Nor do I blame the stadiums, by the way. Tempting, but no.
 

            I attended the first night World Series game in Pittsburgh, in 1971, with my father, driving in from Cleveland for the game, and getting back after in time to get up early the next day.(Our terrace reserved seats were $10, by the way.) I attended a Playoff game in 1992 with my son, because we both had the next day off (and I was ready to drive to Pittsburgh the next week for the Series, BFC — But for Cabrera.)  So I’ve had some personal post-season rooting experience, this isn’t just theoretical.
 

            My point? Small-market cities need not be embarrassed about empty, over-priced seats for late weekday night games. The “small” refers to small(er) populations, and smaller average paychecks, but never to the size of those fans’ hearts. MLB is more concerned about Neilson ratings than any hometown fans. The empty seats in Cincinnati represent the Lords’ empty heads.
 

October 12.  The Nyetwork ambushed me again last night, just when I thought there were no insults left. After a steady diet of Mariner games this post-season, I tuned in to see how Edgar and Junior and Jay and Tino (see? we’re on a first-name basis now) were doing. But they were all yanked away (no pun intended), for Game 2 of the Reds-Braves battle. Excuse me, I thought we were watching a series? (See Notes #111, pgs 6-7)
 

            Someone at work today tells me there was a mild backlash when fans in the Shadows here were force-fed the AL in Game 1, and denied the chance to see a local hero, the Braves’ Mark Lemke (Mr October, Jr.)  Launch an investigation, somebody.
 

            Anyway, while Hershiser and Co. were pulling even somewhere out there, I joined a game that was tied 2-2, and threatening to end that way. No matter, I became a Tim McCarver fan again — his analysis somehow gives TV fans peripheral vision (no small feat), takes you into game (deeper than some want to swim, true.) I’ve only caught Tim a few times all summer, on Mets games, and his unexpected voice last night reminded me of what he adds to any game.
 

            It was still 2-2 when I set up my VCR to tape the extra innings, but the Braves already had something going on in their 10th, so the final score I read this morning came as no surprise. The game seemed lost for the Reds when Larkin doubled and stole third, only to wither there under the heat of Alejandro Pena. Al (you can call him Al) is yet another pitcher jettisoned by my Pirates, left for dead-arm by the wayside, only to be reclaimed and resurrected — like Wakefield, or Jim Gott, a few years back. Anyway, there was Alejandro, pitching like ’91! I’m rooting against the Braves, but I can’t root against Pena!
 

            With yesterday’s entry fresh in mind, my eyes were assaulted at breakfast by Mike Lopresti’s column, bashing Marge Schott for the empty seats in Cincy, then later some Reds’ broadcaster on ESPN radio blames the Strike. Forget it, guys, the Reds sold out last Friday’s game. Marge was in charge then, and I don’t think any attitudes toward MLB changed in four days. What changed was the day and the time — Friday’s game started earlier and there was no school/work the next day, so the seats were filled — as they would be, I have no doubt, if the Playoffs were day games. Lopresti makes a good point, Schott trimmed the Reds PR Dept and they apparently don’t promote as well as most teams.
 

            Later on ESPN-R, Jim Rutherford of the Hartford Whalers noted that “small-market” really means “smaller revenues,” and that struck me as a much better definition than I offered yesterday. And on the topic, “new stadium” means “increased revenues” — from luxury boxes and parking to concessions and raised ticket prices. Basic economic facts of life, all.
 

            Was there this kind of carping when the Indians drew 16,000 more fans for Game 5 of the 1948 Series, than they did in Game 3? OK, they drew over 70,000 in Game 3, over 86 in Game 5 — do you think they came to see the stadium?  Let’s hear somebody privileged to have the national ear on this issue speak up and say: Hey, did you notice that over 15,000 fans were stupid enough to pay $35 to drive five hours and watch the game through binoculars?
 

Again — the October Journal 1995 concludes in NOTES #116-117.
 

 

PLAY IT AGAIN, KID  
 

            With no playoffs on TV and the house to myself, except for our cat and our son’s dog, I decided to replay the 1919 World Serious again. Using the APBA simulation game and dice, that is. I hadn’t rolled the dice in a long time. And I had the feeling that this might be the Reds’ lucky day.
 

            When I’ve replayed the Series in the past, the White Sox have always won. I think they swept five straight at least once. I don’t know why I thought the Reds could do it this time, but I did. So I put on my caps, of Kid Gleason and Pat Moran, and dug out the box scores from October 1919, so that I used the same lineups and pitching rotations as Kid and Whiskey Face.
 

GAME ONE
            Dutch Ruether went 0-for-4 (he was a slugging pitcher), but he tossed a one-hitter in the Series opener, and the Reds took it, 6-3. Eerily, echoing Game One in 1919, the Reds scored first, and the Sox tied it up: Swede Risberg walked, stole second and hustled to third on a wild pitch, and Schalk bunted him home. The Reds went up to stay in the fourth, aided by a two-base throwing error by — Eddie Cicotte! Knuckles went the route, as did Dutch, who allowed just two runners — besides that walk, Risberg homered in the fifth inning. And that was IT.
 

GAME TWO
            The Reds jumped on top again with two in the first: Rath walked, Daubert singled on a hit and run, Groh knocked in the first run with a single and Roush plated another with a sac fly. Shano Collins homered for the only Sox run, and the Reds KO’ed Lefty Williams and won handily, 7-1.
 

GAME THREE
            Now it was Ray Fisher’s turn to toss a gem, as he bested Dickie Kerr, 3-1. Fisher scattered seven hits. Kerr gave up just six, one a HR by Heinie Groh. Greasy Neale had a double, and scored from second on a ground out to Risberg. I imagined Chick Gandil holding onto the ball too long, or maybe falling for a throw off line. Kerr was ejected for arguing after he walked two batters to start the eighth inning. The Sox have no bullpen at all, so this could have been a killer, but it wasn’t. So the Reds are now up 3-0 in games, and appear to be in the catbird seat.
 

GAME FOUR
            Eddie Cicotte is an ace who will not have many bad days. He came back from that Game One loss with a five-hitter, as the Sox avoid the sweep, 4-1. Jimmy Ring was unusually wild, walking seven and plunking one, before leaving in the fifth. The walks mixed in with key hits by Shano Collins (playing in center, as Happy Felsch was injured in Game Three) and Swede.
 

GAME FIVE
            The Reds out-hit the Sox 7-4, but Lefty Williams scattered those hits over seven different innings, and won, 4-0. Hod Eller retired the first fifteen Sox, then walked Risberg to lead off the sixth. Schalk doubled him home. Hod then walked Williams, who was trying to bunt. The big hit came soon after, a long, bases-loaded triple by Shoeless Joe, who had been 1-for-15 until then.
 

GAME SIX
            The Reds, back home, win their fourth game, 10-2. But this Series is best-of-nine. Ring gets the CG win, with support from his teammates to the tune of 13 hits. Three of them are by Jake Daubert, two triples included. Edd Roush got four hits and four RBI. Kerr got knocked out in the third, and to repeat, the Sox have no bullpen at all. Three errors led to four unearned runs.
 

GAME SEVEN
            With their backs to the wall — just like 1919 — the Sox now have to play must-win baseball. Dutch Ruether faces off with Eddie Cicotte, and both are on their game, dueling 1-1 into the seventh. Then a Kopf double and Ivy Wingo’s hit puts them ahead, and Morrie Rath singles home another run. So the Reds take a 3-1 lead into the ninth inning. Eddie Collins leads off with a home run — the Series has seen more than might be expected from these dead ball era players. Weaver fans — two outs to go. But Jackson corks a triple, and Felsch, back from that injury, squeeze-bunts him in and legs out a single.
 

            Extra innings. Cicotte left the game for a pinch-hitter in the 8th. Lefty Williams came in for two shutout innings. Now Dickie Kerr, who only pitched two inning yesterday, comes in, and holds the Reds in the 10th, and the 11th. Ruether is going the route for Cincy. Dutch pitched out of a bases-full jam in the 11th by coaxing Gandil to hit a DP grounder to short. In the 12th, he finally wilts. Risberg starts it with a double, and Ray Schalk hits him in. Nemo Leibold walks, batting for Kerr. Shano bunts them up, then Eddie Collins singles and Buck doubles in two more, and the Sox are up 7-3. Red Faber comes in, gives up three hits and a run, but the Sox hang on and win, 7-4. Back to Cincinnati.
 

GAME EIGHT
            If anyone has threatened Lefty Williams, he doesn’t show it, or maybe he and Lyria had a quarrel. Lefty has a 1-2-3 first inning, and goes on to toss a two-hitter. Hod Eller leaves the game with an injury in the fourth, with the Reds down 2-0, but the Reds have a strong pen. The Sox tack on another run in the sixth, and the game ends 3-1 Sox. Jackson set up the first run with a hit-and-run single, and scored one later after he doubled. Buck and Swede also had two hits each. The Series is all even.
 

GAME NINE
            Back to Cincinnati. Dickie Kerr gets the chance he never got in 1919, but he hasn’t fared as well in this Series. He won the extra-inning game, but was rocked in his two starts. The Reds pounce on him again, going up 2-0 on a sacks-full double by Ivy Wingo. But the three hits in the second inning are all that Kerr gives up. The Sox pick away, scoring off Ray Fisher in the 4th, 5th, and 7th, leaving the bases full in the 6th. The Sox are up 3-2 when Hod Eller takes over in the 8th. Four singles and an intentional walk later, the lead is 6-2. Swede had the key hit. Kerr leaves for a pinch-hitter, and Grover Lowdermilk is handed the ball. Daubert greets him with a single, but Groh hits into a 6-4-3 DP and Grover survives the eighth. Dutch Ruether is called on to hold the Sox, but he doesn’t. Smelling victory, and knowing that with Lowdermilk pitching, no lead is safe, the Sox score four more runs, Gandil and Risberg knocking them in. The Reds manage two hits and a run in their ninth, but the Sox win 10-3.
 

            These APBA simulation games can take twenty minutes, or twice that, depending on how the scoring goes and whether the managers need to pause to make critical decisions. The Reds and Sox are fun to manage, both teams have fairly set lineups. The starting pitchers often go the route. I took breaks between each game, e-mailing a friend who was (I think) following the Series, and now I’m glad we didn’t bet on the outcome, because I was sure the Reds would win.
 

            The Reds will have to go back to Game Seven, when they were two outs away from a win. In their 10th inning, they had the bases loaded (Ruether’s hit, a sacrifice by Rath, Daubert walked intentionally, Groh an infield hit), but Roush’s smash up the middle was snagged and turned into a 1-2-3 DP. Jackson robbed Duncan of a double with a fine running catch leading off the Reds 11th. Like any game — so many chances.
 

            In 1919, Moran platooned his catchers, and Gleason switched off his right fielders, Shano Collins and Nemo Leibold. For Game Nine, I decided to give Eddie Murphy a start. Murphy batted .486 in 1919, mostly off the bench (35 AB, 21 as a pinch-hitter). His APBA card is awesome. Eddie had nevertheless gone 0-for-4 for me in this Series. But in his eighth series at bat, his single drove in the go-ahead run in Game Nine. (He was then quickly removed for defense.) I could hear the cheering in Hancock, NY, especially from those gathered at the Hancock House Hotel sports bar, Honest Eddie’s.
 

            In the end, the simulation doesn’t really prove anything, just that this time around, the Sox had the hot dice — I mean bats — when it counted. The 1919 Reds really did have a deeper pitching staff. And the Sox, a the better hitting.
 

            I am reminded of how old-fashioned it seems now, when the two teams who meet in October’s Game, the Series, are strangers to each other. Today there is so much player movement, not to mention interleague play. But yes, Virginia, once upon a time baseball fans could endlessly argue and speculate about the two teams in the Series, each representing very distinct and different and rival leagues. So batters and pitchers who had proved their ability in one league, were now going to be tested by the other.
 

            Fifty years ago, I watched my first World Series, and rooted for Milwaukee to beat the NY Yankees — not because I hated the Yankees, but because I was a National League fan. I still am, even though the NL’s clinging to tradition over the Designated Hitter is an embarrassment. Fifty Octobers later, I am sure that I rooted for the NL to win more than the AL, just as I’m sure that I made exceptions — for example, when the Damn Braves were in the Series.
 

            This year, I’d like to see Cleveland win it. And the Cubs next year (if the Pirates stumble again).
 

            I kind of like best-of-nine, by the way, even though it meant staying up past midnite.
 

            My 2007 Series played out, in the end, exactly the way that Kid Gleason had hoped things would go in 1919, with Chicago taking the last three games. We will never know if Dickie Kerr would have won that Game Nine. But thanks to APBA, we can imagine.
 

Another place to find that OCTOBER JOURNAL from 1995 is in Notes #313, from November 1, 2003. But it’s more fun to read with the Pete Rose stuff, I think. But if you did go to #313, you would also find there this little piece, which I reprint here as a tribute to the Red Sox ace, this time around, Josh Beckett.
 

 

WATCHING KIDS GROW UP  
 

            One of the joys of rooting for a minor league team, is watching the players move on up the ladder. Most will not make it to the top, but some will, and when they do, I often find myself going back to my Utica Blue Sox scorebooks, to see what they did when they were here, especially in the games when I kept score.
 

            And so this time around, I found myself watching Josh Beckett shut down the Yankees in Game 6, and digging through my Blue Sox programs to see if I saw him when. The Sox were a Marlins farm (or is it hatchery?) from 1996 through their last year here, 2001. When Florida took over after three years of affiliation with the Red Sox, the owners — marketing geniuses that they were — held a contest, to re-name the team. The winner was announced, someone who had suggested Utica Bluefish, or something like that. But the change never happened. It was too late for the league, too late for the uniforms, probably too expensive … and I was not bothered at all, because “Blue Sox” has a history.
 

            Anyway — did Josh Beckett get here in Utica, AKA the Shadows of Cooperstown, the big boost he needed to launch him to the heights he attained in Game 6 of the 2003 World Series?  He did not. I was surprised, because the name was somewhat familiar.
            I found out why in the 2001 program, which reprinted two pages from Baseball America, on the Marlins’ organization. Josh Beckett was named their top prospect. Good call. Miguel Cabrera was #3, and he did play in Utica, in 2000, at age 17 — shortstop. None of the other top ten prospects were familiar to me, except Abraham Nunez. Anyway, Josh Beckett was drafted #2 overall in 1999, “the first high school righthander taken that high since Bill Gullickson 20 years earlier. After a summer-long holdout he received a four-year, $7 million big league contract” just days before he would have entered college.
 

            And that’s what I recalled from 1999 — waiting for Beckett. (I know what you’re thinking, he must be figuring out a way to work in Godot — but I’ll pass.) Anyway, the fans might have been waiting for Beckett, but the Blue Sox were not — they went right ahead without him and won a championship, the first here since Roger Kahn’s Good Enough to Dream Team in 1983. (If you need a jolt of Blue Sox nostalgia, I recommend Notes #199.)
 

            Baseball America, the Bible of minor league ball, was one way I followed the kids who started their careers in Utica. We lost our team, due to inept marketing over many years, after the 2001 season. Last year, I let my subscription to BA expire, not sure just why, but I think one reason is that I won’t have kids to follow any more, until we get a new team. I enjoyed watching Josh Beckett win the biggest trophy in baseball. But I’d have enjoyed it more if I could have linked that game, with a couple I saw here in the Shadows, when Josh was just a minnow.