It’s that time year again when optimism borders on fantasy. Baseball is back. I don’t think there is any sport that its preseason optimism overtakes reality in the mind of a baseball fan. We all know someone will lose over a 100 games of a 162 game season. But let’s face it, it is all part of the ritual in a game full of rituals. Each season brings back our childhood memories of our American summer pastime.
What baseball fan doesn't remember their first big league game? My first favorite team was the Chicago Cubs. Not much has changed with the Cubs in my life time, and that’s a pretty long time. Our initial fandom was awakened by listening the game of the nearest team on the radio. Announcers became household names. The games might be broadcast live, but if the team was on the road, it would be done by ticker tape. The ticker would tell the announcer in the most minimal way, “Fly out left.” at that point the announcer would fill in a make believe scenario, complete with sound affects and crowd noise. Radio in the late 40’s was a medium of make believe and imagination. Many announcers be became synonymous with the team itself. Those velvet tones were around most of my life time and some broadcast of them broadcast more than fifty years. As I moved around the country, each big league town thought their announcer was the best. It was the voice of their team, even though you thought yours was better. You grew up from boyhood to adulthood with these voices playing in your head. They were part of your every season. The only one left of the classics is Vin Scully. He’s been doing the Dodgers games since their Brooklyn days. That’s 60 years, and he is 85 years old. But that velvet voice paints the picture of many colors like no other.
My dad was always a Yankee fan. What’s that all about? We lived in Indiana. The Cubs game was always on the radio at our small South Marion grocery store.
I guess it was time for our father to take my brother and me to see our first major league game, Cubs vs Reds at Crosley Field in Cincinnati. Although it was the home of the Reds from 1884 -1970, it became Crosley Field in 1934, when Phillip Crosley bought the team. It was abandoned in 1970 for Riverfront Stadium. An interesting side note is that none other than Pete Rose launched the wrecking ball to begin the destruction of this classic American baseball shrine.
Cincinnati was an 135 mile drive over two lane roads. We were so excited. We arrived at the ballpark early. This is a habit I continue to this day. We walked down a little alley between the left field wall and the laundry with the Budweiser sign on the roof to where the box-office was located. (I once witnessed Hank Aaron, hit a home run over that sign.) Dad paid for the tickets. Box seats were $8.00, team hats were $1.00. The walls outside were gray. We entered the stadium and for the first time gazed at a real Big League ballpark.
What I remembered most was how brilliantly green the grass was. You must remember every television set and newsreel in the theater were black and white, The grass was gray. The next thing I noticed was the sights, sounds and smells in a big league ballpark. The crack of the bat echoing around the stadium during batting practice, the smell of the newly perfectly mowed grass and perfectly raked infield. The occasional shout that reverberated around the park. Boiled ballpark hot dogs, the watered down icy lemonade, the stale popcorn was just as much a part of the experience as the game itself. Crosley had one unique feature. The front of the outfield walls was banked as a warning track. It could also claim that it once was flooded by the great Ohio River. It was deep enough for a boat.
However, my favorite sound was the sound of metal spikes clicking along on the cement outside the clubhouse. The Red’s clubhouse was behind a metal gate The players would have to come out of the area to the fan’s concourse under the stadium. It was great because most every player would sign an autograph. When I had my own spikes, and we played ball in the old Back Lot, I loved walking along the little sidewalk to the sound of spikes and cement.It made me feel like a big league ball player in my baseball mind of make believe.
We also happen to run into Bert Wilson, the radio voice of the Cubs.who was my hero, Bert was on his way to the broadcast booth. My dad yelled “Hey Bert” He stopped and I ran up and got his autograph. I valued that as much as any player’s autograph. In the history of the great Cubs announcers, including Harry Carey and Jack Brickhouse, he is not long remembered, but in my mind he was one of the best. He broadcast the Cubs from 1944-1955. However, his catch phrases are still part of being a Cubs Fan. “ I don’t care who wins as long as it’s the Cubs. Its a beautiful day at Wrigley Field. Bingo to Bango to Bilko.” This was the Cubs great double play combination, Ernie Banks to Gene Baker to Steve Bilko.
I don’t even remember who won the game thatday, but I sure do remember the day.
It was the best day of my life.
Padres-Dodgers. Its a beautiful day at Petco.
Have a great day.
Sammy Carl
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