Home Run Derby

I have always been a firm believer in the power of baseball.  I still well up when Terrence Mann, aka James Earl Jones, gives his “People will come” speech to Ray Kinsella, aka Kevin Costner, in Field of Dreams.

And they’ll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon.  They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes.  And they’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters.  The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.  People will come Ray. 

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.  America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers.  It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again.  But baseball has marked the time.  This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray.  It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.  Oh… people will come Ray.  People will most definitely come.

I found myself thinking of that movie moment driving up the Edens Expressway Friday Night as I made my way home from the White Sox-Red Sox game at the Cell.  You see, the night before, my buddy, Brian, who works for ESPNZone, called me up to offer an extra ticket to the game. 

It was so much more.

To make it an even better offer, it was a sky box.  I love the sky box.  The year before (Brian had invited me) I was on a hot dog every half inning pace for the first four innings.   The Greek can certainly put away his share of food.   So in my mind, Brian says “Sky box”  and I am thinking “large quantities of food.” 

That coupled with my favorite team playing, I figured it was a no lose situation, and thus my expectation for the day was set.  I was going to see the White Sox, sit in a sky box, and put away some serious food and beverage.  Great Friday Night.

Well, it turned out, it wasn’t a Great Friday Night.  It was the Best. Friday. Night. EVER.

I got to park on time, met Brian and a couple of his friends and we went up to the sky box.  I am thinking about the food spread, what am I going to hit first, how far will my seat be from the hot dog service area, etc when we walk into the box. 

As we walk in, there is a life-sized photo of Carlton Fisk on the wall to the left of the door.  Classic Pudge picture in the Red, White and Blue “SOX” jersey from the 80’s, catcher’s mask on top of the head and his trademark eye-black.  I think, “that’s cool.  I am sitting in a skybox with a picture of my boyhood hero greeting me on the way in.”

So, we walk in, I survey the season, and the sky box attendant says, “Hey guys, I need you to come over here and grab your ball.” 

“Ball?” I say, “What it is it?  Baseball give away night?” 

“No” she says, “Carlton Fisk will be up here in 10 minutes to autograph them!”

At that point, all other conversation became mute to me.  Carlton Fisk.  My favorite player ever.  The man that would lead me to try my hand at catching in little league until I realized I couldn’t play catcher very well if I was afraid of being hit with the bat.  No F’ing way.  I was going to meet my hero.

I sat down to watch the first inning, but really, I was just trying to figure out what I would say to him.  It was useless I figured, I would just mumble out of the sheer terror of meeting a man that is larger than life to me.  

Then I realized, I hadn’t eaten much all day, and there was a bin of hot dogs with my name on it.  I went back, grabbed two hot dogs and turned around and there he was.  Carlton Fisk.  My boyhood idol.  Luckily for me, he was talking to someone else and I scurried by and when back to me seat.

Hyperventilating.

Then I figured it out.  I was no longer a 37 year old man, I was 12 years old hoping to get a picture with a man that led my team to the 1983 playoffs.  Winning Ugly.  The real birth of my baseball passion.  It is the connection to the bolded portion of the “people will come” speech, above.

I gathered myself,  stood up and went to see Carlton Fisk. It was an amazing minute, and I let him know, that one: he is my favorite player ever; two: it was an honor to meet him; three: even though I am 37, I feel like I am 12; and four: thank you for the memories and passion he played with.  Then I asked if I could get a picture with him, and with my crappy camera phone, I got the shot to seal the memory.

Thanks Pudge (and Thanks Brian.  I don’t think you know how much that moment meant).  And on that happy note, I think I can go die now.  After all, I have seen my team win the World Series and I got to meet my favorite player ever.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 11th, 2008 at 1:01 pm and is filed under Autographs, White Sox. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.