Forgive me if this story is out there already, or if you’ve heard one just like it. Something new happens in baseball every day, but I’m surprised at how similar some stories are; there seem to be a finite number of situations and punchlines.
Or, it could be that baseball people have a characteristic wit about them, a way of dealing with the failure that doesn’t stop at the old three-for-ten line. Call it cynicism, fatalism, dry humor, or Nancy, it runs common in our blood such that we hear a story and know how it’s going to end, but still end up in the aisles when the zinger finally escapes the storyteller’s wry lips.
I have two bosses who are magnificent teachers and outstanding baseball men. I had the privilege of watching a ball game with both of them in Nagoya (why does so much good stuff happen in one of my least favorite places?).
The workers scurried out to the infield cutouts to tidy them up between the fifth and sixth innings. One of the bosses, a former left-handed pitcher in the Major Leagues, took the opportunity to unwind a yarn* from his playing days:
Okay, so Rick Sutcliffe is out there pitching against the Pirates at Three Rivers Stadium, where they used to have these cannons out behind the outfield fence that would shoot off rounds if a guy went yard.
He gave up a two-run homer to Andy VanSlyke -BOOM!!!- just clobbered! The cannons did their thing and Sutty prepared to face the next guy, Mike LaValliere.
First pitch -WHAM!!!- thirty rows up into the right field seats. -POW, POW!!!- go the cannons, and Rick’s pissed, y’know?
His eyes twinkled, his eyebows peaked mischeviously, and his mouth opened wider and wider as the story reached its climax.
Well, Bill Connors [[the pitching coach, we had just been talking about him]] goes out there to have a chat with Sutty, and Sutty’s not havin’ it.
He says, “What the hell are you doin’ out here, Bill? I’m fine, I know what went wrong!”
Bill said, “Oh, I don’t have anything to say to you.”
Sutty stared back, he didn’t know what was going on.
Bill pointed to the outfield fence and said, “I’m just giving ‘em time to warm up those cannons!”
I had an especially good laugh at that, and looking back it’s not all that funny, but I had gone through an especially painful and confusing week leading up to that game. I realized while I was clutching my sides that I hadn’t honestly laughed or even smiled all week.
Baseball stories and relationships have a way of cleaning out life’s wounds with laughter and bonding of a very pure form. The business part aside, we are brothers in the lifelong quest to grasp the game, and there seems to be an understanding between baseball people that transcends the logo on our paychecks.
An older scout told me a story about ditching his prom date to try out for the expansion Los Angeles Angels and making a minor league team from that tryout.
I related about the hours I spent in my backyard, pitching the entire 1995 Dodgers schedule against a stone wall, over and over, imitating each pitcher’s windup except Kevin Tapani’s but including that of the man whose influence would eventually lead me to Japan.
Somehow, we were both there, though forty years of age separate us.
When I say I love baseball, I’m usually referring to the game itself, its complex nature, its frustrations, and its secrets which reveal themselves to me one by one. But I love the people in the game every bit as much.
*It’s unfortunate that the events in this story may not have actually taken place. I’ve searched box scores for everyone involved and haven’t found anything similar to it yet. Either way, I was suffering and that sweet laughter got me over the hump and looking downhill, and for that I am very thankful.
0 Responses to “Fire Up the Cannons!”