Two things to love and cherish. Baseball and dependability. Perhaps you might wonder, “Hey knucklehead, what the heck do baseball and dependability have in common?”
Thanks for asking. Here goes.
First, some background. I have always loved baseball. The first championship team I played on was a youth baseball team in Raytown, Missouri. I had some crazy moments playing the sport including striking out 19 of 21 batters in a game one time. As a somewhat wild southpaw, in a seven-inning game, this simple dude from Missouri walked the other two and picked them off first base. No player on the other team ever put a ball in play. Weird.
Years later, as a five-tool center fielder, baseball was certainly my best option to play sports professionally. A crash to the floor ended all that. Many years as a sports guy did nothing to extinguish my flame for the sport. Today? There are few things more enjoyable than sitting with a buddy at the ballpark on a summer night. Beer. Peanuts. Hot dog. Baseball. For those faithful to the boys who dwell at 20th and Blake in lower downtown Denver, let’s hope the cellar-dwelling home team gives us something to cheer about this season.
I love baseball and the beautiful diamonds it’s played on.
Now to the dependability thread. I take you back to 1993. It was the first season for the Colorado Rockies. As a television sports guy for KCNC-TV in Denver, part of my responsibilities were covering the Don Baylor-managed crew’s inaugural campaign. Finally, the Rocky Mountain region had major league baseball!
It was a crazy year. The Rockies, playing at cavernous Mile High Stadium, drew 4.5 million fans, still a major league record. Rockiesmania was alive and well. I was blessed to be along for the journey while describing the compelling story to the loyal viewers of “Colorado’s News Channel.”
But while it was a joyful ride for the long-deprived major-league baseball fans of the region, in the bowels of the stadiums, away from the adoring fans, it was a tough season for the team. How do you feel when you’re part of an effort - home, work or elsewhere - where you’re constantly getting your butt kicked? You can grow weary of the journey, right?
Toward the end of the season, the members of the 1993 team were growing weary of losing and answering questions from the local media about it. Trust me, as a member of the probing gang, I was growing weary of trying to phrase the question differently. How many different ways can you say, “This sucks”?
Anyway, I had a job to do, so the questions were asked. Four players stand out for being dependable and available to answer them. A long-delayed thank you to the following: Dante Bichette, Joe Girardi, Andres Galarraga and Charlie Hayes.
The team lost 95 games. Night after night, that fantastic foursome would always be present in front of their lockers once the media was allowed into the team clubhouse after the customary 10-15 minute “cooling off” period.
By the time the gathered media poured through the doors, most Rockies would have escaped to the dining area and training room, each off limits to the media.
Not Dante, Joe, Cat and Charlie. They were always there. Dependable dudes.
Bichette was the team’s left fielder. Cool dude. Good sense of humor. Laid back. Girardi was more serious, exuding leadership skills that have served the catcher well as a major league manager. Cat? Andres Galarraga was a trip. Always smiling, exuberant. Only problem was, the Venezuelan-born slugger, the NL batting champ that year, spoke very broken English. We’d get back to the station with a great Galarraga sound bite and be disheartened to realize we probably couldn’t use it because nobody could understand what the first baseman was saying. Also, he always had a big grin on his face. Fun guy.
And then there was third baseman Charlie Hayes. The Mississippi native had a good year of solid defense, along with 25 homers, 98 RBI’s and 45 doubles. Back then, players could still smoke in the clubhouse. Dudes like me invading the Rockies’ space in the bowels of Mile High Stadium would usually find Hayes with a cigarette between his lips, flip-flops on his feet and disdain in his spirit. The conversations would often go like this:
“Charlie, another tough loss. Can we get a quick word?” A man who enjoyed a long and prosperous major-league career would stare blankly back and mutter. “No. Go away.”
I’ve had former wives, employers and teams tell me to “go away.” I’m used to it. I would offer back, “Cool. Maybe tomorrow?”
Those four guys were always dependable! They understood that we - the media - had a job to do and at least were available to help.
Spring training is in full flight. It made me think of baseball. It made me grateful for folks like Dante, Joe, Cat and Charlie. Dependable human beings.
Be one this week!
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