Catfish
So, watching the Yankees bludgeon the Red Sux tonight -
(Where is Frank Zocco when I need him?)
- and my boy starts asking me baseball trivia off of his I-pod or whatever the hell it is.
He starts by throwing me lobs about Donnie Baseball, asking me the number of gold gloves Mattingly won, his career hits, etc....
With each question, Sam is laughing because I can tell him nearly exact numbers and I recall a game back in 1991 when Mel Hall, since convicted of child molestation, hits a walk-off for the Yankees - Sam prints me the box score from that game.
"How do you remember this?" he asks.
We continue with his little quiz show - through Billy Martin,on to Reggie, and beyond Henry Aaron.
"What about Catfish?" he asks.
"Catfish Hunter," I say. "He threw a perfect game for the A's, won the World Series with the Yanks."
"How old was he when he died?" Sam asks.
It's a question I'm not prepared for. Suddenly, I miss Catfish. "He shouldn't have died young", rushes through my brain.
"63," I say.
"53," Sam answers.
"Come on, really?"
"53!" Sam yells finally happy that I got one wrong.
Yet Catfish shouldn't have died at 53. Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris and Billy Martin and Babe Ruth and Phil Rizzuto shouldn't be dead.
But they are...
And I started the night...hoping the Yanks would hammer the Red Sux...and they did (Suck it up Frank)...and I ended it talking baseball with my 9-year old son...
...missing guys that he never knew played the game.
"How do you know all of this?" Sam asked when I told him that Nick Swisher's dad, Steve, had played catcher for the Cubs back in the 70's.
"I've always loved baseball," I said.
Sam was quiet for a long time.
"It's going to be sad when a guy I know as a pitcher dies young," he said.
My boy.
To Catfish.
Rest in Peace, brother.
(Where is Frank Zocco when I need him?)
- and my boy starts asking me baseball trivia off of his I-pod or whatever the hell it is.
He starts by throwing me lobs about Donnie Baseball, asking me the number of gold gloves Mattingly won, his career hits, etc....
With each question, Sam is laughing because I can tell him nearly exact numbers and I recall a game back in 1991 when Mel Hall, since convicted of child molestation, hits a walk-off for the Yankees - Sam prints me the box score from that game.
"How do you remember this?" he asks.
We continue with his little quiz show - through Billy Martin,on to Reggie, and beyond Henry Aaron.
"What about Catfish?" he asks.
"Catfish Hunter," I say. "He threw a perfect game for the A's, won the World Series with the Yanks."
"How old was he when he died?" Sam asks.
It's a question I'm not prepared for. Suddenly, I miss Catfish. "He shouldn't have died young", rushes through my brain.
"63," I say.
"53," Sam answers.
"Come on, really?"
"53!" Sam yells finally happy that I got one wrong.
Yet Catfish shouldn't have died at 53. Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris and Billy Martin and Babe Ruth and Phil Rizzuto shouldn't be dead.
But they are...
And I started the night...hoping the Yanks would hammer the Red Sux...and they did (Suck it up Frank)...and I ended it talking baseball with my 9-year old son...
...missing guys that he never knew played the game.
"How do you know all of this?" Sam asked when I told him that Nick Swisher's dad, Steve, had played catcher for the Cubs back in the 70's.
"I've always loved baseball," I said.
Sam was quiet for a long time.
"It's going to be sad when a guy I know as a pitcher dies young," he said.
My boy.
To Catfish.
Rest in Peace, brother.
Comments
As for Catfish, I am old enough to remember the stupid jingle the A's had back then, the series against the Mets, and remember him well. A guy that didn't look like a prototypical great pitcher, but was great nonetheless. Not only do I miss players like him, but I miss the baseball of old. Our kids will never experience it, and no matter how much we tell them, they will still have no idea what it was like. It's great you have the love you have for the game, and are passing on what you can to your kids.
Keep the "love" for my boys in Boston coming. It is always great to have our rivalry, even though it pales the ones back when we were kids.