FanPost

Mr. Tdogg goes to Cooperstown



Jefferson Smith: "You see, boys forget what their country means by just reading The Land of the Free in history books. Then they get to be men they forget even more. Liberty's too precious a thing to be buried in books, Miss Saunders. Men should hold it up in front of them every single day of their lives and say: I'm free to think and to speak. My ancestors couldn't, I can, and my children will. Boys ought to grow up remembering that."

In some ways this quote from one of my favorite movies, Mr Smith Goes to Washington doesn't have a thing to do with Baseball. But I like the essence of its meaning and if you substitute baseball for country in a lot ways my ideas and things I've read on the subject pale to actually going to the source of my favorite team's sports history, Cooperstown. After all, baseball has mirrored a great deal of regular US history and had a lot to do with its nickname of the National Pastime.

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Friday July 25th. Arrived into Laguardia Airport. After renting a car, traffic was bad so I ducked off for a bite to eat. I parked and I'm walking around 125th Street. Is this Harlem? Malcolm X Boulevard, Apollo Theater. Yep it is. Amazing at my age I've never been here. A couple drinks and chow at a nice restaurant and then the 3 hour journey up to my hotel in Binghamton. Pulled in about midnight and headed straight to bed excited for my trip to Cooperstown the next day.

Saturday July 26th. In the late morning I take the 1 hour and 20 minute trek. I park in the official Cooperstown parking lot- blue, with the promise of a trolley in 10 minutes. I engaged in my first conversations with traveling Sox fans. Where do you live, no where do you live? The time gave me an opportunity to ask a few basic questions from some vets (I wanted to avoid complete geekdom) I saw a cub fan and walked up to him "What the hell are you doing here?" He sized me up for a second and then noticed my smile "Mad dog man," he said returning the smile. The trolley took an hour and upon being dropped off I was disappointed at seeing a very long line (I have no idea why I'd thought it would be short). People were everywhere. I limped (shut your face people) to the back of the line, which swerved around the corner. I was pinned in between a Blue Jay couple and a father son Atlanta duo who were discussing fantasy baseball. I listened quietly. Not. Of course I had to throw my two cents in. The conversation evolved into steroids, the Cooperstown economy and finally settled on Maddux and Glavine as the dad struggled to remember the commercial the two did about chicks loving the long ball. Of course it only took a second for me to whip out my "tiny" cell phone and you tube the "greatest" sports commercial EVER.....This line thankfully moved faster. As I neared the entrance I observed the sign saying no food, drink or gum is allowed. I like my Orbit dammit.....I quickly put my gum under my tongue as reached the man directing traffic. He pointed me to a cashier who was engaged in an animated conversation with a lady who was stressing how her kids were not "adults." She backed down and handed over her credit card and stomped away. I walked up next and with a smile on my face, "How do I get that nice yearbook," I asked? Membership blah blah blah. Ok I'm convinced and after forking over $50 bucks I realized I could have moved ahead a long time ago and skipped the damn line. She pointed me around the corner to activate my membership and I was instructed to come back in an hour or so for my goodies.

I'd heard about the second floor and that's exactly where I went. It was a bit cramped but the reverence of it all hits you pretty hard and right away. Ironically Ty Cobb is the first person I saw. Take that Mr Cobb. Next up, Walter Johnson, Babe Ruth, Tris Speaker and then BAM it hit me. The African American Baseball Experience section.

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Its hard for me to put into words what moving through this part actually meant to me. I engaged in a conversation with my buddy Chef before leaving. I'd estimated the number of blacks I'd see would be about 5%. My quick survey outside and then inside quickly proved I was wrong. More like .5% lol. I took plenty of pictures. I lingered over every photo. A few newspaper articles and then the Jackie Robinson section. The movie "42" and the biography talked about the letters he'd received but actually "seeing" real letters made me shake my head. I remembered the flack Big Frank took earlier in his career when he honestly answered a question about the Robinson legacy. It was a little unfair but I'm reminded again of Mr. Smith's quote "boys forget...." I'm sure a few people wondered what I thought as I stood there for a moment motionless.

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I collected myself and moved on looking at more exhibits. White Sox stuff. Yankee stuff. A Wally Pip mitt and a reminder of don't ever freaking miss work. You never know who might replace you! I finally rested by the Latin section to upload a few photos. And then I heard it. That voice.... I looked up in time to see the one and only Kenwo passing thru. He and I exchange pleasantries. He chides his brother about doing all the driving and I meet Big Jer, Ken's dad. We agree to catch up later and I move on. As I'm exiting the 2nd floor one of the usher waves at me. "The Baseball Experience", more or less a 15 minute tribute is starting and he can let me in the back way for one of the few remaining seats. I look around and proceed "oh why not. " It was "ok". To me it could have been much cooler if the Hall would take a hold of this thing called technology as it has a 1990s feel. Too many square shapes in this world of IMAX (Jim would later point out a mildly plausible reason it hadn't changed much). The end was pretty good as the Comiskey Scoreboard is raised and an usher leads the crowd in singing take me out to the ball game. The fans yell White Sox and Braves as the root, root for part comes up. I finally make it down to the plaque section. More photos. It's jam packed, so I hurry from decade to decade. Snap snap. Read. Snap snap. I move past the initial section set aside for inductees but it's still a long line. I'll come back at a later time. I go back to the activation counter to pick up my goodies. I proudly put on my pin "Member."

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I need sunshine. A few more exhibits and uploads and then I exit out onto the bustling street in front of the Hall. It's really hopping now. It's getting closer to parade time and folks are lining up. I see a guy walking with a beer and run to him. Okay I jogged. "Where did you get that?" I ask. He points to the pizzeria across the street. I order a slice of pizza and a Stella. I clutch a $20 and I'm surprised when he says $7.50. Damn. Nice.

I begin to walk around. Now if you've never visited imagine for a second a couple streets with quaint shops and a folding chair and table in front of pretty much each one. Now put a former player or Hall of Famer behind that table selling autographs. Yes really. It's actually kind of surreal. Tommie Lasorda, Dale Murphy, John Rocker (who was selling his book), Darryl Strawberry, the really old Frank Thomas (smile), Orlando Cepeda and others. Well almost. Only because he's Pete Rose, there was a shady looking dude standing outside a door grabbing your attention as you walked by. "The hit king is in back right now, $60 bucks." I chuckle and continue on. My phone is dying and I need juice. I pull out my cord, attach it to my laptop and awkwardly walk around the grounds. "What the hell are you doing Tdogg?" It's Ken again. He's looking at me with the laptop in my hand. "I need juice man." We shoot the breeze for a bit when another SSSer walks up on us. "What's up, how is the ankle?" I reply I'm making it. And he walks off with his comrades. Ken and I look at each other. Who was that? (Yes I'm going to bust us out right now) I should have remembered the name so feel free to blast me :-) Ken's brother joins us and says some random team name (he and Ken have some type of bro contest going on for represented teams similar to naming automobile car colors on long trips.) We chat about the White Sox, possible trades, Ken's affinity for African American players and I'm suddenly moved to pay off in advance the Tank and Conor Gillaspie bet. I hand him a crisp $10 bill. He says thanks and mutters about how he shouldn't have lost the Dunn/Rios wager. "Let's go get a beer," I say to Ken. We manage our way over to the Pizzeria and as we walk I joke, "dude there is no Bud Lime here." We skip ahead of the folks waiting on pizza and order two beers. As I'm pulling out my wallet Ken interjects, "I got this Tdogg!" He pulls out the crisp $10 I just gave him. Jerk.

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It's pretty much parade time. Ken and company graciously make room for me where his dad has set up and we're greeted to about 50 Hall of Famers driving by one at a time in the back of a truck.They come in order of induction and its actually very cool. Not really a bad sight line at all. Some of the drivers need to slow the hell down but plenty of picture taking opportunities. Some of the guys are really into it. Winfield pulls out a camera and snaps a photo of us as he moves by. Many of the players have their wives with them and they are just as excited pointing and waving. The Inductees are last in alphabetical order. We watch Cox, Glavine, Maddux, Larussa, the Big Hurt and Torre roll by. I had my doubts about this part of the festivities (do I really want to see old geezers riding in a parade?) but suddenly I'm 10 again and gleefully taking pictures of them as quickly as I can. As I said, it was just freaking cool.

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It's time to go home and we attempt to push thru the crowd. Ripken Jr. is in front signing autographs and its mucking everything up (that guy is the shiznit.) The crowd is impatient as there is some lady yelling at us to get back or she's not going to let the trolleys move up. We showed her though. We simply met the trolley half way down the street, filling it up. She's pissed. :-) Big Jer slides in next to me with Ken and bro in back. I talk to his dad for a bit. He complains about the Addison Reed and Matt Davidson trade and as he's doing so I whip out my phone, open the mlb ap and start start streaming the Sox game. He gives me that caveman look to the caveman who first started a fire. The Sox go up 1-0 and its time to exit the trolley. We shake hands and depart. I drive back to the hotel, gobble down a burger and collapse.

Sunday July 26th. Mother nature was not cooperating on my drive in. That it was raining hard was an understatement. I arrive in town and I'm lost as to where the actual induction will be held. After a quick exchange with Jim (who'd already arrived) I'm pointed in the right direction and head for Clark Sports Complex. I'm quickly reminded of home or at least Wrigleyville as a few folks try and get $50 and $60 bucks for parking. "Are you crazy?" I finally find an old man, giving parking in his lawn for the bargain price of $20. Sold.

I'm not going to go crazy with descriptions here. Jim pretty much covers the ceremony thoroughly and I was sitting right next to him. It was nice having an extended conversation with our dear editor though. That and the fact that he brought 4 Brooklyn beers and an umbrella. After the induction we agreed to go the Ommegang brewery and with my car being the closest we hop in and make our way there. Good choice Jim. We slurp down a couple beers and some food and then make our way back over to the hall to see the unveiling of the plaques. It takes forever. News crews, inductee family photos and state troopers who really didn't seem to be doing much. Chuck Garfien walks by and then a few more folks. Finally. There is a mad rush towards the front. There are boundaries and it kinda resembles turning a 4 lane highway into a 1 lane construction site. It's initially moving slow (for some reason they allow the first few people to snap unlimited photos) and then they catch on realizing at that pace it would be hours before everyone got a chance. Jim and I finally get up there and each get our photos of this special occasion.

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We start to exit and I catch a few more exhibits I haven't seen. As we're walking back to the car I see the WGN truck. Hmm I wonder if they actually drove here? I walk over to the guy in the front seat and he raises down the window as he's eating a hotdog. "Did you guys drive here- wait I know you!" It's sports anchor Dan Roan. "Yep we did," he says. I fist pump him (I have no idea why) and we make the walk back to my car. I drop off Jim and make my way back to Binghamton feeling pretty happy about the days activities.

Monday 27th. I finally get a chance to sleep in. I struggle down to the gym and workout before eating breakfast before it closes. I get all packed up and then a rush of emotions hit me. I thought of my mom, who would watch White Sox games with me in her final months.That and a marathon of Revenge :-). I thought of Frank Thomas and his induction speech, the part in particular on his dad. I had buddies text me during the trip and kid me about not shedding any tears. And honestly I didn't. Not even as Thomas sobbed on the stage or even as the ladies next to Jim did. But not now. It all came out. I opened up my facebook page and typed the following:

Preparing to head back to the city for my flight home. 5 years ago when Frank Thomas retired I promised myself that I'd intend his induction in person. It was an emotional promise and honestly seemed far fetched. My career choices were in limbo, my marriage was failing, money problems and I felt "lost". 5 years later my favorite baseball player did cross over and with the help of God, Family (my late mom and dad in particular) and Friends I was able to KEEP that promise to myself. I've had a lot of drive time up here to reflect on things. And I've chosen to reveal this immensely private feeling because I know there are others going thru tough times now. No matter how bad it may seem "it ain't over yet." You can always write that 2nd or 3rd or even 4th chapter. Sorry for the overkill on photos but this trip meant EVERYTHING to me.....

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