Tag: nostalgia (Page 9 of 11)

Writing To Reach You

July 17, 2008 / DB

Interesting that these two pieces hit the Internets today. First, Joe Posnanski writes about autographs, mentioning how he sent letters to players and teams as a kid. Then, former player Doug Glanville writes in the New York Times about cleaning out his closet of some fan mail left over from his playing days. Apparently Glanville is a really sharp and cool guy. Who knew?

I totally spent my summers in the early 80s sending baseball letters to players, with their cards and SASEs included, and to teams hoping for autographs, stickers, pocket schedules, and any other freebies they were willing to send my way. Joe is right: every kid should be required to do this.

(Oh, and I hope some of you know the song the title references.)

Willie

June 3, 2008 / DB

Not sure if this is sad or hopeful. Willie Aikens will always be one of my favorite 3-4 Royals. And it’s not just becase he hit four home runs in the 1980 World Series.

(As an aside, the ’80 World Series may have been the pinnacle of my kid fandom. It came at the perfect moment in my life: we had just moved to Kansas City, I had the white-hot intense fandom of a nine-year-old, George Brett just dropped one of the greatest years ever on the American League, etc. By 1985, I wasn’t cynical yet, but I wasn’t as single-minded about sports as I was in ’80. When KU won in ’88, I was transitioning into adult fandom. So when I write a book about growing up in the 80s one day, expect lots of references to the Royals-Phillies World Series. Game six was just on ESPN Classic, by the way.)

Nope, I will always love Willie because of something that happened the next spring. Various Royals used to do clinics and autograph signings at Macy’s stores around the city. In the spring of ’81, my mom got me tickets to one at the old downtown store. I remember Jim Frey, the manager of the Royals, was there teaching us how to hit. Some pitcher I don’t remember talked about how to throw a change-up. At some point they announced Willie Aikens would be signing autographs at Bannister Mall later in the day. I gave my mom a pleading look and she gave me the “Yes, we can go there and wait in line too,” nod. Awesome.

So we get to the Bannister Mall and take our place in line and I explained to my mom that we shouldn’t say much to Willie when we got to the table. I had read that he suffered from a really bad stuttering problem and that was why he didn’t talk to the media much. Being a conscientious kid, I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. As we waited, I kept thinking, “Just say please and thank you.”

Finally, our turn came. Willie smiled and said hello and his handler asked what my name was so he could personalize his signature. I spelled it for him, since Jim Frey had signed his picture to “DUSTAN” earlier in the day. Idiot. I was NOT disappointed when his sorry ass got fired later in the year. Anyway, Willie starts to scribble and says, “Are you going to the game tonight?” I’m pretty sure my eyes were the size of saucers. Willie Mays Aikens was talking to me! I stammered out a “No.” Suddenly I was the one who struggled to speak. He asked why and I said because we didn’t have tickets. He laughed and said that was a good reason, then leaned in and beckoned me with his finger. When I leaned in, he mock-whispered, loud enough for people close to us to hear, “You should tell your mom to buy you tickets then.” Everyone laughed, I took my picture, said thank you, and we walked away.

When they make the movie of my life, at this point Willie will slide a couple of primo tickets across the table to me and tell me to enjoy the game on him. I wasn’t quite that lucky, though. I think it rained that night, anyway. The point is, I was super impressed that a guy who allegedly wasn’t comfortable talking to people took 30 seconds to have a conversation with me. That’s a big, fat, huge deal when you’re nine.

And that, my friends, is why Willie Aikens will always be one of my favorite Royals.

NY77

March 5, 2008 / DB

Every now and then, I write something and forget to post it. What lies below is an example of that. I only thought of this while reading a book this week that revolved around the same subject. I’m glad I found it.

I finally caught VH1’s documentary <a href=”http://www.vh1.com/shows/dyn/vh1_rock_docs/122259/episode.jhtml”>NY 77: The Coolest Year in Hell</a> this week. If you’re a fan of music, pop culture, or just American history, you owe it yourself to track it down. It’s an amazing piece of work documenting on of the most fascinating years ever, when three different kinds of new music were emerging just a few blocks from each other.

Other than Boston, New York, and Philadelphia in 1776, I don’t know that I’d rather travel back in time to live through a single year anyplace other than New York in 1977. It was a time when all the promise of the 1960s was coming completely unhinged as the city sunk into bancruptcy, crime was taking over the city, sex and drugs were losing their value because they were so easily obtained, and the city was generally becoming a cesspool. I think there are a lot of people my age who have never really cared to visit New York because we remember all the stories about how bad it was when we were kids. I remember seeing footage of the blackout while watching The Price is Right, hearing my parents and their friends talking about all the crime in New York, and generally equating New York with evil things (This was before I knew about the Yankees, no less!).

Perhaps fueled by the state of the city, or perhaps just through dumb luck and coincidence, the future of music was being forged in three spots in the city in 1977. On the lower west side, disco was developing first in a few homes and small clubs, and eventually spreading to larger clubs like Studio 54. On the lower east side, punk rock and new wave were gaining an audience at CBGB’s. And in the south Bronx, hip hop and rap were developing independently but soon joined forces. Disco was like a supernova, taking over the charts (thanks largely to <i>Saturday Night Fever</i>), and quickly burning away (although to be honest, disco never really died. It just became dance music and never really went away but changed with the times). Punk and new wave created the dominant pop sounds of the early and mid-80s and laid the seeds for the alt-rock revolution of the 1990s. And hip-hop obviously has become the dominant force in music.

What an amazing moment in time! I can’t imagine I would have fit in, but I would have loved to go back and see what Studio 54 was really like. Did it seem outrageous at the time, or was that just what New Yorkers saw as their reality? Did people understand that the music they heard at CBGB’s or Disco Fever (where hip-hop went public) was revolutionary or did they just like it because it was new and fun and helped them to forget about all the problems they faced during the day? What was it like to walk the streets back then, knowing the Son of Sam was prowling around, pretty much everyone was a target for muggers, and the few cops who were around were generally powerless to stop those who wanted to do you harm? It’s easy to overgeneralize when analyzing history, but 1977 seems like a pivital point in our nation’s history, when things really began to change and we started moving towards the more afluent, consumer-oriented, homogenous culture we live in today.

Columnist Jimmy Breslin has a great line at the end of the show, when asked about what New York has become. He says that it is Indianapolis, all the fun and danger have been sucked out and what is left is a city created by Madison Avenue to be family friendly. “I want to see whores on 47th street!” he says. The woman next to him (his wife?) says, “You wouldn’t know a whore if you saw one!” Two crusty, old New Yorkers who remember what it used to be like. The perfect summation.

Guilty

January 17, 2008 / DB

I like to say that music keeps me young. I’ve managed to stay in touch with what the cool indie kids are listening to despite the fact I’ll officially push into my late 30s this year. As my tastes have changed over the past four years, getting younger as I grow older, I’ve in turn pushed some of the mainstream music I grew up on out of my library. But there are the guilty pleasures I can’t get rid of, no matter how uncool they might be. This is the story of a song from way, way back I recently rediscovered.

First, a note about how I ran across this track. If you don’t know about <a href=”http://hypem.com/”>The Hype Machine</a>, you need to check it out. They check the world of music blogs and track everything that’s being posted so that you don’t have to. It’s a great way to keep up with new artists (Try before you buy!) and coming across the occasional track from way back.

A couple weeks back, as I was running through my daily scan of what was on THM, I saw an entry for Dolly Parton. For some reason – kitch, memories of my youth, boredom – I decided to check it out. After going through a few Dolly Parton jokes (Wasn’t the first dirty joke just about everyone my age told somehow related to Dolly Parton?), the blogger offered up a few of Ms. Parton’s late 70s pop hits.

The only one I listened to was her #3 hit from early in 1978, “Here You Come Again.”

I know I’ve heard this song a few times in the past 30 years, mostly at a small, crowded, sweaty bar in Kansas City, but I probably had not really listened to it since it was spinning in high rotation three decades ago. I’ll admit it: it’s a genius little piece of pop music. A bouncy little piano intro, which could have been on a Billy Joel song. Sweeping strings that pull you into the main body of the song. The slightest bit of twang in the guitar lines to satisfy her country fans, but overall a perfect example of 70s pop. For added emphasis, it checks in under 3:00, which I think qualifies it for gem status.

I will admit, I probably heard this song a million times when I was a kid. An aunt and uncle that had been in Germany for several years brought me a very sweet, very Euro clock radio for Christmas 1977. Although it was only AM, that’s all you needed back in the day. So I spent just about every waking moment listening to whatever I could pull in. During the day, that meant the local stations, which were mostly pure 70s pop. At night, I could get stations from St. Louis and Chicago, which meant I usually fell asleep to bands like Styx and Queen. Living in southeast Missouri at the time (one of the three TV stations we could pick up was from Kentucky, just to put it into geographic perspective), the local stations ate up that strange late 70s genre of pop-country. I’m moderately ashamed to admit I know a few Crystal Gayle, Kenny Rogers, Ronnie Milsap, and of course Dolly Parton songs. But hey, that’s the way I rolled then, a slave to what the radio stations gave me. And I was six, cut me some slack.

But I’m not ashamed to admit that after listening to it a few times over the past couple weeks, that I have a soft spot in my heart for this magical little ditty.

Fives: Five Best Movie Experiences

September 16, 2007 / DB

(This was supposed to be posted Friday. I made the list mentally Thursday, then when I sat down to put it together, had a total brain cramp on one entry in the list. Naturally I remembered it over the weekend, so here’s my delayed list.)

Thursday I saw my first movie at a theater in over two years. I saw the Wedding Crashers while my brother-in-law was in town in August of ’05. He’s in town again, so we checked out The Bourne Ultimatum (Odd to be the only two people in the theater, but that’s what we get for taking in a 4:05 matinee on a Thursday). I’ve loved the Bourne series (I think I’ve read all the books) and its combination of classic Cold War spy thriller styles with the realities of the modern world. The final installment was no disappointment, perhaps the most intense movie experience I’ve ever had. During the chase/fight scene in Tangier, I literally started laughing out loud about 15 minutes into it. Not that it was funny, but it was so intense I needed some kind of release. It got me thinking, though, about what the five best experiences I’ve had seeing movies in theaters are. Hey, here’s a list of five things for you!

1 Die Hard. Bourne may be more intense, but it’s not fair to list it as #1 so soon after seeing it, so this list may change in a few months. It’s easy to forget what a big deal the first Die Hard was. I saw it on its second weekend and the theater was still jam-packed. It was the perfect combination of good guy – bad guy action, humor, and a just plausible enough plot. I sat near the screen, maybe second row, and remember leaning towards the screen during certain scenes, as if I was part of the action. With all the twists and turns in the plot, I think I was drained when I left the theater, although also exhilarated from such a great experience.
2 Bourne Ultimatum. A near endless series of chases and fights, like the first two movies, yet the story doesn’t get lost. The ridiculous cutting and camera angles made me feel like I was in the fights and chases, a key component for creating an intense experience. Not as funny as Die Hard (there’s little overt humor) but probably a little smarter. The Tangier chase is one of the all-time greats, although I had a hard time buying a high-speed chase through Manhattan on a work day.
3 Saving Private Ryan. A good war movie should make you fear for your safety a little. If you weren’t ducking during the Omaha Beach landing scene, you weren’t paying attention. It also made me appreciate how truly epic D-Day was.
4 The Empire Strikes Back. Standing in lines that wrapped around the block. Watching on the massive screen at the Midland theater, settled into their comfy, velvety seats. Summer of 1980. Good times! Star Wars affected me more after the film, but I didn’t know what I was getting into that day. With Empire, I had been waiting for three years and was ready for something amazing. I was not disappointed.
5 Coming to America. Back in the day, a few friends and I liked to see certain movies in certain settings. If it was a “black” movie, we liked to venture to theaters where the audience would at least be evenly split racially. We figured we would be getting a better experience that way. That generally proved to be true, although when a guy started yelling at the screen about how people shouldn’t hook up with different races during Jungle Fever, I got a little worried.

Anyway, Coming to America turned out to be the ideal test of our theory. We saw it in an area that was rapidly becoming predominantly black (the old Bannister Mall area) but was still frequented by enough whites where it was neutral territory. I’m pretty sure we saw it the first night, and the theater was packed. I was seated next to a very large black man. When I say very large, I mean fat. He was practically spilling into my seat the entire night. But he turned out to be a jolly fat man. Forget the fact that the entire audience was really into the movie, so much so that we were missing all kinds of lines because there was so much laughter. My neighbor to my left would start laughing, and when he saw I was laughing too, he would elbow me and nod, give me a little fist bump, or even slap my knee. We had just nodded to each other when we took our seats, but in a blow for racial harmony, he decided that for the next 90 minutes, we were going to be buddies. When Prince Akeem handed the bag of money to the destitute Duke brothers, I started howling. My new friend didn’t catch the reference and asked what was so funny. When I explained it, he too howled, gave me a high five, and then explained to his friends, who gave me knowing nods. For one night in southern Jackson County, Missouri, a few of us decided to toss aside our differences and enjoy one of the finest comedies of all-time as members of the human race, not as colors. I think we can all learn a lesson from this story, can’t we?

Seriously, it was a great time. It’s a shame Eddie can’t be that funny all the time anymore.

Ed

July 4, 2007 / DB

I tend to get stuck on specific memories occasionally. I’ll call up some image from the past and it becomes a dominant thought for a couple days. I’m never sure if this is a sign, and if it is a sign what it means, or just how my brain works. For example, last fall I went through an extended phase where I kept thinking of the fall of 1994, when my roommate got a Mac and we were discovering the strange world of AOL. (I was so proud the day I learned how to talk trash on Michigan fans in the College Football chat room after Kordell Stewart went all Doug Flutie on them!) This spring, I kept thinking of watching Royals’ games with my grandfather in 1988. For like a week, that was the constant background noise I dealt with.

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about one of my favorite shows ever, Ed. The whole Stuckeyville gang – Ed, Carol, Mike, Nancy, etc. – keep popping up. That’s not unusual; every 4-5 months I check in to see if there are any updates on Ed coming to DVD (All reports say to the producers, or whoever is responsible, are working very hard, but they are having issues clearing the rights for all the music they used. They hope to get there, but are not there yet). I think this latest, extended stretch comes from a recent profile I read about Justin “I’m a Mac” Long, who is in the new Die Hard movie. I was a little bummed no one comes up to him and talks about his days as Warren P. Cheswick. As much as I love Macs, I still think of him as Warren first.

As I thought about it more, I decided Ed was definitely one of my five favorite shows ever. Probably #3, behind Cheers and Seinfeld. Part of that is because it was a great, if under-appreciated show. Part is because it was kind of my show – lots of friends watched it, too, but I was one of the first in our circle of friends to start watching and spread the world. S. used Ed as the theme for my 30th birthday party, which solidified that bond. And I’m sure part had to do with the point in my life when Ed came along, when I was advancing out of the entry-level part of my career into actually doing meaningful work, starting a relationship of depth and importance, and taking the final jump to adulthood and benefiting from the boost of confidence that came along with it. I remember a good friend gushed about Friends during its first season, saying the show was “exactly about my life!” Ed felt like that for me. Ironically, in the show’s final year, I didn’t watch much, partially because I was traveling so much, partially because NBC was yanking it around the schedule. But perhaps part of that was also because of how my life had changed with marriage, home ownership, etc. I thought the show ended well, hitting just the right notes in its final episode, if too soon. Sadly, TBS gave up way too quickly on airing reruns in 2004.

Anyway, because of those memories, I’ve been reading through a few Ed forums (They’re still out there, believe it or not), both to get DVD news and remember some of my favorite episodes. That got my brain working and I thought, in honor of my the show and the holiday week, I would put together a mix of some of the great music that was featured during the show’s 3 1/2 year run. It was like Grey’s Anatomy, only not all the songs were for chicks.

So, if you follow the link below, you’ll be able to download a quick and dirty mix of some songs I discovered via the good people at Ed. Hopefully the DVDs will be out before too long.

1 – “I’ll Be Coming Home” – Foo Fighters. The excellent theme song (For seasons 1, 3, and 4. We’ll pretend season two’s intro never happened).
2 – “Someday, Someway” – Marshall Crenshaw. This has become one of my all-time favorite songs thanks to both Ed and a friend who introduced me to Marshall at about the same time.
3 – “Bohemian Like You” – Dandy Warhols. This was in the same episode as “Someday, Someway.” The producers were on a roll that week.
4 – “Dressed Up Like Nebraska” – Josh Rouse. My introduction to an artist who has become one of my favorites, even if he’s left the Midwest behind.
5 – “What A Fool Believes” – The Doobie Brothers. As the show went on, it leaned more towards classic songs like this, but it was still a nice flash-back.
6 – “Dope Nose” – Weezer. When radio was sucking and you couldn’t hear songs like this anywhere, Ed occasionally came through for us.
7 – “I’m Always In Love” – Wilco. Again, ignored by radio, pumped up by Ed.
8 – “Fight Test” – The Flaming Lips. I always thought executive producer David Letterman set the tone for playing music like this, stuff out of the mainstream but worthy of a listen.
9 – “Yellow” – Coldplay. Ubiquitous for awhile, this might have been the first show to feature this song.

On Fireworks

July 3, 2007 / DB

I have to say, no matter what people who vote red in each election might claim, I love America. But I hate fireworks.

Big, pretty fireworks that can be seen from miles away are fine. It’s the ones that regular people decide to fire off at 10:45 in neighborhoods that I hate.

Is it wrong that I secretly hope the idiots who shoot off their fireworks long after little ones have gone to bed lose a finger or hand in the process? All I know is my blood pressure jumps way up during the weeks around July 4th when each naptime and bedtime is a race to get the girls asleep before they get scared by the explosions down the street.

I guess the argument for late fireworks is that with Daylight Savings Time, it doesn’t get completely dark until 9:30 to 10:00 in Indiana now.

My response to that is simple: drink more. As a few loyal readers of the blog can attest, I did a fine job shooting off fireworks nine years ago after I had downed massive amounts of scotch. And that, my friends, is a good story and why I’m bothering with this post. So let’s take a time machine back to 1998 and reminisce a little, shall we?

A woman who was then a good friend had just purchased a house and was very excited to host a large group for a party on July 4. There were rumors that I was going to be introduced to a coworker of hers, who several friends had confirmed was extremely attractive. We arrived early, and like good guests, brought a nice bottle of 12-year-old scotch. Feeling the nerves of the impending introduction, I decided to take the edge off and dipped right into the Glen Whatever. Since it was hot, I added ice, but as our group was in the process of discovering, water just got in the way.

The night progressed, we ate, talked, and drank more. Eventually, the young lady I thought I was going to get an introduction to arrived, although (Oh snap!) she had brought a date. Either that or she immediately started talking to another guy she had some interest in. Either way, she was thoroughly enthralled with their conversation and our introduction never took place. Feeling an urge to feel sorry for myself, I returned to the scotch bottle again.

And again.

I was bummed, but getting really happy drunk so it was a nice balance.

At some point in there, our hostess announced that she had purchased one of those big fireworks kits at Wal-Mart; you know, those shrink-wrapped assortments of about 30 different kinds of fireworks. She decided that I, the man who had about 1/2 a bottle of scotch in him already, needed to shoot them off for the neighborhood kids. Normally, I don’t want much to do with fireworks. But with a significant boost of liquid courage, and probably a pathetic belief that I might impress the girl who was still talking to the other guy, I accepted the offer and marched out into the street. For the next hour, I shot off everything in the package, with a few refills to my cup along the way. To this day, I don’t know how I didn’t either light myself on fire or blow myself, or someone else, up. had no business working with fire and small explosives, but somehow I pulled it off.

And you know what? I didn’t bitch about it not being dark yet. I lit those bitches off, the kids had a great time, and we were done by 10:00.

So kids, go get wasted and shoot your fireworks off early this July 4.

Oh, and that girl never did talk to me. But at the end of the night, the scotch bottle was empty, and as far as I remember, only one other person was drinking scotch that night.

So happy 4th.

Pops

February 21, 2007 / DB

I love those random moments when you remember someone from your past and it makes you laugh and smile. Today, while unloading the dishwasher or folding laundry or some other domestic chore I tackle with aplomb, I suddenly remembered my boy Pops. I know a few of you remember Pops, too, but for those who have no idea who Pops is, skip down to the jump and read more.

I spent the better part of the 90s working at a warehouse in Lenexa, KS, shipping hardware supplies to stores around the country (Later, when I switched to the night shift, I got to drive a forklift all night. I’m a man of many fascinating surprises, aren’t I?). It started as a summer job, then morphed into a full-time gig when finances and an utter lack of interest in classes forced me to take a year off from school.

When I started, I was one of about four or five college kids who came in for the summer. Some of the folks in the warehouse were very welcoming, but others viewed us as uppity, educated prima donnas and did little to hide their scorn for us. A couple of the guys in particular, though, took an early liking to me. One of those guys was Pops. I called him Pops because he resembled former Pittsburgh Pirate <a href=”http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/hofers_and_honorees/hofer_bios/stargell_willie.htm”>Willie “Pops” Stargel</a>l. Since I was an Orioles fan at the time, Pops called me Junior, for Cal Ripken, Jr. Over the years, more than a few people looked at us strangely when we peppered our conversations with “Pops” and “Junior” references. “So why is that skinny white kid calling that fat black guy Pops?”

Pops and I got along great. I still had a foot in the hip-hop world, and with the strong R&B influence I had from my mom, we could talk about current and old school black music. We talked a lot of sports, especially college sports. Pops was a big MU guy, so we had McDonald’s bets each time KU and MU played. As a summer hire, I didn’t have a work area of my own, but Pops quickly had me set up shop at his station. The morning after a bad KU loss, he would rush in and tape the story from the KC Star to our desk so it was the first thing I saw. I did the same when MU lost. We used clipboards to carry our work orders and mine was covered with pictures of KU players. He was quick to draw a mustache on <a href=”http://www.kusports.com/multimedia/photogalleries/basketball/02-03/ucla/6-01.jpg”>Jacque Vaughn’s</a> face or write “Wife Beater” on <a href=”http://www.ljworld.com/photos/2004/08/05/henleyrun.jpg”>June Henley’s</a> jersey. Oh, and we went round-and-round about <a href=”http://imagecache2.allposters.com/images/pic/PHO/AAGK122~Magic-Johnson-Michael-Jordan-Photofile-Posters.jpg”>Magic Johnson vs. Michael Jordan</a>. Pops’ favorite line when defending Magic (remember, back then it was still an argument) was to rattle off his line from the clinching game of the 1980 NBA Championship. “Jumped center, 42 points, 15 rebounds, 7 assists, took tickets before the game, and sold popcorn during time-outs…”

But perhaps my favorite Pops memory is an unlikely one, though. He lived down near Longview Lake, and one summer Lollapalooza was held there, with Soundgarden headlining. The day after the show, he was going on-and-on about all the freaks he saw and asked me why I wasn’t there. Then, pivoting his 300+ pounds as if he was playing the bass, he started singing the bassline for “<a href=”http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Outshined”>Outshined</a>.” Pretty impressive, I thought. But he went further. “I’m looking California….and feeling Minnesota!” Dude knew all the words to a Soundgarden song! “Yeah, you know you wanted to be out there, Junior!”

Anyway, that’s the kind of random stuff that pops into my head on occasion. Or, Pops into my head, I should say.

Wish List

February 27, 2006 / DB

Saturday, as I was waiting for the Mrs. to get ready so we could make a trip to the mall, I sat down and spent 20 thoroughly enjoyable minutes watching the classic 80s flick “Wargames.” Matthew Broderick. Ally Sheedy. A talking computer. Global Thermonuclear War. You know how it goes.

Anyway, it gave me a thought. There should be a channel that plays nothing but 80s movies. “Wargames,” “Caddyshack,” “Fast Times,” “Better Off Dead,” “Real Genius,” “Fletch,” “Sixteen Candles,” etc. Sure, I have a ton of these on tape or DVD, but when you decide to watch one of these movies, you’re making a commitment to watch the entire thing. I want to know on channel X, anytime I need to waste 15-20-25 minutes, Lane Meyer, Lazlo Hollyfeld, or Farmer Ted will be there to comfort me. If I’m watching a game, what better way to spend the 2:30 commercial breaks than teaching my daughter lines from “Pretty In Pink” or “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”? Forget the occasional flick that shows up on WGN, TNT, TBS, or Spike. I want an all 80s movies, all-the-time source. Surely there’s some internet billionaire out there who grew up watching the same stupid movies I did that can make this happen.

Pudge

October 21, 2005 / DB

It was 30 years ago tonight that Carlton Fisk knocked a pitch off the left field foul pole at Fenway Park, ending one of the greatest baseball games ever played. Shockingly enough, ESPN Classic has devoted most of its daytime programming to the event. First, they aired the game in a slightly condensed version (“We’re skipping ahead to the top of the 8th inning, with Cincinnati leading 6-3…”) followed by a feature on Carlton Fisk and then one about the series as a whole. I’ve had it on while packing, organizing, and whatnot. Some thoughts.

1 – Baseball players were crazy skinny back then. I know we live in the fitness age, where everyone has a personal trainer and is on the best ahem legal supplements available in order to recover quicker, but the difference between then and now is ridiculous. No wonder it was considered outrageous when someone hit 50 home runs back then. I remember there were a lot of hitting coaches back then who were dead-set against weight lifting, thinking it ruined your swing. I wonder what they would think of today’s ballplayers who are muscular yet still hit for mad average.

2 – The game was very different as well, especially hitting. In the four or five innings I watched, players routinely swung at pitches in their eyes. Not sure why, the strike zone wasn’t that much higher. Gamblin’ Pete Rose took a hack at a pitch that was literally over his head at one point. What’s strange is a lot of these swings came very late, as if they were in fact worried they would be called strikes. Or maybe they were so concerned about going the other way, they swung at anything they thought the could shoot opposite-field. Pete wasn’t trying to protect a runner, so maybe in his case he just had money on the game.

3 – Dick Stockton’s call of the home run is great. “There is goes———–If it’s fair it’s gone———–Home run.” Very simple. Almost too simple. With the much more primitive crowd mics, between the muted reaction from the crowd and Stockton’s dry delivery, you’d never guess this was one of the biggest home runs in baseball history at first view.

4 – Tony Kubek interviewed Fisk on the field after the game. I’m not sure what amazed me more, the fact the interview went at least five minutes, or what Tony was wearing. Black turtleneck, sea-blue leather jacket. Viva los 70s!

5 – The Fenway fans refused to leave. The organist played music and people stood in their seats, on the dugouts, and on the edges of the field clapping, singing, dancing, cheering for at least ten minutes after the game was over. They were still carrying on when the NBC coverage ended. I’ve had the good luck to be at a couple games that ended improbably, mostly basketball games that were won on buzzer-beating shots. That has to be one of the greatest feelings as a fan, those moments after the game’s been won when no one wants to leave. Your body is filled with joy. You’re screaming, hugging your friends, on the verge of losing your mind, and it’s a feeling you never want to end. You look around so you remember every face, every element of the moment so you can call on it in the future. Those moments are the reasons that we’re fans and devote so much to games we have no control over.

6 – I had a discussion the other night with my man <a href=”http://storiesofdts.typepad.com/the_stories_of_dts/”>DTS</a> about how Albert Pujols’ epic home run Sunday would be viewed after the Cardinals lost the NLCS. Will it be seen as just a very cool, if insignificant home run like George Brett’s three home run game in 1978 because the Cards and Royals lost their respective series? But the Sox lost the ’75 series in game seven yet Fisk’s home run is still held in high regard. Perhaps if Albert had hit his in the World Series it would live on, but I’m not convinced it’s going into the pantheon for anyone other than Cardinals fans.

7 – Bernie Carbo hit an equally important, three-run home run in the bottom of the 8th to tie the game. NBC didn’t show a replay of his shot until the 9th inning. Today, Fox would have shown us 16 angles before Carbo touched home. Also, the live shot came from the camera behind home plate. At first view, you have no idea where the ball is going or how hard he hit it. Then you see everyone sitting in the centerfield seats going nuts. Man, baseball was hard to watch on TV back then.

8 – Today, it seems like players are either boring and business-like or egotistical pricks. Carbo raced around the bases, struggling to stay upright because of his glee. Fisk’s trot is famous even to people who don’t follow baseball. Free agency was about to hit, so this series really was the last innocent time in baseball, when the childlike joy of the game was still apparent at the highest level.

9 – Greatest series ever. We hear that label bandied about a lot, and I tend to agree with it. Why? I sure as hell didn’t see it live. Maybe that’s the reason. There’s something about baseball that makes all the things that you didn’t see because of your age somehow seem more meaningful. 1991 was fantastic, but I saw every out of that series. 2001 is wildly overrated (New York media bias combined with the post-9/11 patriotism/anger/guilt that consumed the country at the time), but again, a series I saw in total. ’75, on the other hand, is something that I just heard stories about for years, with the occasional grainy video of Fisk’s winner. I’ve seen a couple no-hitters on TV, a few triple plays, and other assorted amazing plays. Yet they never seem to compare to all the events from the pre-TV era that I’ve read about in books like <span style=”text-decoration:underline;”>Baseball’s Greatest Moments</span>.

10 – There was an incredibly controversial call earlier in the series by home plate umpire Larry Barnett. In one of the documentaries today, Peter Gammons told a great story of being in a pub in Cambridge the following winter. An old guy sitting alone at the bar recognized Gammons and some other Boston sports writers he was with and said, “I’ll never watch baseball again as long as Larry Barnett is allowed to umpire.” Then he passed out with his head hitting the bar.