Since I no longer play, I have joined the ranks of millions of others and follow my team throughout the spring, summer, and hopefully, fall. My beloved club that keeps me up at night with fear and dread is the cursed Pirates from Pittsburgh. I proudly carry this burden with religious fervor and hope that at my funeral it will be said of me that I was a loving and caring husband, that I was a compassionate and concerned parent, and that I was a Pirates fan to the bitter end.
I became a Pittsburgh enthusiast through no fault of my own, but born into its legacy thanks to Pennsylvanians that emigrated to central Delaware after their wool mill burned down. They brought with them Pirate Fever and it stuck. My great grandfather Benton gave it to his children, Martha and William. They in turn passed it to their three offspring Susan, John, and Benton, and they....... you get the idea. No need making this sound like the Book of Exodus. Suffice it to say, I have Pirate DNA in my veins. I was brought up both Methodist and Pirate and their were times throughout life that you could not tell the one from the other.
So it begins anew. A fresh slate and the beginning (big inning?) of a new baseball season. I already have tickets for the May 17th game in Philadelphia between the Phils and the Pee-Rats (ONE DOLLAR HOT DOG NIGHT!). I simply wanted to forewarn all that this blog will be sprinkled heavily with baseball anecdotes during the next several months and that my blood will be changing from Blue and Gold to Black and Gold. Play ball.
C'mon...your Pirates had a great run back in the 70's....so your suffering has been abated at points along the way.
ReplyDeleteGreat shot of Senor Clemente...one of the best and most gracious to ever pull on a pair of cleats.
True. I remember my brother and I jumping up and down on our beds when Pops Stargell stroked one against the O's in '79, their last World Series.
ReplyDeleteJust like I remember where I was and what I was doing when JFK was shot, I also remember where I was and what I was doing when the Pirates won the World Series in 1960. My mom and her brother Bill ran around the town of Houston honking the car horn and especially for a long time outside of the homes of Yankee fans. Good memories.
ReplyDeleteI remember where I was (in my fourth floor apartment at 22nd and Spruce Street in Philadelphia, PA) when Tug McGraw threw the final pitch that struck out Willie Wilson of the Kansas City A's in Game Six at 11:29 PM on October 21, 1980. That final out clinched the World Series for the Phillies. The feeling of unbelievable euphoria that I experienced was like nothing else I had ever felt before in my life or have felt since. If I die tomorrow I will go to my grave feeling complete because I was there when they won.
ReplyDeleteMy dad was a diehard Phillies fan from the early Fifties. He never gave up on the "Fightin Phillies" even when they setting new consecutive loss records, especially that one in 1964 in which they only needed one game to clinch the National League pennant.
Unfortunately he died August 22, 1980. He never lived to see the Phillies win a World Series. He would have loved it.