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by Lew
RANDOLPH,VT _ Most of the time I think in a somewhat linear fashion. I see or hear something, which suggests something else, which suggests something else-you get the picture. Maybe it’s nothing more than a bizarre form of Attention Deficit Disorder. Whatever.
The other day I was in my studio working on a future Wurlitzer drawing and I had the History Channel on the tube. They were broadcasting a documentary about the Loch Ness Monster. The first thing that occured to me was a flash of the new SUV commercial, where The Loch Ness Monster reaches out of the Loch, grabs the SUV like Ozzie Smith going into the hole for a hot shot to short, submerges the vehicle like a Gene Garber sinker and then throws it back to shore like a Nolan Ryan fastball. It then drives away. Not a bad advertisement as these things go and maybe it’s all those hours spent watching 50’s sci fi movies, but I would rather it had just eaten it. Much more interesting to my way of thinking.
Now Nessie has always intrigued me. So has Dracula. Frankenstein. Lost Civilizations. Archaeology and paleontology. All of which leads to the next thought (detecting a pattern, here?). Most of what I find interesting and enjoyable, or that I have flat out idolized- has been with me since I was quite young.
I have always been an artist. Family anecdotes of my artistic exploits go back to age two, when I reportedly embellished the refrigerator with chocolate pudding and proclaimed myself a painter. My Mother noted in her neat copperplate script in my baby book-right next to the curls from my first haircut- at age three “Draws pictures that look like what he is drawing-mainly Pirates and Indians.” My favorite coloring books were of Lost Civilizations and Space Raiders. Little has changed throughout the intervening decades. I still enjoy action and swashbuckling adventure movies and books. I became a Sci Fi/Fantasy artist. I have painted Cowboy s, Indians, werewolves, Vampires, Faeries, Dragons and all sorts of mythological creatures. They’ve always been a part of me.
Which (here we go again) leads me to this-Baseball, Too!!!! I love baseball. I always have. I remember the first time I ever played the game in first grade-1957 at Warwick Elementary. Didn’t even mind carrying the bat to first so another first grader wouldn’t trip over it and mess up recess (I’ve never forgotten, Beth Ann). I remember my Step Father’s stories of the Philadelphia A’s and Connie Mack-his tales of Jimmy Foxx’s and Hank Greenberg’s prodigious Home Runs. I remember reading every baseball book I could get my hands on-from “Treasure At First Base”, to my all-time favorite “Ballplayers Are Human, Too”, by Ralph Houk, which documented the chase for Ruth’s 60 Home Run mark by Maris and Mantle in 1961.
I saw many legends play at old Connie Mack Stadium at 21st and Lehigh in Philadelphia. I saw Gibson , Koufax, Drysdale, Marichal and Spahn pitch. I still remember the longest Home Run I ever saw hit-by Ernie Banks. I saw Richie Allen leg out an inside the park shot to right center. I saw Johnny Callison hit three consecutive Home Runs over the 30 foot tall, industrial steel right field wall. The Phillies STILL lost the 7th of the infamous 10 in a row to end the 1964 season to Hank Aaron and the Milwaukee Braves. It almost killed this 13 year old. I saw Fergie Jenkins and Pat Corrales play as rookies. I saw Jim Bunning’s perfect game on TV and Randy Johnson’s, too.
Which leads-finally-to this. What would we do without baseball in our lives? What would we do without the sport we all love so much? How much more empty would our lives be? Would we even know one another? In this season of new beginnings, I’d like for us all to reflect on what baseball means to us. Let’s do it before we start the endless cycle of arguments and debates about wins and losses, trades and deals, HR’s, RBI, OBP, OPS, ERA and VORP. Do it now. Only a few weeks remain until the daffodils and dogwoods bloom, the leaves return to the trees and the bats crack and leather pops (likely hamstrings, too). I for one, will be there the first day the pitchers and catchers throw to each other. I damn well intend to revel in it. Hope you’ll be there, too. Now, Baseball (There’s your transition, Oh Scribe)-Discuss it amongst yourselves. It’s almost time and I can’t wait.
Lew