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By education and experience - Accountant with a specialty in taxation. Formerly a CPA (license has lapsed). Masters degree in law of taxation from University of Denver. Now retired. Part time work during baseball season as receptionist & switchboard operator for the Colorado Rockies. This gig feeds my soul in ways I have trouble articulating. One daughter, and four grandchildren. I share the house with two cats; a big goof of a cat called Grinch (named as a joke for his easy going "whatever" disposition); and Lady, a shelter adoptee with a regal bearing and sweet little soprano voice. I would be very bereft if it ever becomes necessary to keep house without a cat.
Mood:
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World Series Memories
I haven't abandoned the blog, although the dearth of entries might make it seem that way! August and September were wearying and time consuming in many ways, and my energy only stretched so far. But things seem to be looking up, so I'm back!
With the playoffs on TV most evenings, I've been thinking about my own awareness of the World Series - and have come up with quite a few tidbits to share. I hope they're interesting!
Probably in 1956, my first year in high school, I remember mentioning to a group of friends that I was rooting for the Dodgers. One of the guys responded: "you like those Bums?" Since I had been hoping he would notice me, but also hoping his notice would include something more than a disparaging comment, my heart sank. But I do recall that conversation as the first time I felt it necessary to defend my devotion to the National League.
And later on that week - I think it must have been a Saturday, because I was home in the afternoon and helping my mother catch up on her ironing - I watched Don Larsen pitch the one and only perfect game in Series history. The black and white TV my parents had would scramble the picture into a confusing series of horizontal lines when the iron drew current to stay hot. It was a frustrating afternoon trying to watch and stay on my mother's good side, but I vividly remember Yogi Berra running to wrap himself around Larsen's frame after the last out.
About four years later, in my first term as a freshman university student, I sat with a handful of classmates waiting for our instructor to arrive. He was late, quite late, and we were almost ready to leave the classroom when he stumbled in. He was clearly drunk, nearly incoherent, and delivered a lecture which wasn't about political science at all, but instead a passionate retelling of the dramatic final game of the 1960 Series, and Bill Mazerowski's bottom of the ninth home run which won the series for Pittsburgh. (He had spent the afternoon watching the game and drinking beer.) I think this was the first time I encountered someone who was "educated" who cared deeply about baseball - and a National League fan! Wow! My parents had never paid much attention to sports on a national level, and I had sort of kept my intrigue with baseball to myself.
By the mid 1960's, I was working in Chicago and for the first time in my life part of a group of people which included Jewish coworkers. As the Dodgers were preparing for the Series against the Twins, or it might have been the Orioles, it was clear to the guys in the staff room that the established pitching rotation would schedule Koufax to pitch on Yom Kippur. Everyone was wondering what would happen, and indeed Koufax made it clear in the press that he would not pitch that day. A coworker at Coors Field recently shared his recollections with me that Walter O'Malley, the head of the Dodger organization, referred to Koufax in the press as "the left hander," not even giving the situation lip service by calling his star by his name.
I'm sure I recall some accomodation and rescheduling being made, but don't remember the details, and my copy of THE BASEBALL ENCYCLOPEDIA doesn't mention the flap. Maybe Beeg or Eric remembers? In any event, this was more education for me. Baseball wasn't something that one only read about in the papers, but issues involving baseball came close to truly personal importance of men I worked with every day.
Then, in 1969, the Cubs were well ahead of the Mets as September began, and managed to collapse in ruin. And to make it worse, the Mets went on to sweep Baltimore in the Series.
Motherhood, managing a life and a household, more than overwhelmed baseball during the 70's and 80's - and I don't remember much.
BUT in 1991, Mr Woodstock and I were traveling, and on the last night of the Series, in a motel somewhere in New Mexico, we struggled to stay alert, hoping against hope that the Braves could pull out a National Series win against the Twins. I can recall drifting off into a doze, waking to see the pandemonium at the Metrodome and the thousands of waving rally towels, drifting off again, and finally waking to the realization that the American League had done it again.
In 2005, when the White Sox won, we were in Venice and only able to follow the results on the crawl along the bottom of CNN International. But the morning after the final game during the morning news broadcast, one of the commentators (based in London) turned out to be from Chicago. Her on air coworkers were congratulating her with enthusiasm. But she grew up on the North Side, and tried unsuccessfully to explain the mutual disdain Cubs and White Sox fans have for each others' teams. It was clear that she could not have cared less. It was also clear that the others on the set with her did not understand. It was fun to watch the interplay - and gave me an opportunity one more time to try to explain the mysteries of Chicago baseball to Mr Woodstock.
And of course, you can search the archives of this blog for last September and October and my own personal days in the middle of the hoopla during the Series.
I'm hoping the Phillies will play the Devil Rays in a couple of weeks. Keeping my fingers crossed!
With the playoffs on TV most evenings, I've been thinking about my own awareness of the World Series - and have come up with quite a few tidbits to share. I hope they're interesting!
Probably in 1956, my first year in high school, I remember mentioning to a group of friends that I was rooting for the Dodgers. One of the guys responded: "you like those Bums?" Since I had been hoping he would notice me, but also hoping his notice would include something more than a disparaging comment, my heart sank. But I do recall that conversation as the first time I felt it necessary to defend my devotion to the National League.
And later on that week - I think it must have been a Saturday, because I was home in the afternoon and helping my mother catch up on her ironing - I watched Don Larsen pitch the one and only perfect game in Series history. The black and white TV my parents had would scramble the picture into a confusing series of horizontal lines when the iron drew current to stay hot. It was a frustrating afternoon trying to watch and stay on my mother's good side, but I vividly remember Yogi Berra running to wrap himself around Larsen's frame after the last out.
About four years later, in my first term as a freshman university student, I sat with a handful of classmates waiting for our instructor to arrive. He was late, quite late, and we were almost ready to leave the classroom when he stumbled in. He was clearly drunk, nearly incoherent, and delivered a lecture which wasn't about political science at all, but instead a passionate retelling of the dramatic final game of the 1960 Series, and Bill Mazerowski's bottom of the ninth home run which won the series for Pittsburgh. (He had spent the afternoon watching the game and drinking beer.) I think this was the first time I encountered someone who was "educated" who cared deeply about baseball - and a National League fan! Wow! My parents had never paid much attention to sports on a national level, and I had sort of kept my intrigue with baseball to myself.
By the mid 1960's, I was working in Chicago and for the first time in my life part of a group of people which included Jewish coworkers. As the Dodgers were preparing for the Series against the Twins, or it might have been the Orioles, it was clear to the guys in the staff room that the established pitching rotation would schedule Koufax to pitch on Yom Kippur. Everyone was wondering what would happen, and indeed Koufax made it clear in the press that he would not pitch that day. A coworker at Coors Field recently shared his recollections with me that Walter O'Malley, the head of the Dodger organization, referred to Koufax in the press as "the left hander," not even giving the situation lip service by calling his star by his name.
I'm sure I recall some accomodation and rescheduling being made, but don't remember the details, and my copy of THE BASEBALL ENCYCLOPEDIA doesn't mention the flap. Maybe Beeg or Eric remembers? In any event, this was more education for me. Baseball wasn't something that one only read about in the papers, but issues involving baseball came close to truly personal importance of men I worked with every day.
Then, in 1969, the Cubs were well ahead of the Mets as September began, and managed to collapse in ruin. And to make it worse, the Mets went on to sweep Baltimore in the Series.
Motherhood, managing a life and a household, more than overwhelmed baseball during the 70's and 80's - and I don't remember much.
BUT in 1991, Mr Woodstock and I were traveling, and on the last night of the Series, in a motel somewhere in New Mexico, we struggled to stay alert, hoping against hope that the Braves could pull out a National Series win against the Twins. I can recall drifting off into a doze, waking to see the pandemonium at the Metrodome and the thousands of waving rally towels, drifting off again, and finally waking to the realization that the American League had done it again.
In 2005, when the White Sox won, we were in Venice and only able to follow the results on the crawl along the bottom of CNN International. But the morning after the final game during the morning news broadcast, one of the commentators (based in London) turned out to be from Chicago. Her on air coworkers were congratulating her with enthusiasm. But she grew up on the North Side, and tried unsuccessfully to explain the mutual disdain Cubs and White Sox fans have for each others' teams. It was clear that she could not have cared less. It was also clear that the others on the set with her did not understand. It was fun to watch the interplay - and gave me an opportunity one more time to try to explain the mysteries of Chicago baseball to Mr Woodstock.
And of course, you can search the archives of this blog for last September and October and my own personal days in the middle of the hoopla during the Series.
I'm hoping the Phillies will play the Devil Rays in a couple of weeks. Keeping my fingers crossed!
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