TEAM AFFILIATION AND WHAT CAN BE HAD DUE TO IT

  

by Meredith Linden

Knowing people in the same family who like different baseball teams with equal passion made me wonder.  What is it that determines a person’s team affinity and/or loyalty?  I grew up in Houston, hence my affiliation with the Astros buddy program at a young age.  In middle school, I enjoyed watching the Oilers play every weekend in the fall.  I was the only one in the house who watched any sports, and I’m not sure where I acquired the taste. Perhaps it was my athletic status at that time. Moving to Philadelphia didn’t kill my athleticism but it seemed to negatively affect my major league sports interest.

By the time I got to college, I was more interested in basketball and the Rockets didn’t exactly call out to me.  I followed college football, being in Texas and all, but for major leagues, I had to find a new team.  It was during the basketball playoffs in my junior year.  The Pistons were playing the Celtics.  I didn’t like the Celtics.  My only reasons were I didn’t like the looks of Larry Bird and their uniforms were ugly.  Oh, and they were top dogs.  I liked Isaiah Thomas and Detroit was the underdog.

I never really settled on a basketball favorite until I came to Sacramento and met up with Kings fans.  They were a relatively new team to Sacramento and the men in my life seemed to love them.  But they sucked, so I avoided any affiliation.

It was during the Loma Prieta quake, which I felt in my living room, that I began a MLB affiliation. I got pretty hyped up for some reason over the World Series and somehow landed on the Giants, feeling the Oakland A’s a bit inferior.  It was just a feeling I had.

I think most people attach themselves to sports teams for better reasons than I have.  But team connection can make a real difference out in the world; people take it very seriously.  As I mentioned in a previous post, I decided that because of my affiliation with Baseball

Diary, I was going to watch a baseball game this season.  Of course, it would have to be either a playoff game or World Series game due to the timing.  And I needed a team to root for.

I chose the Giants.  It made sense to me in a weird way.  I could have chosen any team in the playoffs.  So be it.  It just so happens they ended up in the World Series.  How could I have known?  Some fans could probably say.

I watched game 5 against the Cardinals, which turned out to be a great game!  I had to watch it in the bedroom as others were watching TV in the living room and, obviously, baseball played second string.  My daughter walked in on me and said, “What? You’re watching baseball?” “Yeah, what of it?”  “Since when do you watch baseball?”  Busted.  Clearly she hadn’t been reading my blogs!

It’s true I did other things while watching the game, including taking notes for a blog post.  I don’t know why I needed notes.  Perhaps I doubted my ability to really think in baseball terms or remember key points of the game.  I enjoyed the game, watching Zito pitch a no run game.  He’s kinda cute, too.  Lynn scared me until the Giants got through to the 4^th inning.  I have to admit, I was not bored.

But perhaps the defining moment in my short career as a baseball fan was at Baskin Robbins during Game 6.  I had watched my game and while I was mildly interested in whether the Giants made it to the Series or not, I was not watching any more baseball; I just didn’t have the time.

As I waited for my daughter to decide what she wanted, I noticed the game was playing.  I searched the place for the TV.  Nowhere.  I asked the ice cream scooper if it was on the radio and he assured me it was.  Of course.  I asked the inning and the score, the only proper thing to do.  His eyes lit up and we talked about the game two nights before.  It was the perfect bonding moment.

I ordered my ice cream as we talked.  He handed me my cone with what can only be characterized as a softball-sized scoop in the place of the normal baseball-sized one.  My daughter’s eyes widened immediately.  “That’s Giant!”  Exactly.  Her sundae was mysteriously covered in extra chocolate syrup.  My daughter looked at me quizzically.  And that’s what team affiliation can get you!

UNIFORMS

by Meredith Linden

Long, long ago when we could wear whatever we wanted to school, I decided I would much rather wear the keen plaid skirts, pressed shirts, and Maryjane shoes of my contemporaries who went to private school. Back then, yeah we’re talking ages ago, most private schools were parochial.  Never mind that I was not religious in the least, much less Catholic.  I envied the uniform as well as my friends going to CCD (Confraternity of Catholic Doctrine).

What is it about uniforms?  There’s the proverbial joke about loving a man in uniform or going for the nurses in their white caps and starched white dresses (now they just wear scrubs).  Oh, how pure.  Just imagine hundreds of hospital employees divided into their appropriate caste by uniform, standing out on the lawn for a picture.  How clean, how precise, how conforming.

When my kids started school, the school uniform had been adopted by public schools to cut down on inappropriate clothing in general, and gang clothing specifically.  I loved it.  Shopping was so easy; we had to buy very few non-uniform outfits.  And in the poorer registers of town in which I worked, we had much fewer problems with people paying attention to clothing. Problem solved.

What in the world does this have to do with baseball?  Well, of course, a team would NOT be a team without a uniform.  As I mentioned in a recent post, I was halted in my tracks as I passed a university team practicing in their uniforms.  Oh yeah, it was baseball, by the way.  I was struck, and struck that I was struck, star-gazed-like, by the men/boys in uniform.  A little flip was had by my stomach.  Well, that was an interesting surprise.  I have never really had such a visceral reaction to a sports uniform, or any uniform, before, especially on men.

But there you have it.  They were neat little packages of athletics. The pants come in nicely at the waist, different for a guy, even if the pants do have those weird type of belt loops.  But that’s the only thing I could find I didn’t like.  I remember wearing jersey-style rock shirts from concerts, all designed on the baseball theme.  They need room for their arms to swing the bat and catch fly balls, so their shirts have bigger sleeves, but their mostly broad shoulders account for the difference.  You really get to see the man in a baseball uniform. That might sound funny coming from me, as I’m not a man’s woman. But I know attractive when I see it.

When comparing football, basketball, soccer, and baseball (and even rugby) uniforms, my vote is for the baseball uniform.  Football players wear theirs purely by necessity but look ridiculous in the top-heavy skinny-legged outfits.  Basketball uniforms have changed considerably even since the 70s from the short shorts (ugh, who wants to see that?) to the obscenely long and baggy shorts, but they don’t do much for the men’s figures.  Finally, I just can’t stand the long tube socks making up the bulk of soccer and rugby uniforms.  I know, I know, baseballers wear some sort of them, too, but at least you don’t see their knees when they hike up their knickers. Thus, it looks like a continuous pant with a little flare at the knee.

I don’t know who came up with the knickers idea over 100 years ago, but it stuck for quite a while.  Not everyone does it, which makes me wonder why some players do or don’t do it.  But what’s even more interesting about today’s baseball uniform is the return of something around the neck.  The men used to actually wear bow ties or scarves.  Now they’re wearing necklaces of team colors and, I understand, the necklaces are supposed to have some sort of healing magnetic powers.  How 21^st century.

After my “aha” moment regarding baseball uniforms, I decided to find out what others saw attractive.  After a household poll, I found it is just a matter of taste.  As they say, whatever turns you on.

CHEWING THE CUD

by Meredith Linden

In the particular state I am in, I really really get something about baseball.  I mean, previously I understood why baseball players did it; it’s just that I get it so much more right now.  “It” would be the chewing…of something.  If there weren’t gum or chew, they’d probably be somewhat like beavers, chewing on their bats or gloves.  Mmmm, leather.

In my particular state, with my jaw clenching and my brain flying at the speed of light, I get why they must chew so much.  I wouldn’t mind something to chew on right now, though I think it might make things worse.  I don’t really want something to eat, as that doesn’t last.  Just chewing would be the thing to do.

In my last post, I mentioned the fact that baseball is the only sport I know of during which a player can chew something.  I would guess 80% of baseball players’ time is spent waiting, watching, waiting, standing, sitting, watching, and waiting.  And not patiently, either.  They want to play, damn it.  They want to move their team forward to victory.  However, I would guess most baseball players must be of a patient sort, at least on the field, to stand that kind of delayed gratification.  Yes, I know.  I have heard the stories of the errant baseball player and his loss of patience, but how often does that happen during a game because they are tired of waiting for their turn at bat or the ball to come to them?  I don’t really know since I don’t watch it.

At any rate, right about now, I started remembering the chewing gum that came out in the 1970s.  Not the baseball card chewing sticks, though I bought those, too.  It was the bag of Big League Chew!  Wormy little pink pieces of gum you could use to emulate your favorite baseball player who may or may not get mouth cancer.  Lovely.  It came complete with a comic-style baseball player on the bag, all to remind you of the inspiration behind it.  Later came the roll of gum in a plastic box with a caricatured baseball player on the lid. 

 

Perhaps that is when baseball players began chewing gum more than chew.  Some sources say chew is banned, but when I see a player spit, I immediately think he is chewing tobacco. Also, the stuck out lower lip is a bit of a giveaway.  I heard one story that a player was probably saved from jail because he was chewing.  Apparently, he had a bad night on the field and nearly ripped someone’s head off.  I guess gum and chew can serve to alleviate tension.  Probably why I want some now.

I have no idea how this came into my consciousness except for the fact that my increased involvement with Baseball Diary has also increased my awareness of all things baseball.  Since being here, I have proclaimed baseball as boring, watched a bit of baseball, and thought about baseball much more than I have in easily 40 years.  While I am no more interested in watching all the playoff games, I am more interested in my friends’ team preferences and why as well as who might go to the Series.  And I have vowed to watch a game of baseball (preferably in total) before the season is over.  Meanwhile, I’d better get something else to do or some gum to keep me busy while I watch.

BD DRINKS AND GOES HOME

by the Editor

It was with resignation, frustration, and sighs that I bid farewell to the Dodgers Tuesday night.  How appropriate that their arch-nemesis lit the fire on their funeral pyre.  I gotta give it up to the Giants: minus their ace closer and star hitter, they still ran away with the division.  Well played, lads, well played.  Credit where it’s due and all that.  Dodgers, we'll see you next year with the new ownership, deep pockets and high hopes.
 
My chagrin was made more palatable by a last minute gift from BD scribe S Soriano: the piece of vinyl shown here!  Yes, though an admitted Dodger hater, I guess he took pity on one of their fans and gifted me this amazing artifact just a few days ago.  Oh, to hear the incomparable Vin Scully explain “What is a Dodger” ("No city looks good at 4:00 in the morning/A Dodger rates respect/A Dodger is a way of life"), to dance to the groovy sounds of Stubby Kaye, shortstop Maury Wills, and outfielder Willie Davis singing "Dodger Stadium" ("There is a place you gotta dig/I mean Dodger Stadium!"), to hear show biz legend Jimmy Durante on "Dandy Sandy [Koufax]" ("They can't hit what they can't see/To them a pop up is a moral victory/Dandy Sandy!"), yes, these and more are soothing balm to this haggard, tired soul.  

And of course also easing the pain were the Oakland A’s.  I couldn't have put it better than this from The Guardian US:

“What can you say - we gush over the Oakland A's. They play in a dump, in front of no one, for an owner the locals detest, one who is trying to move them away, they have no money, a tiny payroll, and they win. They win big. It's awesome…Not surprisingly, Bob Melvin's team never gave up, certainly not when they were 13 games out of first place on June 30…Yes, there is a flare for the dramatic in Oakland for sure, winning the division on the final day of the season, a day they usually clear out their lockers. The young pitchers are bold and fearless, as are their hitters, so much so that they struck out 1387 times, the most in baseball. They are dangerous, even more so now that they're heading straight to an ALDS…”

Onward to the post season!

HOW DID IT COME TO THIS?

by Meredith Linden

My wife and I took a trip up to lovely Redding this weekend.  No, it wasn’t to escape the heat.  In fact, when it was planned, we had hoped the heat would have dissipated.  Of course, this weekend was hotter than last. Damned September in the valley. Our purpose was to steal our 6-year-old granddaughter (hers biologically, mine by marriage) away and stay in a gifted hotel room doing fun things like playing games, going swimming, and the like.

Little did I know how much Baseball Diary has affected me.  As many of you may remember, I am not a baseball person.  So I’m pretty sure you have asked yourself, or the computer, “Why the hell is she writing blogs about baseball at all?”  I may have reached a consensus among my selves regarding that type of questioning.

While in Redding, we ate out for every meal because, although our room was good, it did not have a kitchen.  For dinner the first night, we had a gift of a meal at the 3 Shastas Bar and Grill, a sports bar.  A long booth stretched along the side wall of the restaurant underneath some black and white photos of the building of Shasta Dam.  Of course, the historian in me thought that was way cool.  I sat across the teensy table from my wife and granddaughter in a high-level bar chair.  As I scanned the photos, I noticed they didn’t have captions and they didn’t seem to be in any particular order.  Hmmm.  I would have to sort them out for myself.

Then I scanned upward and right above my wife’s head was the Giants and Padres on a 36” flatscreen.  Another hmmm went through my mind.  A flatscreen to the right of me showed college football.  The one to the left, all within peripheral vision, was again the Giants and Padres.  Our TV was on mute so I found myself reading the commentary, full of vocabulary I didn’t know, words put together into strange contortions called sentences.  For some odd reason, I started following the game and wondered how the commentators knew Vogelsong threw a fastball.  My wife wondered when I was going to converse with her, then gave up and watched football.

In the morning, we went to our complimentary breakfast. There must have been some sort of convention going on as I noticed teens walking around in baseball uniforms.  There were no TV's so I was not as distracted as before and we finished our meal as a family.

Lunch was from Guadalajara, but this time it was the Tigers versus the Twins.  The TV's were too far from us to get either a good look at the game or to hear it.  But I began marveling at my desire to know what was going on.  My desire to write, my willingness to try something new, and my need to prove myself wrong have gotten the better of me, I decided.  Watching the university players practice in their strangely attractive uniforms last week hinted at it, but I pushed it aside. Things were surfacing a little more forcefully now.

I unsuspectingly walked into Outback for dinner Saturday.  I was playing I-Spy with our granddaughter when my wife mentioned UT was playing.  Heads-up, my Alma Mater was on, and I wondered if it was the OU game.  Yeah, I used to be a sports nut, going to all the home games in college.  I even made it to one OU game in Dallas with all my buds.  Road trip!  But on this particular road trip, I was glued to another game as my head swiveled to the other TV playing the Giants/Padres game.

So I speculated.  Hmmm, I know the World Series is coming up soon because it’s the end of September.  So they must be in the playoffs now.  And some text from the game the night before rolled across my brain: the Giants have to beat Washington and the Reds if they want to be number 1 seed.  Right now, they’re going for number 3 seed.  You may be laughing at me on how little I know, but I know what playoffs are and I know what seeding and wildcards are.

Again, our table was too far away to hear any commentary on either game but that was ok.  I had made peace with my new found desire to contemplate why baseballers chewed tobacco or gum so much.  It was because they could.  You can’t really do that in any other sport.  Really bad news in football, basketball would be a messy sport with chew or gum, and soccer?  One hit on the head with that ball…

Our final morning at breakfast I was thinking about other things.  Baseball had again left my immediate existence, or so I thought.  Then I heard someone say, “He was standing right behind the catcher when it happened.”  About six men in identical hats started laughing.  I looked over.  Oh yes, their hats outed them as part of the Contra Costa Umpires Association.  I did have to wonder what Redding held for all these baseball people, but for me - well I’d have to say I was visited by Uncle Charlie.