AS MUCH OF A RED ASS AS ANY

by Scott Soriano

My life has been very poor when it comes to celebrity sightings.  Oh, I’ve met some famous writers and a few rock stars (including, of course, Ozzie’s William Fuller), but these meetings usually happen way before fame has struck.  There are two and a half exceptions and they are ball players.

The half famous ball player is West Sacramentan Steve Sax.  I write “half-famous” because Sax is known for three things: His right wing politics, an appearance on The Simpsons, and “Steve Sax Syndrome,” which is the inability to make a routine throw from the second base position to first.  He also was a Dodger.  I walked by Sax, when he visited my high school for some pep talk.  Sax was chosen when the communications teacher was unable to obtain his (and the male student body’s) first choice, alum Barbi Benton.

Without a doubt the most famous person I’ve ever met, and probably ever will meet, was Joe DiMaggio.  I was seven years old when that happened, so at the time, I didn’t know the magnitude of the moment; but my dad did.  The family was on a visit to the San Francisco zoo, when my dad stopped, silent and shocked like he’d just saw a tiger bite the head off of a zookeeper.   It wasn’t a feline felony that stalled my dad, it was the sight of Joe DiMaggio sitting on a park bench, eating an ice cream cone.  My dad, who only seems to get excited about things involving bread and cheese, was trembling: the greatest Yankee of all time was sitting 50 feet away.

Calming himself, my dad walked what probably seemed like a hundred miles, and stammered to DiMaggio, “Sir, would you take a photo with my sons?”  Approaching DiMaggio for anything was akin to poking a tiger, but my dad probably figured that the Yankee Clipper wouldn’t swing at him if he was asking for his boys.  DiMaggio grunted “Yes” to my dad and we were hurried up on the park bench and told to sit still and smile.  We did as we were told and somewhere in a box is a photo of me, my brother, and Joe DiMaggio with an annoyed smile on his face and an ice cream cone in his hand.

The other famous ball player that I met became my favorite ball player of all time.  Like Sax, this guy was a local boy.  Unlike Sax, he was a great player, one of the best at his positions, and as much of a red ass as any player has ever been.  My favorite player?  The Philadelphia Phillies’ Larry Bowa.  I actually met Bowa twice, both times as a pre-teen at BBQ’s thrown by his sister, who lived down the street from us.  The other day, I mentioned to my dad that I remember him not liking Bowa because he was a Phillie.  “Oh, no,” my dad replied, “I didn’t care about the National League.”  He also told me he liked Bowa because he was a red ass, a hot head, and played like he had something to prove.   (Considering that my dad was a high school point guard and stood about 5’4”, that makes sense).  I remember Bowa as a nice guy who gave us signed baseballs and photos.

I also remember a bit of his playing days, when he set a record for single season fielding average (.991) and topped the stats in double plays made, and assists.  He still owns the NL career record for fielding average (.980).  He hit over .300 one year, rare for a shortstop, and batted .375 in the 1980 World Series, which the Phillies won. He also sang on one of the funkiest baseball songs ever sung by baseball players, “Phillies Fever” (http://youtu.be/M8dxdTII358).  Not bad for a guy who couldn’t make his high school team, had only one pro team interested in him after college, and signed for a $2000 bonus!