(Originally
published 8/24/19)
As I was
wandering around this morning, I heard the harmonious buzz of cicadas. Cicadas
by day and crickets by night can only mean one thing: another summer's swan song.
While the sounds of crickets have thus far been faint, I nevertheless associate
the somber chirping of these melodious insects with the incoming dread of that first day of school.
Happily,
for me, my schooldays are distant memories. So, I thought I’d tie up some loose
summer ends in the here and now. Recently, my nephew e-mailed me a link to an
article, which quoted former baseball players Rich “Goose” Gossage and Lou
Piniella. They each spoke of the contemporary game of baseball in very
unflattering terms. To them and many others—including yours
truly—professional baseball has become unwatchable. And there are a host of
reasons why. It’s just not the same game that we once knew and loved—not by a
long shot.
After
completing four books this summer—timely published to coincide with the
fiftieth anniversary of the 1969 “Miracle Mets” season—I feel grateful that I
experienced baseball as a fan when it was the American pastime, a game steeped in
tradition and rich in history. I was a fan before analytics, home run-derby
strategy (for lack of a better description), replay umpiring, and five-inning
starting pitchers.
My nephew,
who came around to baseball and the Mets decades after my sworn allegiance,
admitted that even he is finding today's games almost unwatchable. But as the
2019 Mets have suddenly come alive—and are in contention—he’s swallowing hard
and praying for another miracle. I’ve seen clips of today's Mets’ game-ending
antics—players ripping off their uniform shirts—and can’t help but wonder:
“What would Gil Hodges say about all that?” Once upon a time, third baseman Ron
Santo of the 1969 Chicago Cubs, managed by none other than Leo Durocher,
performed a bit of theater after every Cubs’ win. As he exited the field, he
leaped high in the air and clicked both his heels. It was considered poor
sportsmanship by most everybody in opposition back then—certainly by Gil Hodges
and the Mets—and it eventually ceased as the Cubs imploded.
If nothing
else, this summer also resurrected my interest in 1970s New York City politics.
What an interesting time to be alive and a kid. With the Tappan Zee Bridge
renaming in the news—as the Mario M. Cuomo Bridge—I purchased a couple of old
books from that bygone era. When Mario Cuomo was mayoral timber. One book chronicled the fiscal crisis when my fair city
very nearly declared bankruptcy. Yes, New York City was down for the count back
then, but I didn't notice. After all, I was a boy and living through what
turned out to be the last of the old urban childhoods, where all kinds
of street games were played in the great outdoors and young and old alike hung
out on stoops
without phones. The stoop supplied a box seat to countless cricket
serenades. Their plaintive denouements to summer were repeat performances that were never quite welcome. But they were just doing their jobs.
