Why are sports so much fun? Being blessed with mediocre abilities (on a good day), it isn't so much about personally achieving great heights or doing the impossible for me. Though, I find those stories of others are often compelling, even emotionally moving. Often, it's just the mundane fascinates or amuses me (a simple mind). During Cal Ripken's heyday, Eddie Murray played first base for the Baltimore Orioles. He would carry the infield ball out at the top of every inning at Memorial Stadium to warm up the guys. Watching closely, I saw Murray would go through the same routine each time the O's took the field between innings as the pitcher warmed up with catcher Rick Dempsey. He would throw the ball for Ripken, stationed behind the bag at second, trying each time to hit the base with his left-handed lob. After warmups wound down and the infield ball was returned to the dugout across the field to the home dugout in a religious way. Murray threw the ball across the third-base line on one hop to someone standing in the right-hand corner of the O's dugout who, upon catching it, would pivot and lob it to someone in the left-hand corner. The ball, upon completing it's cicuit, returned to rest behind the bench in the same spot until Murray would retrieve it again to go out to first base and do it again.
Meaningless. But routine. Somehow, whether by specific design, or just an evolution of a ritual, the cycle predictably repeated itself. It's those little things which add humor and life to the mundane in the realm of sport - and fascinate me. Murray, a favorite of mine and probably all O's fans, was never particularly demonstrative. But, it seemed to me, when he would hit the bag on his toss to Ripken, there was a trace of smug satisfaction evidenced in his posture. A small victory won. Baseball and sport consist of small moments which provide the stuff of story-telling.
A favorite baseball book, October 1964, by David Halberstam (chronicling the seasons of the NY Yankees and St. Louis Cardinals), captures not only the little bits of life in the season of two great teams, but also some of the heights achieved by doing things well. One key player, not so much in his prowess (he made his mark being notoriously average: "Baseball hasn't forgotten me. I go to a lot of Old-Timers games and I haven't lost a thing. I sit in the bullpen and let people throw things at me. Just like old times." ) but in the taking of the mundane to grand heights. Enjoy one of many anecdotes featuring the beloved Bob Uecker ("He missed the tag!"):
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"On the day of the first game (of the '64 World Series), Bob Uecker was shagging balls out in left field with some of the other scrubs. In order to mark the festivities, three Dixieland bands were stationed there, and at one point they took a break and put down their instruments. Uecker wandered over and picked up a tuba. For a moment he thought of trying to play it, because that might amuse the other players, but just then someone hit a slow, lazy fly out to left. Instinctively, because he was born to be a comic, Uecker circled under the ball with the waiting tuba. He tried for the catch in the mouth of the tuba, but missed. The next one he caught. Then he missed one. The players began to laugh and the crowd began to cheer. He missed two more flies and then caught one. Some of the balls dented the tuba, and the owner was not amused, sending the Cardinals and Uecker a bill for $250. His teammates, though, were delighted. It was the World Series against the mighty Yankees and the Cardinals were very relaxed."
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