You may have heard of BuzzFeed. And by “heard of” I mean, “you probably spend countless hours there looking at pictures of guinea pigs in costumes” because who doesn’t love infinite lists of funny photos with witty captions, right? And by “love” I mean, “something you’ll take advantage of when you have an exam coming up or a project at work you should be taking care of.” Yeah!

And, better yet, imagine if those silly photos happen to be from the New York Public Library’s A. G. Spalding Baseball Collection

like this one:

Drama.

» Continue reading “Throwback Thursday: Wherein The Internet Pokes Fun At Old Baseball Cards”

Historic Baseball at the Henry Ford.

Heading on a vacation to Michigan this summer and can’t find enough thrilling touristy and basebally things to do… besides the obvious mainstream choices? How about something even more Historic than the Detroit Tigers (though not by much!)

Well, in case you are, stop by the Henry Ford Museum for a Historic Baseball game reenactment (there’s something about that Cival Ware Era, isn’t there?) with live 19th-century music, old school costumes, and real live actors? athletes? I’m not sure what we shall call them. But it sounds swell.

There’s even a tournament in August which is in its 10th anniversary. Historic Baseball clubs from all over the Midwest- great states like Ohio, and Michigan, and Ohio, and Michigan.

You should read more about it. I’ve got to go graduate from school and take finals and stuff.

Hey all, it’s time for another baseball po-em. You may recall our last poem, which coincidentally fell on National Poem In Your Pocket Day… Yes, it was completely an accident and I really had no clue that such a celebration existed. Brush up on that episode of Throwback Thursday by clicking here, you’ll want to, because our poem for today is the chuckling progeny of our old frields Tinker and Evers and Chance.

This poem, a change-up follow-up to Franklin Pierce Adams’ “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon” is entitled “Tinker to Evers?” by Steve Vittori. The poem was first published in 1989 in Spitball Magazine, a literary baseball magazine that features fiction, poetry, prose, art, and book reviews. In his poem, “Tinker to Evers?” Vittori has created an alternate universe, in which the famous Tinker and Evers and Chance are lousy fielders, their careers riddled with errors. Leading us to pause wonder, “Oh where would Chicago’s Bear Cubs have been?” It is indeed quite humorous.

For a ballclub to win in the National League
The infielders need to be versed
In the skills of sweeping the diamond
At shortstop and second and first.

Oh, where would Chicago’s Bear Cubs have been
In nineteen hundred and eight
If the men who patrolled up the middle
Could only produce at the plate?

If with glove not of gold and hands lined with lead
Each knocked down balls with knees or with head;
Then reached down to launch a sub-orbital throw
To the home team dugout or seventeenth row?

Then Pirates and Giants would score on these terrors
Four runs on no hits but five or six on errors,
On Merkle, on Tenney, on Bridwell; and Honus,
An infield double’s your double-hop bonus.

And how would Franklin P. Adams describe
These choreographers’ dance?
Why, just slap the ball up the middle.
Tinker to Evers? No Chance!

“Tinker to Evers?” by Steve Vittori, (c) 1989

Do you have a favorite baseball tradition? Is there a particular ghost of baseball past you would like to revisit? Ever wonder why they do what they do, and when they started doing it? If you have a suggestion, question, or submission for Throwback Thursday, contact Elise by tweeting @Elise_Myers.

Whenever you read something like this:

 The Library of Congress presents these documents as part of the record of the past. These primary historical documents reflect the attitudes, perspectives, and beliefs of different times. The Library of Congress does not endorse the views expressed in these collections, which may contain materials offensive to some readers.

You know you’re getting into some pretty deep controversy, right? Like we are discussing the Civil War, or eugenics, or Watergate. You might think you’re pretty close to digging up some good old Old Hickory propaganda. Or something. It’s 2013 folks, you know, the Library of Congress needs to protect themselves from civil lawsuit and other social injustices.

But does it not seem a little unnecessary that the aforementioned disclaimer is on the page for the Library of Congress’ Official Online Baseball Card Collection?

Yes. It is a thing. Thousands (2,100 to be exact) of tattered and torn and yellowed baseball cards from 1887-1914. All in one place. (Online.) Wherever I want them. (In my lap.) Whenever I want them. (Now.)

And there are some beauties:

Poppin’ collars. It’s okay to be left speechless.

Look out, ladies and gents. Dude Esterbrook is at first for the Indianapolis Hoosiers.

You can search the collection by keyword, team, player, or league… but not by moustache. I have discovered a flaw in your system, LOC.

» Continue reading “Throwback Thursday: Baseball Collectables, Taxpayers, And Hobbits”

Shorts have been a popular item in athletic apparel probably since we swapped out the loincloth, and their younger cousin, the kilt, for something a little less, shall we say, revealing. On second thought, however, I take that back, because I have now Googled: “men playing sports in kilts” and there are websites, such as SportKilt.com dedicated to providing men women and children with drafty fitness fashions, since 1995. One of their slogans is:

“Clothing for men who redefine being a man.”

I can’t say that I disapprove… But what I can say… as an aside… is that I fondly remember that my first boyfriend wore a kilt on a few occasions when we were 13, so I’m sure there is some pretentious American psychologist out there licking his lips in anticipation about all that he could say about that.

But enough of that. Today’s Throwback Thursday post is not about kilts as much as it is about shorts. We’ve established that shorts are popular in sports, but not so much baseball. And there is a good reason for that. Sliding. The only reason you need, really.

But what about another good reason for not wearing shorts in baseball? Oh, maybe because you just look ridiculous, Chicago White Sox.

Bucky Dent, circa 1976, breaking baseball commandments for sure.

Bill Veeck’s wife Mary supposedly takes the fall for this one, but it’s not unlike the incident in the Garden of Eden. Husband was there, husband was standing by, and the serpent said to the wife: “Is that really what the baseball gods said, that you shall not wear shorts in baseball?”

» Continue reading “Throwback Thursday: Baseball Shorts And Original Sin”

Of all sports, baseball is, in my opinion, the most poetic. If you’ve watched the game, you agree. If you were raised on a desert island  and never watched the sport but through some turn of events managed to have a radio (or construct one from found objects, say coconuts or potatoes) and happened to tune into Vin Scully at Chavez Ravine, you would agree. Baseball is poetic. Through the gradual paced buildup, the long-awaited moments of euphoria, and all the slow innings that gently roll into one another, baseball has distinct rhythm and meter unlike any other sport.

Baseball is poetic in movement and in word. The concentration; the subtleties in windups, in swings, in outfield snags; even charging the mound has a colorful language of its own, one that we try to capture with words, but fail at our attempts using the common tongue. Baseball demands a set of words and phrases- a lexicon- of its own, in order for the feeling to be captured, transcribed, and understood.

On today’s Throwback Thursday, I would like to begin a tradition of sharing baseball poetry of auld lang syne, some less auld than others, of course. We will begin this week with a brief poem by Franklin Pierce Adams, published in 1910 in the New York Evening Mail. This poem is written from the viewpoint of a New York Giants fan in witness of the impressive (and utterly heart-wrenching) fielding prowess of three early 1900′s Chicago Cubs infielders: Johnny Evers, Joe Tinker, and Frank Chance.

If poetry isn’t really your thing (yet) but baseball is, read this poem through a couple times. Familiarize yourself with the story that the poem is describing. Then, I highly recommend, read the poem aloud. You’ll notice how playful the language seems, though the mood still lamenting.

These are the saddest of possible words:
“Tinker to Evers to Chance.”
Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,
Tinker and Evers and Chance.
Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,
Making a Giant hit into a double-
Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:
“Tinker to Evers to Chance.”

“Baseball’s Sad Lexicon” by Franklin Pierce Adams, (c) 1910.

Do you have a favorite baseball tradition? Is there a particular ghost of baseball past you would like to revisit? Ever wonder why they do what they do, and when they started doing it? If you have a suggestion, question, or submission for Throwback Thursday, contact Elise by tweeting @Elise_Myers.

Pretend you’re a mouse. It’s a stretch, I know. For some of you.

Now, pretend you’re a mouse with an intellect rival to that of a human being. Like mouse-Stephen-Hawking, mouse-Einstein. Harder still, eh?

And imagine you used your incredible mousey intellect to design a supercomputer named Deep Thought, in order to ask her one question:

What is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything?

And seven-and-a-half million years later, Deep Thought tells you this:

42.

42 is the answer to the ultimate question of life the universe and everything.

You would agree, if you were a mouse-genius, or at least, if you’ve ever stumbled across one of Douglas Adams’ delightful science fiction novels in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. That’s my excuse.

But also, you would probably find 42 to be a significant number if you have ever been inside a baseball stadium. Which is more what this Throwback Thursday article is about, as you might guess.

Because, you know, Jackie Robinson wore number 42. And, I might add, Jackie Robinson was The Man. (And I don’t mean that in the stick-it-to-the-man way.) But we talk about Jackie Robinson so often, don’t we? So why today? Because, dear reader, tomorrow, a very special movie about a very special man is coming to theaters near you. Yes, that’s right, it’s 42, the Jackie Robinson story and who cares if it’s going to be good (it is), because baseball.

We could sit here and go through the story of Jackie’s life, but that would include too many spoilers. So this weekend, while you’re struggling through that painful pre-preview “entertainment” at your local movie theater, or waiting in line outside in the near-freezing cold for the 10pm showing tonight, why not whip out some Jackie Robinson trivia to go with that fluorescent-yellow popcorn? It will be a good time (But it probably won’t help with the kernels that are stuck in your teeth).

» Continue reading “Throwback Thursday: The Number 42″

In or out? The Knothole Gang, photograph from the Milwaukee Sentinel, via BorchertField.com.

When I was in second grade, Derek Jeter was a much younger man, and my greatest worries were what was being offered for hot lunch in the cafeteria. We spent the class day learning how to type and write in cursive (guess which skill has proven more useful), and we ate watermelon jelly beans. Life was good.

I remember one day in class we watched a movie called The Buttercream Gang. I don’t remember anything about it actually, other than that it happened. And also that there was one scene from the movie that has been inaccurately remembered in my mind… some angsty teenage kids from the ’50s walking around in caves or cliffs or something, with little knives, sitting on the hoods of their fast cars, saying things like:

“Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a promise.”

That became the coolest thing to be said on the playground. Ever. I didn’t know what threats were. Or much less, buttercream. And I didn’t know a lot about gangs either, except that being in one made you cool, so we decided to start throwing pinecones at all the other kids (we called them atomic bombs).

Gangs appeal to kids. I don’t mean the violent scary serious kind of gangs though. I mean the kind of gangs where you buy bubblegum cigarettes and ride your bikes around the north woods of Wisconsin, scaring deer and doing secret hand signals with your second-cousins-once-removed (for instance). The kinds of gangs that appeal to kids desired to fit in and to be cool and, if you were to degrade humanity to animals with clothes, our instinct to be a part of the pack.

“If kids wat to be in a gang, for one reason or another, like to delineate the in from the out, or simply to watch baseball games together, then why not exploit that simple human desire, the desire of belonging, as a marketing strategy?”

-Said one St. Louis Cardinals organization under Branch Rickey in 1917.

And voila, the Knothole Gang was established.

The Knothole Gang: an organization of youngsters fostered to early-onset addictions to baseball. The theory being:

“If we let these little ones come to baseball games at reduced prices now, by the time they are adults they will be completely physically and mentally dependent upon our franchise, and will pay big money for fully grown adult-sized tickets. Then, if they could be so lucky, these baseball-breathing adults might reproduce and create more munchkins to fuel enrollment in the Knothole Gang. And the money floods into our pockets, and the cycle continues. Have a cigar.”

» Continue reading “Throwback Thursday: The Knothole Gang”

This is a photographic portrait of Christy Mathewson from 1910. The quality of this shot  baffles me. And look at his eyes! Even Tyra would be impressed. Source: Library of Congress Prints and Photographs division, via Wikimedia Commons.

I think someday I will need to rename this column “Turn Of The Century Thursday,” because I blatantly happen to marvel at that period of baseball history so darn much. However, Throwback Thursday is quite catchy… so we’ll leave it at that.

I have a friend who has a simple theory about this, about my fondness, my romanticism of the “ages past,” as we shall call them. For instance, I gush to him about 1960′s Ford Mustangs and pine for men’s fashions from the pre-Victorian era (Hello, Mr. Jackman in Les Mis). Then subsequently, I turn my nose up at 1990′s Ford Mustangs, and cringe and scoff at music and movies from the 80′s (I am sorry that you love it).

I try to explain to this friend that I have mature well-rounded tastes for design and engineering, like the way one who is trained and educated enjoys coffee, or craft beer, or pipe tobacco (I imagine).

He tells me I like things that are old because they’re old. He tells me that I don’t like things that are recent because they’re recent.

He tells me that someday the recent things will be old things, and I will like them. And the old things? I don’t know exactly his theory on that, but I assume, they will just be older things, so I will probably still like them.

So this one’s for you.

Christopher “Christy” Mathewson grew up in Factoryville Pennsylvania, the son of farmers, a brother of three brothers, a boy scout. Where many stories start, but none quite like Christy’s. After all, the town of Factoryville, PA is still celebrating Christy Mathewson Day nearly 90 years after his death, and you can’t say that about just anyone,  whether their aura of fascinatingness is derived from their oldness… or perhaps, something more.

» Continue reading “Throwback Thursday: Christy Mathewson’s Quiver Ball”

I’ll be up front with you. I’m on vacation in one of my favorite cities in the world (San Francisco!), so this post may be brief, but the video that follows is excellent and hand-picked by yours truly for your utmost enjoyment. It features the clip from 1976 at Dodger Stadium, as well as interviews with Rick Monday and Tommy Lasorda reflecting on an unbelievable moment in baseball history that has forever tarnished (or polished, for that matter) the reputation and memory of one Major League Baseball player, Rick Monday:

On April 25 1976, not-so-coincidentally the Nation’s bicentennial anniversary, the Chicago Cubs played the Los Angeles Dodgers at Dodger Stadium. One man and his 11-year-old son crashed the field and proceeded to kneel down in the outfield. The pair laid out an American flag onto the grass, poured lighter fluid atop it, and then began attempts to light the flag with matches.

But their plans for the flag’s ill were foiled when, suddenly, Cubs center fielder Rick Monday sprinted at the two figures and, swooping like a patriotic pelican over the San Francisco Bay, rescued the flag from a certain fiery doom.

Will anyone ever remember Rick Monday’s All Star Game appearances (1968, 1978)? Will anyone fondly recall his league-leading double plays as an outfielder (1967, 1974)? Monday’s career falls to the wayside of one somehow seemingly heroic act. And when Trivia Night rolls around at your local bar, Rick Monday will forever be remembered as the ballplayer who saved the flag.

Do you have a favorite baseball tradition? Is there a particular ghost of baseball past you would like to revisit? Ever wonder why they do what they do, and when they started doing it? If you have a suggestion, question, or submission for Throwback Thursday, contact Elise by tweeting @Elise_Myers.