1955 Chicago Cubs. I discovered baseball thanks to WGN that spring. Can't remember where the team finished in the standings. I'm sure it was the second division as it was called back then.
"Banks to Baker to Fondy" is a mantra I remembered immediately when I thought of that team. Ernie hit 44 that year.
When I saw my first game as a young kid, I absolutely could care less about and didn't even notice the skin color of the Cubs' double play combo Ernie Banks and Gene Baker.
I quickly began to read kid's books about baseball and man was I shocked about Jackie Robinson and all of that stuff. I soon thereafter "learned" that those people were trying to take over the neighborhood. I definetly learned to "notice" them. Learned other shit too in my neighborhood from adults who thought the Red Sox were right.
Unlearned it only when I went to a high school where there was fights between the blacks and the whites regularly, but as I began my sports career, I had to depend on guys from east of Ashland Avenue to protect my ass in the pocket. We all hung together, we were cool, and man nobody ever bothered us.
We couldn't walk in oneanother's neighborhood, but we walked together on the field, showered together, won and lost together. What I've learned from sports I could put in a book, which in fact I did.
The innocence of youth spoiled by the prejudice and ignorance of adults.
Sorry about rambling in this thread but I'm in a ramblin' gamblin' mood.
"Banks to Baker to Fondy" is a mantra I remembered immediately when I thought of that team. Ernie hit 44 that year.
When I saw my first game as a young kid, I absolutely could care less about and didn't even notice the skin color of the Cubs' double play combo Ernie Banks and Gene Baker.
I quickly began to read kid's books about baseball and man was I shocked about Jackie Robinson and all of that stuff. I soon thereafter "learned" that those people were trying to take over the neighborhood. I definetly learned to "notice" them. Learned other shit too in my neighborhood from adults who thought the Red Sox were right.
Unlearned it only when I went to a high school where there was fights between the blacks and the whites regularly, but as I began my sports career, I had to depend on guys from east of Ashland Avenue to protect my ass in the pocket. We all hung together, we were cool, and man nobody ever bothered us.
We couldn't walk in oneanother's neighborhood, but we walked together on the field, showered together, won and lost together. What I've learned from sports I could put in a book, which in fact I did.
The innocence of youth spoiled by the prejudice and ignorance of adults.
Sorry about rambling in this thread but I'm in a ramblin' gamblin' mood.
No Charlie it wasn't published. I shouldn't have let that slip out of the closet, but then again my psychological health is steadily improving as I get more and more repressed shit out of me and onto the pages of this forum. And since I did let it out of the closet.... the book did get two very polite and encouraging rejections more than several years back and then I just stuffed it into a drawer.
Such was my tolerance for rejection and my state of mind back then. It was only read by 10 or so folks ever and they were hardly big sports fans. Nevertheless, all but one liked it or so they said.
The book only exists in manuscript form now and I've mentioned to one of those two characters living a bit south of me in Tampa that I would like for them to give it a quick read...only about 200 pages.
Patrick said he and Fish would do so and I will, come to think of it, ask them to post an honest, quick review here after they do. That is, of course, if we ever do manage to get together. If we do, and they do, and if I were a gambling man of sorts, I would wager they would at least enjoy reading it.
I'd like to get their opinions. I did think the story was solid though the writing is maybe fair to middlin' and is uneven. There were often variables such as the amount of bourbon and painkillers I had ingested which clearly had an effect on the quality of the prose on whatever page I was writing and rewriting countless number of times. When I was short on one or both of the mood enhancers, one of which I do need for the old injuries, the quality suffered. I don't profess to be a wordsmith and I'd have work to do, if......naw, I must forget about it. It's a dead project which sadly took two years of my life to complete.
The book is a personal autobiography masquerading as fiction or rather, "partly truth and partly fiction" as Kris Kristofferson once sang in a damn good song I may add.
That it's a bit too personal is what I had trouble with. The portrayal is of a down and out, troubled, career baseball minor leaguer as his career winds down and his days run out in low A ball about where he started. He is facing up to having sabotaged his own career by way of lifestyle though he wants to, but no longer rationally can, blame it on injury [a number of references to Denny McClain], and even worse he must now prepare himself to possibly play in a much tougher and deadlier league in Southeast Asia where the only stat they keep is the body count.
It was difficult to write. He struggles with many personal demons while seeking salvation of anykind. I can't give away any more in a public forum should I should choose to recklessly joust with this venerable windmill once again. Let's just say it's a half dead project for now. I will seriously let Pat and Fish make that call. Nary a page or two of anything have I written the last several years before I discovered, or rather should say got the nerve up to post in here.
It was harder to throw this book out to publishers and then potentially out to the public than it was to throw out Cesar Geronimo, Cito Gaston or Amos Otis out at second. Or even to outhit Pete Rose by 47 BA points in the same league he played in, albeit several years later than he did. I always maintained the pitching was about the same.
Yea, sabotaged by lifestyle......written to kill skeletons in the closet that rattled almost nightly, writing it helped. Still, practically nobody has ever read it.....till maybe now?
Such was my tolerance for rejection and my state of mind back then. It was only read by 10 or so folks ever and they were hardly big sports fans. Nevertheless, all but one liked it or so they said.
The book only exists in manuscript form now and I've mentioned to one of those two characters living a bit south of me in Tampa that I would like for them to give it a quick read...only about 200 pages.
Patrick said he and Fish would do so and I will, come to think of it, ask them to post an honest, quick review here after they do. That is, of course, if we ever do manage to get together. If we do, and they do, and if I were a gambling man of sorts, I would wager they would at least enjoy reading it.
I'd like to get their opinions. I did think the story was solid though the writing is maybe fair to middlin' and is uneven. There were often variables such as the amount of bourbon and painkillers I had ingested which clearly had an effect on the quality of the prose on whatever page I was writing and rewriting countless number of times. When I was short on one or both of the mood enhancers, one of which I do need for the old injuries, the quality suffered. I don't profess to be a wordsmith and I'd have work to do, if......naw, I must forget about it. It's a dead project which sadly took two years of my life to complete.
The book is a personal autobiography masquerading as fiction or rather, "partly truth and partly fiction" as Kris Kristofferson once sang in a damn good song I may add.
That it's a bit too personal is what I had trouble with. The portrayal is of a down and out, troubled, career baseball minor leaguer as his career winds down and his days run out in low A ball about where he started. He is facing up to having sabotaged his own career by way of lifestyle though he wants to, but no longer rationally can, blame it on injury [a number of references to Denny McClain], and even worse he must now prepare himself to possibly play in a much tougher and deadlier league in Southeast Asia where the only stat they keep is the body count.
It was difficult to write. He struggles with many personal demons while seeking salvation of anykind. I can't give away any more in a public forum should I should choose to recklessly joust with this venerable windmill once again. Let's just say it's a half dead project for now. I will seriously let Pat and Fish make that call. Nary a page or two of anything have I written the last several years before I discovered, or rather should say got the nerve up to post in here.
It was harder to throw this book out to publishers and then potentially out to the public than it was to throw out Cesar Geronimo, Cito Gaston or Amos Otis out at second. Or even to outhit Pete Rose by 47 BA points in the same league he played in, albeit several years later than he did. I always maintained the pitching was about the same.
Yea, sabotaged by lifestyle......written to kill skeletons in the closet that rattled almost nightly, writing it helped. Still, practically nobody has ever read it.....till maybe now?
Mr. Jones - If you would be so kind to e-mail your e-mail address at admin@therx.com I would like to discuss this further!
larry kenon was one of most underrated yet spectacular player at the same time. And who can forget the Whopper, Billy Paultz? Never really saw but two minutes of Dr. J in his years with the Nets but saw him in his Sixers years and to think how great he was even though his prime was in Jersey.
That was/must've been a pretty cool team.
That was/must've been a pretty cool team.
