As baseball fans long for the return of their sport of choice, many are getting their fixes with various sports channels’ replays of classic games such as the Reds versus the Red Sox in the 1975 World Series, Game 7 of the Indians-Cubs series in 2016 and others.
While these are certainly interesting to watch, the thoughts of this baseball junkie go back to the roots of my baseball fandom: The summer of 1961.
That was my first year of Little League baseball. While I loved playing on the empty lots in my neighborhood with my friends, having an actual flannel uniform styled after the ones used by major league players accelerated my love of the game.
My three years in Little League laid a solid foundation for my affinity for baseball and my attachment to the Cleveland Indians. At the conclusion of our 1961 season, our league was invited to the old Municipal Stadium when the Indians’ sponsored Little League Day.
The date was Sunday, August 13, and the opponent were an expansion team, the Los Angeles Angels. Hundreds of Little Leaguers got into the game free and were permitted to walk around the track prior to the game.
As I recall, our seats were in the upper deck in left field at the cavernous old stadium, but baseball seemed as big as all outdoors to us 10-to-12-year-old kids. We were seeing the pros in person. We had the baseball cards of Willie Kirkland, Bubba Phillips (I also had his autographed glove), Jim Piersall and Barry Latman.
The Indians lost that day, 8-7, thanks to a five-run seventh inning by the Angels, but that did not dampen our enthusiasm. Improbably, Cleveland catcher John Romano hit a ball into the upper deck near our seats (sadly foul) and one of our group got a souvenir.
That only whetted my appetite to watch the boys of summer. The next year, my Police team won the city championship, mostly due to our left-handed pitcher/first baseman, Tom Roberts, and I was in baseball heaven.
However, for reasons I cannot recall, I was not able to make the trip for Little League Day 1962. To compensate, my dad and grandfather started a family tradition that summer that lasted for years to come. The three of us went to a game on our own.
Dad liked to pick a Sunday doubleheader, which were common in those days. In 1962, the Yankees were in town this afternoon. Our seats were in the upper deck down the right field line. Incredibly, the Tribe swept the New Yorkers, 6-1 and 6-3.
The stadium was a sell-out, with over 70,000 in attendance. The Yankees’ roster was loaded with stars such as Micky Mantle (although the oft-injured outfielder made only a pinch-hitting appearance in the second game), Roger Maris and Yogi Berra, who hit a home run in the losing cause in the second game.
What an experience for a wide-eyed 11-year-old. It did nothing but fire my love for baseball. I looked forward to Little League Day 1963.
My dad volunteered to be one of the parents who drove us to Cleveland that year. My teammate, Bill Musser, and I, rode in the back seat of Dad’s brand new 1963 Mercury Monterey.
Bill and I brought along some of our best baseball cards to compare on the trip up. Bill talked me into trading him my Carl Yazstremski for his Gary Geiger, a swap I still regret.
That day proved to be a marathon as the Indians played a doubleheader against the Red Sox. Cleveland lost the opener, 8-3, but it was the second game that was burned in my memory. It was a classic that went 15 innings (my dad was ready to leave after 12), and the Indians’ salvaged a split, 2-1.
The game was scoreless through nine innings, then Boston scratched out a run off Indian’s lefty Jack Kralick, who had started the game. In the bottom of the frame, with two outs, Tito Francona hit a two-out solo shot to re-tie the contest at 1-1. Francona (father of current Tribe manager, Terry) also drove in the winning run in the 15th.
I was hooked for life. Years of frustration followed, however, with only a few glimmers of hope (1968’s third-place finish comes to mind) until Jacobs Field generated the renaissance of baseball in Cleveland in the 1994.
But it was those early memories that are still special to me. When asked about my favorite Indians of all time, the names that flash to mind are Sam McDowell, Max Alvis, and Fred Whitfield rather than Albert Belle, Omar Vizquel, Jim Thome or Francisco Lindor.
In any case, I still miss baseball. The coronavirus has changed many areas of life and it will be interesting to see what the new normal will be for sports, including baseball.
In the meantime, I will sit and wait for a replay of Sonny Siebert’s 1966 no-hitter to show up on ESPN. Google it.