Our sometime contributor and always ally in the Right way, Eric P. has produced a winning documentary — the first two parts of which he has linked to below in his post. It is well done and my appetite is whetted for the rest. I have an Oscar Gamble Topps card or three I think. I loved my baseball cards — which is why most of them are worth nothing except to me. I looked at those things endlessly — they are no longer in “Mint” condition. No kid in the 1970s wanted Mint anything unless such words as “York” “pepper” or “spear” were attached.
One of the main lessons — the hitters of today (and of 1998) would not be able to survive the likes of Bob Gibson, Don Drysdale, Satchel Paige, etc. For me — the following is the quintessential dividing line between “old school” — “golden age” “classic” whichever you wish — and “new school” baseball. This is akin to Hannibal at Cannae. He won the battle, but also lost the war.
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Floyd, you are a mensch! That’s right, I’m a Gentile and use that word, gawdammit! Every time I’ve looked for this clip at YouTube, come up empty-handed, so many thanks.
Methinks you’re gonna love the section of Looking for Oscar where Bill Lee lays down his theories on the division between pitchers and hitters. Who am I kidding? All of Bill’s theories are amusing in one form or another. Too bad he’s such a Castro-loving commie.
Oh, as for baseball cards, I’m curious how many kids from the 70s didn’t not have tons of extra Butch Wynegar cards at the ready for the spokes in their bikes.
The Spaceman is the only one allowed to be Communist and remain endearing. He’s so out there that he proves it’s not a viable theory just by his utter spaciness. Who would adopt the worldview of that guy? Listen to him tell stories? Forever.
I had enough Chris Speier cards to build a small, but livable, house.
I do have a rookie Mike Schmidt though (with the added bonus of rookie Ron Cey also being on it) my only real great one. I had a few Bob Gibsons and Willie Mays from 1973 along with Johnny Bench, but they’re not in good condition at all.
Nolan Ryan all around bad-ass. Growing up in Texas and being a sometimes pitcher, what’s not to love.
I’m sure Robin Ventura caught nothing but crap about getting his ass kicked by an “old man”…as well he should.
A signed picture of Nolan in his blood soaked uniform reciently went for over 2K at a charity auction in Dallas.
There’s a great story about this fight. Some guy actually had the cahones to ask Ventura about it at an autograph signing a couple years ago.
Apparently, Ryan had thrown at him before. In the on-deck circle, Ventura shouted to him not to do it again, or he was coming out. Ryan just gave him a grin. Ventura warned him again in the batter’s box, and Ryan shot back another grin before plunking him.
So Ventura half-heartedly jogs out, thinking “Oh great, I’m about to fight a legend. I’ll just grab him softly and take him to the ground and that will be the end of it.”
Ventura said he got up there, grabbed Ryan and said it was like “tackling a telephone pole.” The man wouldn’t budge. He knew then he was in deep shit.
And one more thing. I’ve been to the World Series before, and despite that, the best baseball game I ever attended was a brawl. Man they are fun.
I’ll take my own sick self back to the padded room now …
Every time a brawl breaks out — or a skirmish as the fiancee gleefully calls them — I get all misty I’ve never seen one live. Was there when Fernando Tatis smacked two grannies against the Dodgers, saw turf get thrown to the upper deck seats my dad and I had for Game 5 in 1984, ended up on ESPN when I dropped a just-over-the-wall home run back onto the field at the Big A…but never a brawl