Well the Pirate fan in me tried to ignore all the ex-Buccos patrolling the dugout and foul lines for the Tigers while they were (altogether too quickly) eliminating my no-show A's last week.  But now that that's all over and done with, I can freely root for the Detroits the rest of the way, and here's a big reason why:

Jim Leyland  Manager
Don Slaught  Hitting Coach
Lloyd McClendon  Bullpen Coach
Gene Lamont  Third Base Coach
Rafael Belliard  Infield Coach
Andy Van Slyke  First Base Coach  

The only coach on the Tigers staff with no apparent Pirates connection is Chuck Hernandez the Pitching Coach.

Funny that Willie Randolph might also end up managing in the series.  I'm one of probably only a handful of people who might remember being in the Three Rivers crowd on that day back in the mid 70s ('75?) when Willie got his first major league hit.

I've often said that what I really want for a gift is for my team to win on my birthday.  Since it's in mid-October, that hope has always been imbued with extra meaning, and of course, has rarely even been a possibility. This year, thanks to the A's, it's going to happen.  

I was afraid they'd schedule this game for daytime (after calling in with "NineInning-gitis" last week, I was loath to take another day off work), but I saw during the Mets/Dodgers game it would be Tuesday at 5pm.  Hallelujah!

Out of superstition I'd better not tell you what I'll be wishing for but my promise to you all is that I will be sure to blow out ALL forty five of the candles on my birthday cake.

What a great season the A's are having, especially at home.  It seemed like they've been winning every game I've been to, so I decided to review my ticket stubs and figure out what the A's record has been at the games I've attended.

I've been to 32 games, and the A's are 22-10 in those games.  After starting 2-5, they've gone 20-5 since May 5. And, incredibly, they've won the last ten games I've attended.  

I go to a lot of games, and expect to see the A's take a bunch of losses, but they just seem to win all the time, especially recently.  This is FAN NIRVANA (though I'd still rather be watching it all from sect. 317)!

Are there other crazies out there who keep track of the A's record in the games they've attended?  Anybody got a perfect record (either you haven't seen 'em lose, or you're the ultimate trooper who's been to every game)?

On the morning of the first day of 1973, my eleven year old mind was full of football.  Achingly full, as I'd just endured the critical losses of both my two teams (Steelers and Penn State in playoffs and Sugar bowl) the day before.   In light of my more recent passions the baseball season was a dim memory; it had ended badly for me, too, with the loss of my Pirates to the Reds in the NLCS.  Larger concerns like earthquake victims in Nicaragua and the war in Vietnam I was content to ignore, as young children are entitled.  So after a quick breakfast (Wheaties, no doubt), I ran out of the house and down the street to the neighbors' large corner lot where we played pickup football.

As the kids were gathering, one of them broke the awful news, "Did you hear about Clementy?"  

"No.  What about him?"

"He's DEAD.  His plane crashed.  I saw it on TV."

This was simply not possible; I ran home immediately but found no solace in the confirmation of the news.  I spent the entire day in my room, balling my eyes out, utterly inconsolable.  And yet, still, I couldn't believe it.  Surely the great Roberto would have been able to break a window and jump out of the plane as it was falling.  Surely my hero and absolute idol, so Godlike in my mind, would soon be seen swimming to shore.  But as the certainty of his end became obvious with the passing of time, hope faded away, and was replaced by sadness.  So much sadness, especially for his family.  The image of Roberto, Jr. kissing a large photograph of his father is still gut-wrenchingly painful to me.  And the hope of his survival was also replaced, strangely, by anger and confusion.  Anger that he would so willingly give his life for a place I'd never even heard of.  The Why of it I just could not comprehend.  

David Maraniss' new book, Clemente:  The Passion and Grace of Baseball's Last Hero takes me right back to that terrible day, and it also goes a long way toward explaining the Why of it which was so difficult for me to get my eleven year old mind around.  Maraniss has succeeded both in creating a work which brings us closer to an understanding of not only the part of Clemente that was the baseball player (one of the most misunderstood superstars of his time), but also the whole man.  It is an imperfect work, though, which is as it should be; it is fighting the considerable combined forces of Time and Enigma which have contrived to distance us further from the part of the Clemente story which rightfully abides in myth.  

Maraniss' description and storytelling are superior, but it is the research and anecdotal material derived from interviews where the skill of the author is most apparent.  I love a book with footnotes, and this one has 351 of them.  Scores of former teammates and adversaries, family members, and friends were interviewed in researching the book, and from these many viewpoints, a picture of a most complicated man materializes.  One who is at times both heroic and comic, sacred and profane, thoughtful and emotionally passionate, fiercely proud and touchingly humble.

Exquisite details ranging from the obscure to the profound abound in the text: Branch Rickey's skeptical assessment of the young talent, Roberto's reverent and awkward manner in courting his future wife, Vera, his apparent skill as a self taught chiropractor, the explanation of his choosing the number 21, his haunting fear of dying in a plane crash.  Many pages are devoted to describing the Puerto Rico of his youth, and attention is given to the earlier generation of great baseball players from the island, including the sad story of Hiram Bithorn.  In fact, some of the best moments in the book describe his relationship to the people and land of Puerto Rico, and many of the most telling descriptions in the book come from the interviews with Clemente's fellow Puerto Ricans. It is obvious that these interviews were conducted in Spanish, and they create a balance with the more "American" viewpoint from which earlier Clemente biographies have been drawn, and from which, of course, readers like myself have mostly been informed.  

The book would be incomplete without describing the Great One's many run-ins with the press, and Maraniss certainly does not disappoint, with numerous examples both frustrating and humorous.  His frequent quotes from the Pittsburgh Courier, a small circulation "black" newspaper of the time are refreshing.  Even the Courier, though, would quote Clemente with phonetic spellings of his mispronunciations which even I knew annoyed him back then, and thus we see that beyond being an outsider because of his skin color, he was doubly an outsider because of his difficulty with the English language.  In fact, one of the strongest themes of the book chronicles the racism which he encountered upon his arrival in the United States.  The descriptions of the Jim Crow treatment of black athletes in Florida for spring training are shocking, and Clemente was in the thick of it.

Maraniss' treatment of the baseball side of Clemente is equally exciting and revealing, though not really where the book discovers new things.  When Maraniss delivers us the voices of the players of Clemente's generation, though, (names like Jose Pagan, Manny Sanguillen, Steve Blass, Vic Power, Orlando Cepeda)  descriptions of on field events get magical, as they should in a book that will undoubtedly only be filed in the "Sports" section at Barns Ignoble.  Maraniss' analyses of Clemente as a baseball player might fall short of perfection, however, for the sabermetrically minded.

Details concerning the earthquake, Nicaraguan dictator Somoza's hampering of relief efforts, the plane crash and aftermath are painstakingly revealed.  In the footnotes the author describes his acquisition of two dusty boxes of legal and Federal Aviation Agency documents labelled "Clemente" as striking the goldmine, and he delivers the story to the reader effectively.  It is simply appalling to learn the details of the circumstances of the crash; the futile tragedy is revealed in all its ignominy.

Much of the last chapter of the book is devoted to memories of the death of Clemente by people who were close to him.  Many describe strikingly similar reactions to my own upon hearing the news on that stark January morning.  The reaader gets a sense of a great community of people who loved the man and have mourned him these thirty some years, and it is gratifying for one who shares the sentiment to bask in it.  Thankfully Maraniss also avoids worshipping Clemente, and many stories reflect what a straightforward, even crude man he could be at times.  

This book is a must read not only for older fans like myself who want to know more about one of the great baseball personalities, but also for young fans who want to learn more of the history, not only of the game, but of the world that surrounds the game.  

Pretty funny "content" over at:   http://www.theonion.com/content/node/50814

"After five years of serving Pittsburgh as their state-of-the-art sporting facility, PNC Park, the home of the rundown, poorly maintained Pirates, said Tuesday it is threatening to leave Pittsburgh unless a new team can be built within the next three years".

As I mentioned in yesterday's thread I went to this one.  Had great seats in the first row behind the Giants dugout (you know they're good seats when you realize that's Orlando Cepeda sitting five seats over from you!).

Not many Pirate fans in attendance, to be sure, though I saw one guy in a '71 gold cap and Steelers 58 jersey (I could have sworn he was swilling an Iron as well).  There is a general benign disdain for the Pirates by the average Giants fan, as though it's somehow beneath them to have to play such a bush league outfit; their true hatred, of course, is reserved for the Dodgers and somewhat less so for their other division rivals.

Nice to come up with a win, but it sure seems like we lucked out to get it, as the tying run would easily have scored if an INCREDIBLY stupid Giants fan hadn't interfered on that double (on a hit and run mind you- or "run and hit" as the Gunner would've called it) in the ninth.  Gonzales, truthfully, gave it up and was the beneficiary of some big time good luck there.

Santos was very impressive.  He was mixing it up really well.  Great play by Sanchez and Casey on that pesky bunt attempt.  Man were the Giants fans HOWLING about the call, but I thought it was a good one (I would, right? actually my Giants fan friend thought he got him too). Torres was lights out for the second night in a row.  Interesting to notice that hardly any Giants fans seemed to remember him (though he is a big goat in their history).

The offense got just enough done, with Casey an unbelievable four for four (after a four for five the night before), and Bay's homer the decider.  Really it wasn't enough offense, as it turned out, since the Giants really should have tied it in the ninth.    

It was a nice ride on BART back to Oakland.  In a car filled with baseball fans, I was the only one wearing a Pirates cap.

Here's a link ( http://altoonacurve.com/news/?id=5227 )to an article on a pretty hilarious Promotion the Altoona Curve are doing: "Frivolous Lawsuit Night".  

My favorite is "137 women 18 and older will receive a free cup of lukewarm coffee".

Sometimes when I read the comments on this site I think maybe we should organize a class action frivolous lawsuit against the Pirates front office!

which everyone knows were at Forbes Field.  

Here's the link:
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/06130/688769-63.stm  It's actually rather sad to read, as it really sheds light on the pathetic end to the legend's great career: the image from the article of him shuffling back to his hotel after realizing his hopes to be a manager are not to be fulfilled will stay with me forever.

Does anyone else have Forbes memories they'd like to share?  I'd love to read them.  

I was born in '61 (conceived during the off-season of '60, with my parents basking in the glory of the WS victory over the hated Yanks), and I made the trip from State College to Forbes about 5 or 6 times before they tore it down.  Mostly my memories are of driving a long time, then being SUPREMELY disappointed when Clemente wasn't in the starting lineup (this must have happened more than once, as I remember it very vividly).  I did, thankfully, get to see him play on several occasions; we even have a Clemente opposite field extra base hit on old grainy super 8 film... absolutely classic.

I want to recommend this article (I got the hard copy magazine, but I'm guessing you can read it on line as well- sorry don't have the link).

Absolutely incredible and heartwarming story about Hines Ward returning to Korea (he was born there) with his Korean mother to "rid himself of the hurt and anger- and shame" he felt growing up the ultimate outsider in American culture.  

My favorite part of the article describes when asked to sign an autograph, Ward would write: "THANKS FOR HELPING ME LEARN ABOUT KOREAN TRADITION. GO STEELERS."