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IS THERE CRYING IN BASEBALL? WELL, THIS IS A NEW YORK METS FAN IN MORTAL GRIEF!  |
Hate watching grown men cry? Then avoid baseball.
of TheColumnists.com
Tom Hanks, playing
the role of an alcoholic former star player turned World War
II manager of an all girls baseball team in “A League of
Their Own,” reminds his players--Madonna, Geena Davis, Rosie
O’Donnell and company--“There’s no crying in baseball.”
C’mon, Tom.
He may have gotten it right in “Saving Private Ryan,”
“Sleepless in Seattle,” “Big,” “Philadelphia,”
and “Splash,” but he sure got it wrong in the lady
baseball epic.
There’s crying in baseball. Tons of it. By just about everybody.
On the last day of the regular baseball season in New York, the
third year manager, Willie Randolph, could have filled a bucket
of balls with a torrent of tears.
And the fans?
Wow. Shea Stadium was, for crying out loud, the crying capital
of North America as old kids and young kids, black kids and white
kids, gals and guys filled their handkerchiefs with the frustration
of the Mets.
So many people are now walking around New York City with paper
bags over their faces or dark glasses covering their eyes on
cloudy days. Why? Because most Mets fans are now in the Mets
witness protection program, afraid to be seen publicly, for fear
Yankee fans and others will embarrass them with ridicule.
No crying?
Mickey Owen cried in 1941 when he allowed Hugh Casey’s curve
ball or spitter to escape his glove and the Yankees rallied for
a 3-1 Series win and the next day’s triumph.
Cal Abrams cried when he was thrown out at home in the last game
of the 1950 season as those dreaded Phillies outlasted the Dodgers
for their first pennant in 35 years.
Ralph Branca cried when Bobby Thomson did that dirty deed in 1951 and snatched a Brooklyn triumph out of the jaws of inevitability.
The first big crying jag in baseball that
I personally witnessed occurred October 13, 1960 when the Pittsburgh
Pirates defeated the New York Yankees in the seventh game of
the World Series on the game’s first Series walkoff homer
by Bill Mazeroski.
As the season winds down to the precious few, it is a good bet
that as the late games of October or the possible games of November
are played, there will be lots of crying in baseball. A relief
pitcher gives up the game-winning homer. A ground ball (a la
Bill Buckner who never cried) slithers under a player’s
leg. A .300 hitter and 100 RBI guy takes a called third strike
with the tying run leading emotionally off of third base.
Players cry in the dugouts, in the ramps leading to the locker
rooms, in their clubhouses alone from the media and late at night
in the solace of a soothing drink at the neighborhood bar.
In the 1960 Yankee loss, Mickey Mantle, the home run king, the
Hall of Famer, the tough guy Yankee with the adoring crowd, bawled
his head off in the crowded, sticky, smelly visiting team clubhouse
at long gone Forbes Field.
Legend had it that Mickey was so distraught at the bitter loss
that it all came pouring out of him in tears. It was a tough
loss, the seventh Series game always is, and Mantle was as emotional
a player as there was. But that was not why.
His humanity caused him to break down.
In those faraway days the media was still allowed to hang around
the now off-limits training room, watch as players were bandaged
up, chat with sore-armed pitchers and console losing players
that you might even care about.
When I entered the small room, shortstop Tony Kubek lay on a
long table. Blood dripped from his neck and a towel covered most
of the area. It was red with Kubek’s blood.
In the eighth inning of that game, Kubek was hit in the throat
by a hard ground ball off the bat of Pittsburgh centerfielder
Bill Virdon, later a Yankee manager. It knocked Kubek to the
ground. He was helped to his feet by trainer Gus Mauch and examined
inside the locker room by local doctors.
The game ended with that dramatic blow by Mazeroski and the press
was admitted inside the Yankees clubhouse in a few short minutes.
Kubek was still on that table when I entered the room and the
flowing blood made me ill. Mantle walked in just behind me.
He took one look at Kubek and burst into tears. This was a pal,
a teammate, a longtime friend and his health meant an awful lot
more than the loss of a baseball game, even a Series game.
Five years later Kubek was out of the game. He was not yet 29
years old
“I remembered that scene for a long time afterwards,”
Mantle told me years later. “It just broke my heart to see
Tony like that.”
Baseball is a game of much sadness. Three successes out of 10
chances at the plate make you a star. One wrong pitch after 20
victories make you the goat of a town.
Tom Hanks may not think there is crying in baseball. Let him
watch a team blow a pennant or another team blow a Series in
a few weeks. Let him see a serious injury.
You bet there’s crying in baseball. It wouldn’t be
inaccurate to change the name of the sport to the Crying Game.
©2007 by Maury Allen. The Maury Allen caricature is ©2001 by Jim Hummel. The illusration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted Oct. 5, 2007.
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