Flashing Back to 1980

BRONX, NY - 1980: Bobby Murcer #2 of the New York Yankees swings at the pitch during a 1980 season game at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, New York. (Photo by Rich Pilling/MLB Photos via Getty Images)

I'm reading a book tonight in preparation for a radio interview.

Called Phinally! The Phillies, the Royals and the 1980 Baseball Season That Almost Wasn't, author J. Daniel (on Twitter: @JDaniel2033) goes back to the year Bobby Murcer hit .269 with 13 homers and 57 RBIs.

Besides being the dawn of the greatest decade ever (other than the lack of a World Series title for the Bombers), 1980 was the year in which an 11-year-old future broadcaster went to a baseball card show at the Baldwin Place Mall (sort of RIP, since it's now Somers Commons and isn't anything like the mall that was there) and began assembling his treasured Bobby Murcer baseball card collection.

I still have it, and last added to it in Cooperstown a few years ago. Who knew I didn't have every card?

This was also during the years in which, despite being an insane baseball fan, I was lucky to get to a game per year. I found myself reminiscing about it on "Doubleheader" last Friday.

So I began to remember: A Sunday at the Stadium. April 20. Sat downstairs on the first base line. Brewers/Yankees. Bombers won, 9-5. They hit four home runs: Reggie, Eric Soderholm, Rick Cerone, and I couldn't remember the fourth. Rob Guidry was the starting pitcher, and Ron Davis (Ike's dad) had an at-bat in the game (an absolute rarity at that time).

I remember a guy sitting near us yelling to Cerone to "hit one for New Jersey." Since, you know, Cerone was a Jersey guy.

I, of course, said, "Hit one for New York!"

He did.

I went with Patrick Urell (a blog reader!) and his father.

Then I looked the game up on Baseball Reference. All I can say is that I'm a sick man, and only forgot that Willie Randolph hit the fourth of the home runs.

That year was right at the back end of a great six season run for the Yankees that spoiled me. With their World Series appearance in 1976 (and subsequent loss to the Cincinnati Reds; I still haven't forgiven them) and championship in 1977, I began to think it would be a rite of passage.

Another title came in '78 before the decline in '79 (the Orioles were too good, and Thurman Munson died).

The Yankees of 1980 were supposed to get back to their winning ways, and get my man Murcer to his first World Series.

After winning 103 games, they flopped in a three-game playoff sweep to the Kansas City Royals.

They'd make the Series in the strike-shortened '81 season, but lost to the Dodgers in six.

After that, the dark days began. '82-'93 were, at best, a roller coaster of mediocrity. The Mets won in '86, and I was stuck rooting for the Red Sox (imagine that?).

The strike wiped out the chance at a title in '94. They reached the playoffs in '95, and the earth was put back on its axis in '96.

But I can still see that 1980 season. I can still see almost meeting Yogi Berra (I looked him right in the eye) before a guard turned us away. I can still see Bobby Murcer shagging fly balls with Lou Piniella in the outfield, but otherwise being anchored on the bench that April day.

I can still see them winning the first game of a doubleheader on Saturday to win the American League East on the big TV in the living room (on WPIX, of course).

I darted out into the yard to hit Wiffle balls before we went to the Crompond Diner (RIP).

There were no problems in life. That summer felt like an explosion of real life for me, as life tends to hit right around that age sometimes.

By 1981, I'd be an uncle ("Uncle").

In 1980 there was still innocence, and baseball was still king (in my life, though football was really creeping in).

I'm excited for that interview. Listen Monday at 3pm on WGCH.