July 4th produces oodles of pride in our grand ol' nation.
There will be hot dogs galore and picnics and potato salad and burgers and whatever else you desire.
And I've celebrated right along with you over the years. Today, frankly, it's just another day as I sit in the living room. There are no picnics. No invitations.
Oh, and no baseball, since the Gades are in Lakewood, NJ to play Jersey Shore.
To be blunt, I have little interest in what the Yankees are up to. I hate interleague play, I detest the Subway Series, and the Yankees are awful.
So Sean and I are likely heading out to lunch/dinner and we'll listen to idiots around us setting off fireworks, which scare animals, except for our trusty Rascal.
Last night -- since it was July 3rd and why not set them off anyway? -- our squeaky cat sat wide-eyed at times before curling up near my feet and sleeping. He'll run whenever he hears a car door or a strange voice but thunder? Fireworks? No biggie.
In my usual style of burying the lead, July 4th makes me also think of a few things, some that I post about every year...
- Dave Righetti. Maybe you didn't see that one coming. The lefthander did something on July 4th, 1983 that hadn't happened for the Yankees since Oct 8, 1956.
He pitched a no-hitter, beating the Red Sox at Yankee Stadium, 4-0. As was the thing in those days, we had some kind of a picnic (probably just because). Back then, we didn't have cable, and the game was on Sportschannel (with Mel Allen on the call).
Now, it wouldn't have been out of the norm for me to rig up some kind of radio but for whatever reason, it didn't happen on this day. A few hours after first pitch, I made my way to a stereo that I had down in the basement.
I turned it on and heard Frank Messer relay the news on the post-game show: no-hitter. Much as I would in Las Vegas when I discovered that I had missed David Wells' perfect game (pre-smartphone, of course), I stood in shock, slightly sickened over missing it.
This is what it sounded like on radio, with Messer's call. Frank, in my opinion, is still vastly underrated and was the first broadcaster to teach me how to call a game. He was the "pro" of the booth, since Bill White and Phil Rizzuto were both former players. I couldn't find Allen's call.
Some of my friends did watch it, which only added to my grief if you will. It would take two more years before my parents got cable -- almost in time for Live Aid.
- Lou Gehrig. The Iron Horse is prominent in my mind on July 4th for his gut-wrenching speech in front of a packed Yankee Stadium in 1939. The words still ache: "For the past two weeks, you've been reading about a bad break. Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."
He sort of knew what he was facing, though his wife Eleanor kept some of the details from him. Still, he knew he'd never play again. His mostly off-the-cuff speech still sits high among the greatest speeches in American history, let alone sports.
It was brave and emotional. We've reviewed the details many times here but I can't let July 4th go by without thinking about Lou.
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| 1936 |
- Little Donald Adams. That would be my dad, of course, who had a firecracker explode in his mouth at the age of six. Dad was paranoid about fireworks for the rest of his life. To his credit, he never stopped us from having them but they always came with the patented warning:
"You be DAMN careful!"
Thus when one went off in my hand one night as I did a full windup, it reminded me that 1) He'd flip his lid if I got hurt and 2) I'm a bleeping idiot for not just flinging it.
I was fine, shockingly. There was a brief sting in my hand but other than a yelp of shock from me, nothing came of it.
Every July 4th, I feel the need to share this.
So be careful tonight.
DAMN careful.
Happy birthday, America.
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