The Good Church of Baseball

 

I was pretty excited the first time I went to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum.

I dressed myself that morning.

I was five.

Now, I probably had no real concept of what the Hall of Fame was. I was becoming a baseball-mad kid having been to my first game in 1972 (Bobby Murcer homered. That bond was sealed) and another in '73 before the Yankees left The Bronx to play at Shea Stadium for two years.

The last part of that sentence still raises hives. Bobby Murcer's power disappears in cavernous Shea and he was a former Yankee that October. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

With Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford both being inducted to Cooperstown's hallowed gallery that summer, the time was ripe for Dad to take us all to central New York.

So, yeah, I dressed myself. I have no doubt my mother dutifully laid out clothes and lovingly told me to get ready to leave. In grand Adams style, we were on the road early, thus adding to the moment.

Sometime later, I was helped to the restroom when it was discovered that I put my clothes on ...

...

Over my pajamas.

Baseball pajamas, of course.

Oh, my day was further memorable because I wanted a mini baseball bat from the souvenir shop. But, specifically, I wanted a Yankees bat. So that's what was requested.

What was received was a National Baseball Hall of Fame mini bat with a small Yankees pennant. No mini Yankees bat existed in Cooperstown, NY in the summer of 1974.

I was initially crestfallen. Then, I got over it.

I've visited the Hall so many times since then, often proudly as a tour guide for friends and family and most proudly when I first took Sean there in May 2012.

Not sure if he would appreciate it or, worse, get bored, we apprehensively drove there before having an absolutely glorious day in a largely empty Cooperstown. The high season of the small village is from Memorial Day to Labor Day. On this Saturday, it was peaceful and bucolic.

Its baseball theme has grown over the years. Initially, it was established as a myth, and, to that end, it's now basically the honorary home of baseball. There were few baseball shops along Main St. in 1974 but that number grew over time.

In fact, lunch in '74 was at a coffee shop in a Woolworth-style five-and-dime store.

The Hall has expanded since then. I suppose we've all expanded and changed since then. 

But some things haven't changed, such as the arguments. Sure, it was Mays and Mantle or Ruth and Foxx at one time. Perhaps it was Bench and Munson in our 1971 Impala as we slogged along New York Route 28 out of Kingston.

We are we kidding? We were a Munson family, though my mom liked Johnny Bench.

In that regard, time stops. That's not a longing for the past. That's just meaning some things are timeless.

We can growl at the plaque of Harold Baines, a fine man and player who is in the Hall as a result of cronyism, just as easily as I can snarl at any one of a number of questionable choices.

But it's one of my favorite places. Period.

It's flawed. So flawed.

But it's my church.

*****

I wrote all of the above before I got in the car this morning, just in case I didn't have time in the evening. As I write now, I've just completed a 410 mile round trip drive to and from Cooperstown. 

For Sean, it was his second visit, making good on a promise we'd made some time ago. For me, it's somewhere around 13 trips though I'm not sure I've ever truly kept count.

The impetus -- not surprising -- was Vin Scully passing on Tuesday night. As I watched the coverage Wednesday morning, I thought about ordering a Vin t-shirt from Baseballism, which has a line of Scully items. 

Wait, I thought. Why pay for shipping when there's a Baseballism store in Cooperstown?

Best laid plans.  They had none in the store. Literally.

"He strikes out swinging," Vin might have said. Or not.

In truth, I came home with no souvenirs at all. Sean chided me for hats ("you do have a lot" -- he's not wrong). I suppose that's a surprise but, then again, the memories of today will more than suffice.

Of breakfast here in Greenwich and the drive up the Taconic Parkway.

Of the two interviews -- one with Tony Savino on WGCH and one with "Melissa in the Morning" on WICC. 

Of the Taconic and routes 82 and 23 and 145 (and lots of 145) and 7 and 10 and 165 and 166 and some unique side roads.

Of the stores that were open and those that seem to be closed for good sadly.

Of the museum. The exhibits. The legends. The plaques.

Of a moment at the display for the Ford C. Frick Award where Vin is recognized. It was like pausing for a moment of silence before Sean allowed me to babble on about those announcers and why they matter.

Of a great lunch with wings and fries and a frosty beverage on a hot day for Dad. And toasting a great day.

Of the drive back and dodging rain storms along route 28 to I-88 to route 8 to 17 to 6 to 9 and 9A before getting back to the Taconic.

Of being home safely and deciding we should make it a Father's Day tradition moving forward.

Memories. Laughs. And even a loving pat on the back as we began to leave.

"It's OK," Sean said. "We can always come back."

Yes, we can. In truth, it was probably too crowded today anyway. But there were stolen moments, like at Doubleday Field, where I relived getting to broadcast a game on HAN back in 2015. It was, frankly, a bucket list day that I treasure.

"Everyone STOP and help me find the power strips!"
The quote that hangs over Cooperstown seven years later.

But we also drove to the parking lot of the famed Otesaga Hotel and laughed about the story of missing power strips from that same trip. Sean wasn't even there but we have laughed about it every since.

I can't possibly sum it all up but the joy of a day like this is the joy of sports.

Especially baseball. 

That little kid with his baseball pajamas hidden under his clothes on that August day in 1974 walked with his dad through that museum. 

Those same stories can be relayed through generations in the same place 48 years later.

Those stories stretch from 1974 to 1980, when I bought a Pirates hat with "Stargell Stars." I explained all of that to Sean today.

To 1983. To 1987 and 1988 and 1991. 

And more visits into the 21st century until it was Sean's turn to visit Cooperstown for that first time.

Then that last visit -- broadcast included -- in 2015.

Memories. Stories. Laughs. Baseball.

It's priceless.

The power of memory and our grand game.

The power of a father/son bond.

Please note that I wore a Bobby Murcer retro 1973 Yankees jersey, a blue t-shirt, and camouflage cargo shorts today. No pajama bottoms were present.