Reclaiming Baseball

The Royals gave me back priceless memories of my days as a Milwaukee Braves fan. I barely remember what I did yesterday, but the names of my heroes – Warren Spahn, Joe Adcock, Dell Crandall, Eddie Matthews, Joe Torre and Hank Aaron are forever.

I was a tomboy in a neighborhood full of boys. In the summer, if we weren’t playing baseball, we were listening to it on the radio. Earl Gillespie’s play by play was awesome. My older brother, Doug and I attended lots of games at County Stadium.

Thanks to his paper route, Doug was rich. Sometimes he let me help him put the papers together and deliver them. If my babysitting money didn’t cover expenses, he subsidized me. Reliable as mailmen, in nice weather we pulled a wagon, and in the winter we dragged a sled through the snow.

It was only fifty cents to sit in the bleachers. We never splurged on snacks. Water from a “bubbler” (Milwaukee’s term for a drinking fountain) was all we needed.

We grabbed our gloves, and took off early to get in on batting practice. It was a safer time, and we walked over three miles to the stadium from the time we were ten and twelve. We stayed on the sidewalks unless we were running late, then we cut across the Miller Brewing Co. property – scared to death we’d get caught and sent to jail.

I remember a game that went into extra innings. We had no way to let Mom know, but we certainly weren’t going to leave before it was over. The Braves won. We hustled out of the stadium and took a shortcut across Hwy 94. Back then it wasn’t as daring as it would be now, but we knew our parents wouldn’t approve.

As I climbed over the fence, my foot slipped and I punctured the side of my calf on a spike at the top. Just a little drop of blood appeared, but I was sure I’d get an infection and probably lose my leg. Doug was sympathetic, but we had no time to waste on battle wounds. He made me promise not to tell Mom about my leg no matter what.

We got a scolding, but I was too worried about my leg to remember much. I rarely hid anything from Mom, so I suffered terrible guilt, but kept quiet. I’d rather lose a leg than be banned from going to any more games.

The highlight of our stint as Braves’ fans was picture day. Our favorite players, the ultimate “rock stars” of our world, came out to the fence and allowed us to photograph them. They signed autographs on anything you brought them. We had a baseball Doug caught during batting practice. That ball, signed by all our heroes, and painted with clear nail polish to preserve it forever, was our most prized possession.

It was put away somewhere for safekeeping. We hoped to find that treasure after our parents passed. It would’ve been a bright spot in a job full of sadness, but it never showed up.

Children, divorce, and work took too much time to allow for baseball. It wasn’t until the KC Royals amazing run last year that I again paid attention. I thank Moose, Hoz, Escabar, Ben, Morales, Cain, Gordon and all the rest for connecting me to those remarkable memories.

GO ROYALS!

THEY DID IT THEIR OWN WAY!!

2015 ROYALS WORLD CHAMPIONS!!!!!!