A perfect time to remember lost greats of baseball
In the past few months, we’ve lost some of baseball’s greats: Lou Brock, Joe Morgan, Bob Gibson, Al Kaline, Tom Seaver — all Hall of Famers from the era of my childhood. Hearing of these deaths, I couldn’t help thinking that this was part of the continuing tragedy that is 2020.
During a recent road trip, my wife convinced me to detour to Cooperstown, New York, to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame. It was worth the trip, bringing back a flood of youthful memories.
Seaver, a pitcher whose teams included the New York Mets and Cincinnati Reds and who died on Aug. 31 from complications of Lewy body dementia and COVID-19, was among the many stars featured in the Hall’s welcome video, which would bring any fan to tears.
As I wandered about, I happened on a room dedicated to baseball cards, called “Shoebox Treasures.” It had an area that attracted the attention of a lot of folks around my age called, “The cards your mother threw away.” It seems everyone has my story.
I was off to college when my mom set up one of her neighborhood garage sales and included stacks of my baseball cards. I think she received $5 for the lot. And just like that, my Tom Seaver was gone, as was Juan Marichal, Roberto Clemente, Hank Aaron and Harmon Killebrew. All my childhood heroes. I don’t think I was ever more upset with my poor mother.
Years later we would laugh about the bargain sale of my cherished cards. I would always exaggerate the immense value of my collection: “Mom, I could have bought you and Dad a trip to Hawaii!” The truth is I never would have sold those baseball cards — they represented a time of pure, youthful joy.
I dreamed of being Seaver on the mound as we played a form of corkball in my neighborhood. A strike zone was outlined in chalk on the concrete wall of a pumphouse, and we spent the summer throwing tennis balls to batters of all ages. I had a 12-year-old’s fastball, a slight curve that dropped and a knuckler.
Those were the summers when I saved my lawn-mowing money to buy packets of baseball cards from Topps. I still remember the day I unpeeled the plastic on a set of cards, tossed the long pink stick of gum into my mouth, and screamed, “I got Tom Terrific!”
It seemed every kid my age was absorbed with the beautiful game and the greatness of these talented and humble players.
Now, looking back at a most unusual baseball season due to the ongoing pandemic, I imagine an alternate universe where Seaver is pitching to Morgan, who always flapped his back elbow twice before swinging, while Brock takes a big lead at first base while calmly staring at Tom Terrific … ready to steal another one.
What a wonderful thing to have a childhood that revolved around a simple game. And what a perfect time to reminisce about such days.
Tom Rieland, 64, lives in Clintonville.