Goodbye Jason! You were good...

America's Pastime: My ALDS Experience.

Now, before my cigar followers throw up a fit about another baseball post, I will tell you that cigars played a pivotal roll this particular weekend.

On Tuesday, October 5th, my boss buzzed my office. 

"What are you doing Saturday?" he asked.  "I was planning on working to tell you the truth," I answered, figuring he was casually reminding me to do so.

Boy, was I wrong.

"Want to go to the ball game?"  he asked, probably already knowing the answer.  My response was a combination of disbelief and jubilation.  I reapeated, "The ALDS?!" several times before I went to his office to make sure he wasn't playing a shameles prank or forgot to ask another member of our team if they wanted the tickets first ( I'm the newest member of the office).

I was in awe and overwhelmed by my boss's generousity.  My excitement was very hard to contain.  I usually don't call my wife at work, but this is one of those moments that called for a small infraction of unprofessionalism.  She was equally excited, especially when I asked her to be my guest.

My week reached its high point when my boss handed me the physical tickets.  I held onto them like platinum.

This is the part of the entry where I disappoint some by stating that I have little care for the Texas Rangers.  Don't get me wrong, living in the Dallas-Ft. Worth metroplex this baseball season has been exciting, but I honestly do not consider myself a Texas Rangers fan.  However, I hate the Tampa Bay Rays.  I do love cigars that hail from J.C. Newman Cigar Co, which is located there.  But as far as the Rays are concerned, they can stick it.

The new America's Team.

The day came, Saturday, October 9, 2010.  Between the ALDS, the various college football games being played at Cowboys Stadium, the Cotton Bowl, TCU, UNT, and FC Dallas's game it was estimated that at least one-quarter of a million people were watching a live sporting event at some point that day in the Dallas-Ft. Worth Metroplex. 

My wife and I cheered, ate hot dogs, shared a beer, basked in the sun, and watched in vain as the Rangers could not complete the sweep of the Rays. 

Over the course of the game we met (or came into contact) with some interesting people.

First there were a pair of father & sons, sitting in front of us.  It was a picture that one day I hope to be blessed with.  Except, that these kids were being very obnoxious.  The "awww that's cute" factor wore off rather quickly.  One of the kids had come up with a sign that was very clever at the time.  "SWEEP THE RAYS, CUZ THEY'RE DIRTY!"  Nice, right?  It was extremely clever for his nine year old mind.  However, over the course of nine innings, I heard, "THE RAYS ARE DIRTY!" about 700 times.  The fathers finally wised up and quited them when he shouted, "CARLOS PENA--- YOUR MOM IS DIRTY!"   That was the end of that, eight and half innings too late.

The crowd was electric.

Next, there was George, a sixty-something male sitting behind us with his wife.  As my wife tried to take a photo of us, self-portrait style, George eagerly chimed in, "I'll take a picture for ya!"  As I turned to see Geoge for the first time, I couldn't help but see my future in front of me.  Here was a man, on his feet at baseball game, chewing on an unlit Oliva Serie V belicoso sitting with his wife and grand kids.  I should be so lucky. 

And lastly there was Ricardo, a modest and quiet man about 40 years old.  He also had his son with him.  They also gained amusment from the "dirty kids" in front of us and enjoyed the game.  About the 4th inning, when the Rangers were up 1-0, Ricardo leaned over and asked my wife what we were doing the following day.  No plans.  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two tickets for the possible game four for the next day.  He offered them to us- no charge.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!  "I'm playing the lottery when we get home," I litterally thought to myself.  This was not just awesome, but also interesting.  Had I been a true fan, I would have yelled, "Put those away, don't jinx this!"

The lone Ray fan at the ballpark...he had fun.

Alas, Ricardo must have, the Rangers fell to the Rays 6-3.  The game tied up in the sixth and the Rangers were kicked into submission in the 8th and 9th innings when the Rays went 7-13 in the last two innings, including two home runs.

We left the stadium sad, but excited that we'd be able to return for Game 4 the following day.  As we sat in the car patiently (wink) waiting for cars to move, my wife suggested I light a cigar.  You don't have to tell me twice and I lit up a wonderful Perdomo Lot 23 robusto.  It took us nearly an hour just to get out of the parking lot, but I had great company and an awesome smoke to keep me sane.

Game 4, came and went with as much excitement and ultimate disappoinment in the home team's demise.  The Rays were victorius once again, this time 5-2.  There would be a Game 5 in Tampa Bay and Cliff Lee would return to the mound.




We'll be back tomorrow.

 

Everyone now knows that Texas went onto win the ALDS and advance to meet the Yankees in their first ALCS, still without winning a home game in the playoffs in their history.  While there was no storybook sweep or fantastic come-from-behind victory, there still was baseball.  Fantastic moments painted in my memory by three of my true loves- my wife, cigars, and baseball.



A very warm thank you goes out to my boss, Andrew, for allowing me this amazing experience.  The joy over the course of those 18 innings could have allowed me to fly.



At Game 4.



So, here's to the Rangers and their first ever ALCS birth, may they beat the Yankees into submission and go on to the glory that this team has earned this season.  To the quote a young Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own, "May your feet be swift, may your bats be mighty, and may your balls...be plentiful."

Remember, Ranger fans and all others alike, there is nothing wrong with knowing you are the best.



Regards,
Bear

Proud Moment For This Fan

Lately, I am sure you all have noticed my drift from cigars and my comments on real world events, deaths of famous people, etc.   I anticipate more posts soon that will revolve completely about cigars.  Everyone can look forward to a review I am working on for cigarsdirect.com.  I am also finishing up a piece on maduro leaves, wrappers and cigars.  My next post will more than likely be my re-telling of another tale from this smoker's corner. 

But, today I saw something in the headline that made me smile just a bit.  It has to be obvious what a huge baseball fan I am and that I make no secret that I am proud member of the Red Sox nation.  Through much of my youth and into the early years of adulthood I followed one ball player particularly close: Frank Thomas. 

While my brother worshipped Ken Griffey, Jr. and my father rooted for Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine, my guy was Frank.  "The Big Hurt" got my attention as a kid, because he just seemed larger than life.  While that was supported by his 6'5", 250 pound frame, it was much more than that.  He just seemed to enjoy his time on the field more than most. 

In little league, I wore number 35 in honor of him.  While I never did him justice, he was the player I wanted to be the most.  I met him when I was 22 and asked for an autograph like I was ten years younger.  "Mr. Thomas, you've been my hero since I was real little...please sign this baseball for me."  It was not my proudest moment as a man, but for the kid inside it may have been the best day of my life.  Frank, of course, obliged me with a smile and no hesitancy whatsoever.  Not bad for a guy who only had one at-bat that game.  As he signed the ball, I went on and on about his one at-bat that ended in him advancing to first on a base on balls.  You see, Frank hung in for a 19-pitch at-bat.  Not impressed?  Well, Frank had come into the game to try and get something going.  The opposing pitcher and pitched a three-hit game into the 7th inning.  The pitcher had only thrown 78 pitched thus far and looked to be cruising.  He gave up that third hit on a bloop single just before Frank came into pinch hit.

On pitch 97, after Frank had battled off an array of pitches, carefully chosen his spots and swings, he took his base.  On pitch 98 of the evening, the next batter tagged a line drive to the gap scoring both runners.  As Frank slid into home plate I think I was the only who knew those RBIs belonged to him.  He wore down the pitcher at a key juncture in the game and allowed the game to be tied up.  They scored another run that inning to take the lead and after that there wasn't another base runner for either team.

Frank won that game and nobody knew it.  Nobody really cared.  The paper mentioned his name in the re-cap as the tieing run, but that was it.  I knew.

About 18 months later the Mitchell Report came out.  I was scared and deeply saddened by this hit to baseball.  I scanned the list furiously...no Glavine, no Griffey, no Maddux, and finally no Thomas.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  In my mind there had always been no doubt, but still it scared me as a fan. 

And now, today has come. Frank has returned to the city where his career started and blossomed.  The city of Chicago, the south side's White Sox are retiring his number 35 today and will erect a statue in his honor sometime next year.

"It brought back a lot of memories, thinking about teammates and all the great times and bad times," Thomas said. "It just got to me. Emotion caught up. I'm a very, very proud man today, and this was probably was the proudest day of my life."

For this fan, I couldn't be happier, couldn't be more proud.  You were the best Hurt, we'll miss you on the field, but we'll never forget.  I still haven't.  Thanks.

Remember, be like Frank and know that there is nothing wrong with knowing you are the best.


Regards,

Bear

"THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT, THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT, THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT"- Russ Hodges, 1951

Bobby Thomson is dead at age 86. 

So many times I listened to a recording of Hodges' historical call as a kid.  Whenever I think of baseball, I think of sunny afternoons, the smell of freshly cut grass, hot dogs with mustard, dirt never feeling dirty, and Bobby Thomson. 

Thomson, circa 1951

For this baseball fan, it never seemed to matter that I wasn't alive for his moment.  It never mattered that if forced to, I probably couldn't pick Thomson out of a crowd.  What mattered was the moment itself. 

"The Shot Heard 'Round the World," is a time traveling moment in history.  While the moment lasted merely seconds, it will continue to exist in our hearts and our children's hearts for all time.  

Thomson referred to himself as an "accidental hero."  In many ways, mostly by his own admission, Thomson felt dwarfed in baseball stature compared to some of his teammates.  After all he was surrounded by future Hall-of-Famers Willie Mays and Monte Irvin.  In fact, not many know that it was Mays who was on-deck during Thomson's famous at-bat.  

Nonetheless, while Mays had "The Catch" and Irvin's legend was staked in the Negro Leagues, it is Thomson who will forever be cemented in baseball lore.  

Over half of a century has passed and "The Flying Scot" still heard cheers on the streets of New York.  Old-timers would call out his name, fathers would tell their sons the tale as he passed them in diners, and Brooklyn still cringes when you mention his name.

A man of great composure and love for the game played 15 seasons with the Giants, Milwaukee Braves, Chicago Cubs, Boston Red Sox, and Baltimore Orioles.  The other half of the story, Ralph Branca (the man who threw that now famous pitch to Thomson) would later join forces with him on national tours to describe the moment from both perspectives.  

Thomson and Branca were a part of the "Dodger-Giant War," that existed before both teams moved to the West Coast.  But what was simply a historical rivalry, became legend overnight.  

The passing of this legend brings sorrow to the heart of this writer.  Fortunately, he's in a place where he can run and play again.  There really is something special about heroes.  

So, here's to Bobby Thomson, a humble man, but nonetheless, still one of the best. And there is nothing wrong with knowing you are the best.  

Regards,

Bear