Smoke Break

When I first fully immersed myself in baseball, the biggest concern was getting a good number for your Little League jersey. I wore jersey number 9. Now the number 9, as in a 9 p.m. start for west coast games upsets my sleep schedule for the rest of the week.

It’s funny how your perception of a certain sport changes over time.
Growing up, the Oakland Athletics were the lead villains in the theatre of the diamond. Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco were the sluggers getting big on the same workout routine, prayer sessions and Flintstone Vitamins that Hulk Hogan used to create his chiseled frame.

Now I know Canseco and McGwire were injecting some of those Flintstones Vitamins into their Bedrocks. The vitamins might have helped them Bam-Bam the ball, but those injections also shrunk their Barney Rubbles.

Pudge was a nickname given to a great all-around catcher. The man behind the plate had a rocket for an arm (don’t confuse that with Jay Buhner) and one with a direct line to the baseball gods. How else could anyone wave a homerun ball into fair territory?

Given the nickname “Pudge” as a twenty-something baseball fan and you should probably take more swings in the batting cage and less Sliders in the dugout.

Randy Johnson has been “The Big Unit,” throughout my entire life. In intermediate school he was an intimidating, dominating pitcher whose greatest asset was his fastball, followed by his presence on the mound.

He still remains an intimidating pitcher, but now I realize he won’t have to go on the card show circuit when he retires. Royalties from the use of his nickname in adult movies will make him a rich man for a long time.

Slump busters…well slump busters still mean the same thing.

Chris Berman was this neat big man who cleverly mixed “Three Stooges” sound effects in when anyone would bobble a ball in the infield. How fun it was to see this red-faced man, busting with excitement and high cholesterol work into a fervor and yell, “Back, back bac, bac bac, back,” as someone hit a homerun.

Now Chris Berman is the obnoxious big man who refused to leave the ESPN Never Land of the mid 1990’s and still uses the same folksy catchphrases. I later learned his face is not red from excitement over McLemore, Mark but Maker’s Mark. Leather, you’re still with him.

The Ryan Express explained the dominance of Mr. Nolan, the greatest strikeout pitchers of all-time.

Today, I venture to guess that Mrs. Ryan was undoubtedly late even if she jumped on the Ryan Express at the right time.

Even amidst shifting perceptions of baseball, there are some things that still hold true after all these years. John Kruk is fat, Vin Scully is the best voice of the game and Ron Santo chooses to ignore the importance of paying attention. It hasn’t changed my love affair with the game. It’s always good to see an old friend.

Welcome back baseball.