Baseball Diary Vol 1, #14

September 29, 1982
Los Angeles

"A whole country was stirred by [their] high deeds and thwarted longings...The team was awesomely good and yet defeated. Their skills lifted everyman's spirit and their defeat joined them with everyman's existence." Roger Kahn
Cover Image by Jagne Parks


(Note from the Editor: For the last few weeks of Baseball '82, I asked some of our mailing list to cover specific games that I felt were of great importance. The following communication was received in the form of a memorandum to me on September 28; it is from the poet of Chavez Ravine, John "Jack" Hastings.)

Report from Chavez Ravine, Interrupted
by Jack Hastings

Jefe: Before you read any further, why don't you take a lemon, stuff it into the top of an ice-cold Tecate, and take a long, long pull. Feeling better? Good.

I got some good news and I got some bad news. The bad news is that there ain't no in-depth story on the second game of the Dodgers-Giants three-game series complete with locker room interviews and glossies like you assigned me to do last week and what took you six months to arrange to get a Baseball Diary reporter into the showers and like that. And the further bad news is that you'll be getting your generous advance check back drawn on the Banco de Ensenada as I spent the whole wad but I swear I'll pay it back to you, honest.

The good news is -

Come to think of it, I guess I only got bad news.

Look, if you haven't already ripped this memorandum to shreds (you're so brutal when you're angry) I want you to take another long one or maybe two off that Tecate and tive me a chance to explain how I became the victim of not just circumstance or even fate but what I suspect is a conspiracy on the part of the entire city of San Francisco.

It all began last Friday night. There I was diligently absorbing the stats on the Dodgers and the Giants and fixing them into my memory bank with boilermakers when a knock came upon the door. It was Jagne Parks (you know, BD's art director and my main squeeze) and Tommy DiMarco (you know, manager of the BD so9ftball team and bookmaker to the stars). It looked like a party to me but Jagne was upset. She'd just gotten a call from a couple of long-time chums who had, like her, left the Old Country for a new start on the West Coast. Unfortunately they had picked San Francisco as their new turf and for all the warmth of their reception they might as well've tried mining for pitchblende on the North Slope. The shaft they would've ended up with there wouldn't have been any bigger than the one they got from Baghdad by the Bay. After months of the ol' scrimp and scrape for quarters off the Golden Gate Bridge, with about as much success as the Minnesota Twins, the poor lads (Thom-with-an-H and Matt) had decided to chuck it and head back to the home and hearth and kith and kin of Richmond, VA posthaste. They had only called Jagne to say goodbye.

She was desolated. DiMarco and I explained to her about the hearless arrogance of the typical San Franciscan and how the chums would be better off in Jonestown than that city but she was not to be consoled.

We were in a quandary.

Here was Jagne all moping and sad and spoiling the whole Friday night what should be spent drinking and yelling. And there was Thom-with-an-H and Matt ground down to the nub by those rice-a-ronoid Giant-lovers. It was one of your decisive moments and DiMarco, man of action with a heart of gold that guy, made The Decision. We would the three of us that very night drive up to San Francisco and rescue the chums from the clutches of those pietists and oenophiliacs and bring them back to the sunny, albeit smog-tinged, bosom of Los Angeles (known far and wide as The City With Open Arms) where they would of course be instantly bestowed with a fast car, a swimming pool, and a rich, dark tan as is every new resident.

Now, Esteemed One (may I call you Chief?), I wish you to know that I demurred strongly from this riotous expedition valuing above all my responsibilities to this publication and your revered self but I figured hey! maybe I can get two strikes with one pitch. Not only would I be perfomring a humanitarian gesture in taking the chums out of the stodgy morass of San Francisco (and let's face it Chief, nothing exciting has happened there since ought six), but also I could get a slant on the impending game from the Giant fans' view. True, I was probably being over-optimistic in expecting to be able to tolerate their insulting demeanor long enough to get a coherent quote, but at least you can see that abandoing the story was the furthest thing from my mind.

So there we were, the three musketeers ready to wrest whomever from the throes of Richelieu, amped and tuned and ready to roll. Full tank of gas, ice chest full of Seagrams and Bud, snuggies stowed in our little, blue Dodger duffels. Wildman DiMarco at the helm was doing seventy before he even turned the key in the ignition and before you could spit we was doing a dizzying rondelay through the freeway maze that soon had us hurtling down I5 and into the night.

A few warm ones and a few cold ones later found us happy as clams in a shell of glass and steel and not caring whit one about anything except the song of rubber and tarmac. Time crawled into the backseat and then got out altogether when we stopped to tak a leak at a 7-11 that could've been in Boise or Bangor or Bakersfield for wll we knew or cared.

To Be Continued


Report from the Editor
Various readers of BD have wanted to know a little something about our contributors. We would like to share an anecdote about our next author, Ken Koss. A few months ago Venom Junta and the Fun Girls, a musical cabaret ensemble including some of the BD staff, was performing at the now defunct Contemporary Artists Space of Hollywood (CASH). Ken Koss attended. Ken Koss is in this thirties, about seven feet tall, with boyish good looks (he is currently negotiating for a photo spread in Playgirl); he spends his days investigating and exposing criminal truckers. He showed up at CASH with his entourage, about six or seven men and women, all over six feet tall, all in a wildly celebratory frame of mind after fifteen bottles of champagne. They brought another case in with them (CASH was a BYOB gallery). The evening went well and everyone had a good time. After the show, everyone went to Oki-Dog, a fast food punk hangout. Ken Koss was jubilant as he munched on his pastrami-and-weiner-in-a-tortilla-with-beans (an "oki-dog"). After Oki-Dog, he and four others of his group stuffed themselves into a four door sedan, he between two others in the backseat. They had to go from Hollywood to Pomona, which is a good hour drive away.

About halfway there, Ken Koss felt nauseous. He fought the awful urge, but knew he ultimately couldn't stop the gorge. But what to do? He didn't want to barf on anyone. When the need became more than he could control, he made his decision. He pulled his shirt a few inches from his body and threw up on his chest. A few minutes later, he had to throw up again; not wanting to repeat his chest heave, he deposited the next batch in his shirt pocket. They got Ken Koss home, quickly, to his house in the outer suburbs of Pomona. He got out of hte car and as it sped away Ken Koss stripped naked on his front lawn. It was around 3AM on a Friday morning so one would assume no one saw his large bare body. Then he went to the front yard hose and sprayed his vomitous torso. When he felt better, he turned off the water and walked thru his front door into his living room. As he walked in, his cocker spaniel greeted him with a few happy yelps. Ken Koss kicked her. As the cute little cur went running off, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his head. He sat on his couch, staring into the room. Then he passed out. When he finally woke up, he started writing, and BD is proud to present his World Series Kapsule.

The Ken Koss Kapsule: 25 Years of the World Series
by Ken Koss

1957-58 Milwaukee and Yanks trade seven game series wins. Lew Burdette wins three games, the Hammer hits three HR's in '57 and Eddie Mathews' two run, 10th inning HR wins game four. Mantle takes himself out of the game just before Mathews' homer as he jammed his throwing arm in a slide the day before. I guess he thought the arm was ok in innings 1-9. '58 Yanks come back from 3-1 deficit to win.
1959 Ex-Brooklyn Dodgers sweep best of three pennant playoff from Braves, then take it from Chisox in six.
1960 Maz' solo shot in bottom of ninth in 7th game gives Bucs win over Yanks.
In the the eighth inning of that game, Tony Kubek gets hit in the throat by a Bill Virdon bad hop grounder, leading to a 5 run inning and a 2 run Pirate lead. Yanks tie it in 9th to set up Maz' game winner off Ralph Terry. Yanks more than double Pirates' run total for series, 55-27.
1961 Yanks over Reds in a cake-walk, though Maris can manage only one HR in series after 61 (asterisk) regular season trippers.
1962 Giants win playoffs over Dodgers 2 games to 1 as Felipe Alou scores the winning run in the deciding game (this is, of course, the answer to last issue's Ken Koss Kwiz). The series sees Chuck Hiller hit first ever series grand slam (somehow that doesn't seem right). Yanks win game 7, 1-0, as Willie McCovey lies a shot just barely caught by a leaping Bobby Richardson in bottom of ninth. Mays hits one series HR after 49 regular season league leading long ones.
1963 Yanks score only 4 runs in 4 game sweep by Dodgers. (Of course, Dodgers only score 2 runs in 4 game sweep by O's in '66.)
1964 Yanks (in fifth consecutive series) lose to Cards in 7 games. Yanks hire Cards manager Johnny Keane after series ends. Was Geroge S around even then?
1965 Dodgers in 7 not too exciting games over Care(w)-less Twins.
1966 See 1963. Koufax loses Game 2 (the last game of his career) 1-0 to Baltimore rookie Jim Palmer.
1967 Yaz, Lonborg and Cinderalla can't stop Bob Gibson from winning 3 and the Cards from taking series 4 games to 3.
1968 Mickey Lolich turns 3 win series on Cards, as Tigers win 4 games to 3. Tigers come from 3-1 deficit.
1969 Amazin'.

1970 The Robinsons couldn't be beat as the O's prevail 4 games to 1.
1971 The great Roberto in his last hurrah. Steve Blass wins 2 with a 1.0 ERA. Bucs in 7 games, even though O's boast 4 twenty game winners.
1972 The beginning of "A" dynasty. Reggie is out with an injury, but
Fury Gene Tennace hits 4 HR's in 7 games to tie a series record and beat the Reds.
1973 Darold Knowles appears in all 7 games. Willie Mays appears in his last. (His first was 1951.)
1974 The first "California" Series and last of "A" dynasty (though they were barely beaten by Boston in '75 playoffs). Dodgers never had a chance, but Fergie's throw will always be replayed in series highlights films.
1975 Carlton Fisk and Bosox almost do it, but the Big Red Machine cannot be stopped.
1976 BRM become (and are) only team to sweep league championship and series, 7 games to none. They also beat 2nd place Dodgers by 20 games in division.
1977-78 Reg-gie, Reg-gie. I wonder if his hip still hurts? (I went to game 1 in '78, $12.00 for Pavillion seats and ran out of gas twice in two different cars - on way to game. I was also "ordered" to empty my picnic jug I had just filled with three quarts of beer before I was allowed to go in.)
1979 We are Fam-i-ly. Wilver Dornell Stargell is '79 season (co-) MVP AND Series MVP. Phil Garner hits .500 as Bucs come back from 3-1 deficit in win and coatless Bowie Kuhn freezes his butt off to "prove" series night games can be played in late October Baltimore.
1980 Series a bore, as Phils beat Royals (who finally reach series after winning division 3 of previous 4 years). But what a playoff. 'Stros and Phils play best five game playoff ever (how many hits did Terry Puhl get, anyway?)
1981 The Dodgers (Fernando), a strike, the Astros (the Dodgers), the Expos (the Dodgers). Yankees (the Dodgers). Yanks finally get equal treatment after winning 1st two then being swept next four by LA.
This Year: 1982 Freeway Series (with or without Dodger Dogs, Farmer John to go on strike October 1)? Missouri Series? Two teams with a pitcher named "Bruce" series? The Don Sutton past and present series? The "Let's have a Beer" cities series? The Cable TV series, despite protests of ABC and NBC? Or just maybe, a California series WITHOUT the Dodgers?


The Ken Koss Kwiz:
What broadcaster lost his voice in his final game in the booth in the last game of a World Series? (Hint: Vin Scully took over the play-by-play for the remainder of the game.)


Letter to the Editor
Dear Editor:
I love Baseball Diary and I love our World Champion Dodgers. But I do have to remark ont he cover of Baseball Diary, Vol 1, #12. Although artistically creative and curious, I believe this type of cover to be too artsy-fartsy for BD. I mean, after all, isn't BD accepting "submissions of a personal, penetrating nature relating to BASEBALL"? What the hell does this cover have to do with baseball? Does it have anything to do with the St. Louis Carp-nals or the Seattle Mariners? I mean there is this FISH involved. How 'bout this supposed head of the woman? This resembles more the malformed regurgitations of John Carpenter's THE THING. Everyone knows, unfortunately, there are NO women involved in major league baseball - except wives of the ball players. I believe I'll name or rename the piece "The Birth of Valenzuela" by Jagner Medici. It makes just as much sense.

As for the Fearless Forecaster, I have a question. Why is it easier to play on plastic turf? Doesn't Ass-tro Turf make the ball take erratic kangaroo jumps, making it harder to play ground balls? And what exactly is catcher interference? This FF seems to know it all. A REAL Mr. Baseball - I'd love to meet him!

PS: After seeing the cover of issue #13, I'm convinced JP is totally deranged. Don't we have enough deformed babies? Or is this supposed to symbolize the spirit of baseball? Gruesome!
Guera
Los Angeles

Dear Guera:
If you don't understand the covers to this publication, that's your problem. As for F Forecaster, we're not a lonely hearts club. Hopefully he'll answer your question, but don't count on it, blondie.

Baseball Diary is published and edited by William Fuller