Memories, Meatloaf, pesto, and poetry: an appreciation (public)
I'm not sure if anyone will understand this post or why I'm posting it, but I haven't been moved to write much in the past few months, and last night I was.
I was once, (and maybe one day will be again, who knows) a huge fan of The X-Files. (Capital "T" in "the" thank you very much.) Well known is the fact that its beautiful, sexy, smart heroine/ingenue Scully's name came from Vin Scully, the beloved and venerable voice of the Dodgers. The Creator was after all, a big baseball fan, and one got the impression from various interviews and such that listening to Vin and the Dodger games on the radio in his youth was a special memory in his heart. The kind of memory that the warmth of nostalgia stems from. It's a feeling that I could relate to, as I too was a passionate baseball fan as a child, and have many memories of nights spent watching legends and a dynasty in the making. Monday, I lost my Vin Scully when Phil Rizzuto passed at age 89.
He was just such a character. Watching a Yankee game on channel 11, back before cable, and HD, was the equivalent of a long running "dramady" where in between the nail-biting pitcher vs. batter duel Phil was telling you his Aunt's recipe for pesto sauce. Every night he had a sack of birthdays to mention on-air, and you got the impression he knew each and everyone of those people personally. The "Holy Cow" and "huckleberries" were just part of the flavor he gave to the vault of baseball insight and commentary he brought to the broadcast booth each night, having played with the likes of DiMaggio, Mantle, and Yogi Berra.
I learned the game from watching all those nights, sitting in the living room with my dad-who played in the sandlot league competitively before breaking his ankle sliding into 3rd base during a playoff game.
"Why would you bunt there?"
"How can the guy can run home if the ball was caught?"
Tuesdays my mom worked bingo at the church. Everyone had to volunteer at something to get a discount on the school tuition. I loved Tuesdays because we got to stay up late and watch risque TV shows like Laugh-In and Benny Hill. And of course, baseball games. Even when I got older--- my best friend Terry was a big Yankee fan too, and on hot nights we'd pull a small black and white out onto the stoop and run an extension cord through the window. The local pizza delivery guy had a crush on her, and he'd always come down our block in between runs to "check the score".
Just to bring this all back around, one thing I learned from reading tributes this week was that there is a book put out in 1993 by editors Tom Hart and Hart Seely where they took classic Rizzuto outbursts and musings and arranged them in free verse. The words of a baseball announcer turned into poetry. That's the kind of thing that stirs the warm nostalgia, and ties the past with the not-so-past, and brings a melancholy smile to my face on a warm August night. Check it out:
What kind is it?
Ohhhhhh!
Pepperoni!
Holy Cow!
What happened?
Base hit!
A little disconcerting.
Smelling that pizza.
And trying
To do a ballgame.
All right
A big hubbub right in back of the Yankee dugout,
Dead center.
Telly Savalas!
We might have to ask him to put a hat on his head,
It's shining up here,
Some glare.
But that's the thing lately,
They say being bald is very sexy.
All right,
I tell ya.
Just about everybody you want to name
Will be here tonight.
Cary Grant hasn't missed a game
Here at Yankee Stadium at the playoffs.
Frank Sinatra has been here.
And we're ready.
I woke up.
And it was like,
Like a nightmare.
I said,
"Could the game still be going on?"
And sure enough.
I started to get dressed.
And then the 14th inning came.
If it had gone another inning,
I'd have been there.
I was once, (and maybe one day will be again, who knows) a huge fan of The X-Files. (Capital "T" in "the" thank you very much.) Well known is the fact that its beautiful, sexy, smart heroine/ingenue Scully's name came from Vin Scully, the beloved and venerable voice of the Dodgers. The Creator was after all, a big baseball fan, and one got the impression from various interviews and such that listening to Vin and the Dodger games on the radio in his youth was a special memory in his heart. The kind of memory that the warmth of nostalgia stems from. It's a feeling that I could relate to, as I too was a passionate baseball fan as a child, and have many memories of nights spent watching legends and a dynasty in the making. Monday, I lost my Vin Scully when Phil Rizzuto passed at age 89.
He was just such a character. Watching a Yankee game on channel 11, back before cable, and HD, was the equivalent of a long running "dramady" where in between the nail-biting pitcher vs. batter duel Phil was telling you his Aunt's recipe for pesto sauce. Every night he had a sack of birthdays to mention on-air, and you got the impression he knew each and everyone of those people personally. The "Holy Cow" and "huckleberries" were just part of the flavor he gave to the vault of baseball insight and commentary he brought to the broadcast booth each night, having played with the likes of DiMaggio, Mantle, and Yogi Berra.
I learned the game from watching all those nights, sitting in the living room with my dad-who played in the sandlot league competitively before breaking his ankle sliding into 3rd base during a playoff game.
"Why would you bunt there?"
"How can the guy can run home if the ball was caught?"
Tuesdays my mom worked bingo at the church. Everyone had to volunteer at something to get a discount on the school tuition. I loved Tuesdays because we got to stay up late and watch risque TV shows like Laugh-In and Benny Hill. And of course, baseball games. Even when I got older--- my best friend Terry was a big Yankee fan too, and on hot nights we'd pull a small black and white out onto the stoop and run an extension cord through the window. The local pizza delivery guy had a crush on her, and he'd always come down our block in between runs to "check the score".
Just to bring this all back around, one thing I learned from reading tributes this week was that there is a book put out in 1993 by editors Tom Hart and Hart Seely where they took classic Rizzuto outbursts and musings and arranged them in free verse. The words of a baseball announcer turned into poetry. That's the kind of thing that stirs the warm nostalgia, and ties the past with the not-so-past, and brings a melancholy smile to my face on a warm August night. Check it out:
What kind is it?
Ohhhhhh!
Pepperoni!
Holy Cow!
What happened?
Base hit!
A little disconcerting.
Smelling that pizza.
And trying
To do a ballgame.
All right
A big hubbub right in back of the Yankee dugout,
Dead center.
Telly Savalas!
We might have to ask him to put a hat on his head,
It's shining up here,
Some glare.
But that's the thing lately,
They say being bald is very sexy.
All right,
I tell ya.
Just about everybody you want to name
Will be here tonight.
Cary Grant hasn't missed a game
Here at Yankee Stadium at the playoffs.
Frank Sinatra has been here.
And we're ready.
I woke up.
And it was like,
Like a nightmare.
I said,
"Could the game still be going on?"
And sure enough.
I started to get dressed.
And then the 14th inning came.
If it had gone another inning,
I'd have been there.