Clutch 16-2016: The "Miracle" Mets of 1976

For most of the world, or Queens New York at least, a certain afternoon in July of 1976 was just another dog day of summer. The sun blazed down and yellowed front lawns while the streets were like walking across coal and the struggling Mets were suiting up for what was likely going to be another loss. Yup, same old same old. This was industry standard during what seemed to be the front half of a stretch to eternity. The sun would rise and set, kids would play outside all day and the Mets would lose. It would be close to a decade until things would change. 

The next three days though would be a little different.

Summer in Queens meant access to ice cream trucks, above-ground pools, and baseball. There was no Internet back then and as a result, there were no social media groups, websites or ways to keep in touch even like now archaic e-mail. There were also no cell phones, which meant no texting or communicating with friends via apps or even finding out how to get places with a single click. Knowing the weather was even hard to come by and usually required checking a newspaper or the local news channel. Despite all these disabilities kids managed to find each other and play ball.

There was one specific kid, among a sea of other kids, who enjoyed vanilla cones and swimming, but it was the third thing that kept him going. He lived, ate, and breathed baseball. If he wasn’t watching the Mets on WWOR channel 9 or making the pilgrimage to Shea stadium, the kid would be playing some version of the national pastime. The game required an opponent, bat, and ball. There was wiffleball, stickball, kickball, softball, and of course regular old baseball. It was played right in the middle of the street, on driveways, down alleys in schoolyards, and once in a while on an actual baseball field.

On this particular day, the Mets were due to play a home game versus the Houston Astros and the kid was set to play an away game of wiffleball across the street and down the block at a friend’s driveway. The Mets were not great at the time and one would question which of those two games would be more entertaining to watch. The kid was sporting his J.J. Walker “Dynomite!” tank top, while the Metropolitans wore pinstripes. Not normal garb to play ball in, the “Good Times” tank that is, but it assisted with staying cool and working the “Farmer’s tan”. 

In Flushing, the Mets were warming up with ace Jon Matlack on the hill. For a team that lost as many as they won or more, Matlack had 10 wins halfway through the season and a sub-three ERA. It was quite an accomplishment for a lineup that featured Bruce Boisclair batting third. The Mets actually managed to win the day before which was the first game of the three-game series. Matlack was having a Cy Young award-type season while closing in on the All-Star break. 

Just before the first pitch on an otherwise regular day, a local policeman had to make an odd choice. The Mets were taking the field in what would likely be a loss, and the cop needed to make a phone call. It was either to the local morgue or the volunteer ambulance company. You see the neighborhood’s biggest Met fan and arguably best wiffleball player for his age was lying in a mangled pool of blood halfway between his house and his own scheduled game. The simple query at hand was in regards to if he was still alive. The fact that there was debate about the phone call shadowed doubt on the question.

For those who haven’t computed what happened, the 70s was a time when a kid of any age, a week shy of turning seven in this case, was able to freely ride bikes around their hometown. There was no fear of abduction, getting lost or for any other reason not making it to your destination or back home for dinner. Kids played outside all day, and like the cows, knew when and how to get home. Those cell phones or GPS systems that were decades away from invention were not needed back in the day. Instinct seemed to work just as well without the monthly voice and data plan. This day would be an outlier for the kid, while the Mets were aiming to be the same. 

The street was silent until the crisp sound of a screech, bang, boom, and a drop. The kid was on his bike and hit by a speeding motorist. It was a push twenty feet up in the air upon contact, followed by a head-first dive onto that hot hard pavement.  A pretzel twisted leg with exposed broken bone was visible along with blood exiting multiple above the neck orifices where it’s not supposed to normally exit. Unlike the Mets, the kid was favored to win his wiffleball game that day. The way things were looking his next win on the diamond may have been in a heavenly league against Lou Gehrig in a white gown being cheered on by Shoeless Joe Jackson.

The Mets, on the other hand, were ironically having a better day. They did what they usually don’t which was to score a run in the first inning of their game. With Matlack on the hill, maybe that is all the offense the team would need.  The run came courtesy of a Dave Kingman hit. Also notable on this typical bad team was that Kingman had 31 HRs and 72 RBIs in mid-July. This was eons before the “Steroid” era of baseball. Kingman was a pure power hitter who rarely hit a close one. His homers were all bombs and he was the guy who was always a threat to hit the ceiling of a dome stadium or break a windshield if you were parked in the lot deep beyond the left-field fence at Shea. Dave’s at-bats were all or nothing, though he did manage a triple and five stolen bases at that point in the 76 season. That was quite a miracle within itself, but not the one everyone was rooting for that week.

Back in the other side of Queens, a decision was made and the kid was shipped off to the hospital. Despite that lack of social media, it was only hours until all his friends, family, opponents and neighbors knew the scoop. It turns out there was “Social media” back then, but it was analog, not digital. The kid would soon go under the knife and get patched up, though it would be three long days until it would be known if he had the strength, will, and physical ability to go on. He was unconscious still and it was unclear if the kid would ever find out the result of that day’s Met game, or the rest of the Astros series while he continued to peacefully nap at length in a coma. 

While residing in the communal intensive care unit, which was a large room with several other patients in similar situations, fate was tossing around possible outcomes. In the neighboring bed was an old guy named George, coincidentally the real first name of the Sultan of swat Babe Ruth – arguably the best dead guy to play the game. This George had suffered his third heart attack and was hooked up to multiple machines just to keep him artificially on earth. He was barely hanging on, but at least was alive long enough to see one or two of the locals make it to the World Series, probably multiple times. 

George whispered something into the on-call nurse’s ear, to which the nurse responded and then George gently nodded his head as if he understood. It was later uncovered that he had asked what had happened to the kid and how he was doing. The nurse told him the truth, which was not real positive news.  She told him that the kid might not see his seventh birthday, which was now only six days away, three less than when the ordeal with the Astros series began. Furthermore, the kid would likely never see his team having a winning season. Lastly, if he were to survive it was unclear if he would ever walk again, let alone smack a home run and round the bases. 

Within an hour something miraculous had happened. First, there was a bit of bad news. George had died. Despite the need for machines and the heart attack hat-trick, he was supposed to be OK. As a matter of fact, the nurses were prepping to downgrade him from the ICU to a regular room, with his next stop being sent home. It was sad, unforeseen, and uncanny all in one. The doctors made every attempt to keep him going, but destiny had gotten the better of them. 

Then, literally moments after George’s unexpected ending, the kid, just a few feet away, opened his eyes for the first time in over 72 hours.  It turns out he was going to make it and live to see many more Met losses and eventually a world title. Though it can’t be proven, it’s believed that George cashed in a favor and, in baseball terms, executed a sacrifice when up at-bat. He had asked to have his ticket to the stadium of eternity punched instead of the kids. Perhaps you need to be spiritual or one who believes in heavenly favors to buy it, but George may have spared the kid’s life while surrendering his, which is the definition of a sacrifice. 

A beat and battered Met's fan in the hospital with his baseball pajamas on.

Unfortunately, this is where the miracles ended, at least for that week.  Despite the early lead, he Met’s went on to lose the game that started way back when the kid was still whole and healthy. They also lost the “Rubber match” the next day while the kid lay in that bed practically dead as a doornail.  Ironically they shut out the Atlanta Braves on the day the kid was revived and came back to life. Do you believe in miracles? Well, one occurred on that day in 1976. The next one would be 10 years later when the kid’s favorite team would finally win a World Series. 

Clutch 15-2016: Baseball in Hollywood

There are tons of baseball movies out there dating back to the beginning of movies. There are classic black and whites, silent movies and new ones in 3D. Some of the movies focus on the baseball game, some use baseball as a side plot and others utilize the game as just background scenery. Either way, the great American pastime has its fair share of Hollywood Fame.

Let’s start right out of the game with clearly hands-down the uncontested best baseball scene in any movie. Yup, it’s “The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!” It’s so good that the homage paid is the full spelling of the actual title. It’s basically five plus minutes of just wall to wall laughs. And not just funny stuff – it’s hilarious stuff written by comedy genius. It’s the only “Baseball” movie where a second baseman gets eaten by a tiger and an outfielder gets decapitated. And then there is the climactic scene where Reggie Jackson tries to kill the Queen of England by order of Ricardo Monalban. 

The “Naked Gun” trilogy is based on the cult following short-lived television show that was called “Police Squad!” The show and movie starred a few of the same people with of course the driving force being the late great Leslie Neilsen. The show only lasted six episodes, each better than the previous. It was cutting edge frat humor that nobody else was doing at the time. Society just couldn’t grasp the concept. The only real “Baseball” scene is the television rendition was when Lt. Drebin threatens to arrest a potential witness for illegally recording a live baseball game, which of course is a dig at the ridiculous statement MLB makes all announcers make before the start of each game. “Recording the game is illegal without the expressed written consent, yada yada yada”.

The best complete baseball movie, from a comedic perspective, is also an easy choice. “Major League” is far and away the answer.  The movie had a cast that all killed it in different ways. The plot was inspirational, and the humor was spot on. Mr. Clutch and a friend or two watched the movie several times on different Saturdays at the Sunrise Multiplex. Since it wasn’t economically feasible to keep paying “Just” to see the same movie, the gang used to sneak into a new release each week after watching “Major League”.

The movie spawned a number of cult type things, many of which are still kicking around today, almost 30 years later. For one, people now use the “Just a bit outside” line all the time. It’s part of the modern lexicon. Rick Vaughn, played by the immortal Charlie Sheen, is a character that had taken on a life of its own. To this day if you visit any crowded MLB ballpark on game day the odds are you will cross paths with each one fan sporting a “99” Vaughn jersey. There are so many good scenes in this movie that it’s hard to pick the best of the best. Unfortunately the legacy is somewhat tarnished as the money hungry producers rolled out a sequel and sequel to the sequel. Mr. Clutch has seen both of those movies a total of “0” times. Pretty sure they were awful. Thankfully the original was so good that’s it’s easy to forget about the part deux and three.

Next up is a baseball movie that most people probably didn’t realize was based on a true story. It’s the star-studded fun docudrama “A League of Their Own”. It featured a bunch of “Actors” such as Madonna, Rosie O’Donnell and the great Laurie Petty. Also notable is that is starred Tom Hanks in what was one of his first dramatic roles. It was directed by Laverne DeFazio (Penny Marshall) who did a splendid job. One more (of many) notable casting moves was giving a small role to Andrew “Squiggy” Squiggman (David Lander). The Brooklyn native suffers from M.S. and more importantly is a giant baseball fan.  

The picture gave viewers a great peek into a short but important era of baseball during the war. Sprinkled into the baseball landscape were important items like the scene where the war department typist hand delivered the tragic note to the wife (player) of a dead soldier. It also chronicled the life of the male player Jimmy Dugan who threw it all away to booze and ended up getting clean and back on track. His transition from beginning to end was amazing.  The film was also about sibling rivalry, competition and enemies bonding and building relationships for the sake of the country. Mr. Clutch will come clean and state that every time the movie is watched it’s common to well up in the final scene, which takes place at the baseball hall of fame. It brings it all together and really defines how small sections of your being can be special and award you with lifelong memories. It’s pretty heavy for a generally funny movie – but baseball can deliver on that.

Your favorite baseball movies, or scenes within a non-baseball movie, might be totally different than the ones noted above. There are certainly plenty of great choices out there. Let’s see, there is “Bull Durham”, “Field of Dreams” and of course the “Bad News Bears” franchise which would be in most folks list. “The Natural”, “The Sandlot” and the Seinfeld episode featuring Keith Hernandez and the reenactment of the JFK assassination absolutely receive Clutch honorable mention.

With that, they aren’t all great with a few busts that were made along the way. “The Babe”, not to be confused with the award winning pig movie of similar name (“Babe”) was one. That was the one of many Babe Ruth bio pics that starred John Goodman.  There was also that strange drama “The Fan” starring Bobby De Niro as the killer and Wesley Snipes as the player. The worst baseball movie Mr. Clutch has heard of, but not seen, is “Ed”. There is slight remembrance of a commercial promoting the vehicle in which a monkey plays third-base for a major league team. That’s probably all you need to know.

Hopefully this ignites you to watch a baseball movie today or tomorrow. Either blow the dust off your favorite DVD (or VHS depending how far back you go) hit up NetFlix where simply searching for the term “Baseball” will give you plenty of options. The challenge issued is to watch a baseball themed movie that you have either never seen or even better never heard of. There are plenty of those choices out there too. A 90 to 120 minute investment might just put another favorite on your list and give you something to discuss around the water-cooler on Monday.

Clutch 14-2016: Applying Baseball H.R. to the Real World

Human resources departments, known as “Talent” in some places, function somewhat the same for most “Normal” businesses. A normal business being defined as a company that produces and sells a product and needs a bunch of people to do that. Generally speaking, this involved hiring, managing and in some cases firing these people, while also setting all the rules of the house. The rules are things like dress code, benefits, scheduling, etc.

What if the “H.R.” of Major League Baseball was applied to real jobs?

Let’s start with the hiring process. Imagine if instead of applying for a job and being hired, that you got picked in a draft and then were forced to work at that company (at least for the first few years? In addition to that, you and your future colleagues got selected in order of skill or potential, according to a bunch of folks who watched you perform the job for free somewhere. They may have also asked you to come to a place to do that job in front of them with a bunch of others so they can get a look.

That company picks you and hires you. Now what? Well, you’re not good enough to work for them yet, so they send you to a place to practice for a while. That place is normally a fraction of a level above hell. They will compensate you with a tiny portion of what the job really pays, and have you get around on an old bus and stay in motels. Even with that glamour, there is absolutely no guarantee that you will ever truly work for the company. The vast majority of people in this situation end at that level and wind up with a regular, or normal as noted, job.

Finally the boss informs you that your services are now needed “For real”. It’s an exciting time as you will now report to the job and work with some real people. There is a new dress code at the job. You need to select a number, (much like an employee number, so not too weird there, except you need to wear it on your back every day so you can be easily identified. The uniform overall is pretty comfortable, almost like the sweatpants you wear around the house, or for some people everywhere in public. You also get to wear a hat to work, but you can’t choose the hat.

Work is going great until one day you feel a little soreness around the elbow or knee. The company doctor takes a look and decides you need to take it easy for a while. Management decides to put you on a list of people who can’t work in intervals of 15 days. They send you home, with pay, and bring up a new guy to fill in and do your job until you’re feeling better. In some respects it’s like a “Sick day”, but all the decisions on if you are sick or not are made by management and you don’t have a choice in that. When you are deemed ready to return to work your employer sends you somewhere to practice first just to make sure.

While sitting at your desk one day the boss calls you into his office. You enter with a smile and exit with a box to pack your personal effects. It turns out you were traded to a competitor. They are sending you cross town or cross country to work for another guy. That other guy is sending someone to your company to work. Sometimes a bunch of you will be traded at once or one for many. You will likely be doing the same job, just wearing a different hat. And possible your warm weather residence will become cool weather or the other way around. You will see your old co-workers from time-to-time, but it won’t be friendly chat around the water cooler. It will be fierce competition trying to sell the same product.

One of the nice things about this arrangement is you are able to, in most cases, dictate how much the company pays you. There is negotiations, of which you have a guy manage it for you for a piece of the action. There is a minimum wage, which is likely where you will start, but things typically move up quickly from there. Every few years or so you can renegotiate a new salary. Once buttoned up, you are definitely going to receive that pay for the length of the contract no matter what happens. You can perform badly, your company can operate poorly or a combination there of.  You will want to perform the best you can though, as that is what leads to the next locked in deal at a higher rate of pay.

Eventually a time will come where your employer no longer has his hooks in you. At that point you can stay or are free to leave and can take a job at any competitor for the best rate you can get. Just about everyone in the workforce takes advantage of the “leave” option. The last of the one job Mohicans are retiring from work, with no new guys to take their place. Workers want different hats over the course of a career. It’s usually for more money, but occasionally just to go work at a better place.

The time will come, faster than you will think, that either your employer informs you that you are too “old” to do the job anymore or you yourself just get sick of doing it. You go from highly employable one day to a pariah of sorts the next. It’s weird because you feel like you can still do the job, just not at a level deemed acceptable by anyone.  At that point you either totally retire and take up fishing, or stay in the business, just in another capacity. Instead of doing the job, you will tell others how to do it. Fortunately those types of roles don’t have an expiration date.

It’s safe to say that your average Joe would not prefer the baseball way of it, maybe with the exception of wearing sweatpants to work. 

Clutch 13-2016: Mr. Clutch Finally Gets Called up to the Bigs

The hope, for Clutch fans across America at least, is that this title is literal. That would of course mean that a 40-something player, though great in his prime, got called up to play in the major leagues. The kid from Queens who was a phenom at the bat and a master at first base was going to finally get his shot. The beer-league softball player who could hit the ball deeper into the woods than others would get to strut his stuff on the big stage. Lastly, the wiffle-ball pitcher of the year 1985-86, with a trophy to prove it, would be switching from greyhound buses to private jets.

Sorry – but that’s not the case, at least not in the current reality. All of the above is “All of the above” as an answer to the question of how to define Jr. Clutch’s baseball abilities. If done all over again and under slanted circumstance, the 90’s and above could have been filled with years of running the base paths in stadiums all around the country and not working in a cramp office for a slave-drive (cue ad for “Paranoid”, the critically acclaimed book by the same name).

Instead, the definition of the title is how Mr. Clutch spent a certain Wednesday. It started (this time literally as it was just after midnight) with an arrival at Philadelphia International via Louis Armstrong in the Big Easy.  It then continued a few hours later at Trenton airport, officially known as Trenton-Mercer or something like that. Things then picked up an hour or so later, factoring in the time change, in Chicago at O’Hare where the adventure would finally begin. The last leg of the journey was a lyft ride to the South side.

Yes, you guessed it. Mr. Clutch would, for today, be running with the Chicago White Sox.

The day started by pulling into the player parking lot. It was early, so not too many cars were in the lot yet.  It was noticeable that the manager had a reserved spot closest to the entrance. The spot was empty, which seemed odd since the manager is usually the first team member to arrive and the last to leave. The solve to the mystery was that Robin Ventura was already in the house, but usually his wife drops him off in the morning and then they drive home together after home games. I guess that’s in leau of taking two cars in an attempt to save gas. Rolling with a Tesla or two would do the same thing.

It was a few ticks past high noon and the workout room was quiet with the exception of one player who was already on the exercise bike prepping for a game set to start in seven short hours. The workout room is like any other gym, except private for players only with an area stocked with every type of nutrition bar and muscle drink you can think of. There was also plenty of powdery supplements and water on hand. The plasma up in the corner was airing what else? A Marlins day game.

The rest of the regulars started to trickle in before the one o’clock hour. They were all in casual garb, some wearing free White Sox related apparel and others wearing anything else. The highlight of the fashion show clearly was the previous night starting pitcher Jose Quintana. “Q” as he’s affectionately known was rocking a “You’re Killing me Smalls” t-shirt with a frame from the movie “The Sandlot” on it.  The only ones not in plain clothes were a couple of the coaches, most notably the hitting coach, who was already in his uniform pants and warmup jersey.

To get it out of the way some of the position players quickly punch out the days special – which is the workout regime set by “A.T.” the strength and conditioning coach. It’s nothing heavy duty, just a little loosening up of the muscles. The starting pitchers not pitching that night all have different arm workouts depending on what day of the cycle they are on. Tossing a big rubber ball up against a metal wall is one of the routines. Some of the starters and relievers also had to throw a “Bullpen” as part of the workout.  It’s notable that not all position players were on the scene. These workouts may be somewhat optional.

Other players were in one of the various waterways in the adjacent room. Multiple hot-tubs and small pools were setup and is a place guys hit before and after the game. The whirlpool is great therapy for any of the guys nursing injuries in preparation for the game and for the post-game cool down.

One interesting factoid is that the nights starting pitcher, James Shields in this case, has a special schedule. He is not required to report to the stadium until around 5:15pm for a 7:05pm start. He does a quick workout, dresses, hits the bullpen to warmup and then enters the game. He avoids mostly everyone and everything while doing that. During the time that the other players are working and preparing he’s likely home watching judge shows.

At 3:00pm sharp the room empties. Blink or look the other way and the place goes from a bustling gym to a morgue with the only thing left behind is the days sweat. All position players are to report for batting practice at this time, while the pitchers will play catch outside and run around.  A.T. is the only one left and in his office doing paperwork. He’s likely charting what workouts were completed today, and most likely setting up the what needs to be done the next day. The scheduling and timing is impeccable and like clock-work.

A few minutes later the dream ends with Mr. Clutch being sent down to the minors. It was a good run, or a “Cup of coffee” as a career that long is put. Back to reality, which features a trip on the above ground subway to O’Hare and a trip to JFK airport. The beauty of this ending at JFK is that it’s a stone’s toss or spittoon spit away from most of the Clutch magic occurred on the diamond, school-yard or driveway in the case of wiffle-ball.