July 2- Los Angeles Dodgers

It’s very rare for me to break a promise. Sometimes I may be a little late in delivering, but I always do my best to keep the second party up to date and involved when my life takes an unusual turn to cause setbacks. In the case of visiting my friend Nick Hamilton (@NickHamiltonLA) in Los Angeles for a Dodgers game, I did everything I could to keep my word.

Nick and I met in February of 2012 in Phoenix, Arizona when we were both top-30 finalists for the MLB Fan Cave. He and I grew up abut two hours apart from one another as he was born and raised in the City of Angels and I lived most of my life in the armpit of California known as Bakersfield. One of the biggest things we had in common, outside of being huge baseball fans, was that we both went to college to perfect the art of journalism, a dream that he had started actively pursuing when he was 20-years-old and attending El Camino College in LA. I had moved to the Pacific Northwest when I was 17-years-old but still made my way south to Eugene, Oregon to enroll and attend classes at the University of Oregon where I picked up my two degrees in the field of journalism, a dream I had wanting to fulfill since I was 13. When I first met Nick he was all decked out in Dodgers gear which included a t-shirt and Premier jacket, while I had taken a more nerdish route in wearing a white dress shirt, black vest, tie and my Oakland Athletics home cap. My first words to Nick involved something to the tune of voicing my long-lived angst toward Kirk Gibson and his home run off of Dennis Eckersley in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series. He laughed and played along with it. It was definitely the perfect icebreaker.

In the two days that we were together we talked endlessly about the LA sports scene, as Nick can pretty much recite most major events that took place in the city, stretching back for decades. Since we were in separate groups our time spent chatting was relegated to the evenings and in between our cycles of activities. Nonetheless, it was awesome to meet someone I had a lot in common with and would have otherwise been close friends had we grown up together. When the Fan Cave interview process came to an end we made sure to get each others’ contact info and the one promise I made to him was that “no matter who moves on, I want to catch a Dodgers game with you.” It was a promise that he would make sure to hold me to my word.

Well, to make a long story short, I was chosen to go to New York and he wasn’t, a move I really didn’t understand then and still don’t to this day. While I realize that Nick is my friend, one thing that I will vouch until the end of time is that Nick is one of the finest journalists I have ever had the privilege of getting to know and seeing in action. If you get the chance during or after you read this post, please take the time to watch a few of his You Tube videos. The man is not only a fantastic interviewer, but he is relentless when it comes to getting a few moments with the cream of the crop including Robert Griffin III, Al Michaels, Brittney Griner and this collection from the 2012 Harold Pump Awards. Hell, I wish I could get the access that he has. It’s uncanny how hard he works at perfecting his craft, not letting anything get in his way. When I got the boot from the Fan Cave at the end of May, Nick was one of the first people I contacted. We didn’t so much as talk about what had happened in my final days, rather I told him to pick a date at the beginning of July and Dodgers tickets would be on me. Naturally, he was on board.

In the middle of June I started plotting out the West Coast leg of my Major League Baseball stadium road trip, making sure to kick things off in Seattle at Safeco Field with Tom Bentley (@RealTomBentley) as my Athletics were squaring off against his Mariners in a three-game series. When I got back to Portland I looked ahead at each team’s schedule as to figure out how I could maximize my trip with as many games as possible, not to mention be able to spend time with my friends, family and make it to Oakland by July 17^th in order to throw out first pitch. As my luck would have it, the Dodgers were playing the New York Mets over the first weekend of July and the Arizona Diamondbacks were playing throughout the week around and on the Fourth of July, before the Los Angeles Angels and San Diego Padres both played a home series right after. It was almost too perfect. When I gave Nick the heads up on when I would be headed down he chose the final game of the series (Sunday) as the Dodgers’ phenom pitcher Clayton Kershaw was taking the mound for the white and blue. I had no complaints with this.

Since I was going to be gone for almost three weeks I made sure to pack as much team gear as I needed to be able to represent the home teams for every stadium I attended. When it came to the Dodgers game that Nick and I were rolling to I couldn’t think of a better hat to wear than this one, the 1999 silver logo with silver bill alternate cap. Believe it or not, the Dodgers did in fact only wear this cap for a speckle of games for one season, which is a pretty bold step considering the fact that they’ve only worn a total of three caps (including this one) since they played their first game at Memorial Coliseum back in 1958. So, do to its rarity, and it being the first time I would wear it, it was a natural choice.

Because I’m apparently borderline psychotic, I made the trek to LA from Eugene the morning of the game. For those of you who don’t know, Eugene is roughly 14 hours away from LA, just as long as there isn’t any traffic. If you’ve ever been to LA, you’d know exactly how funny that statement is. The one thing working in my favor that night was that the game didn’t start until 5:00 PM Pacific due to the fact that it was the game being broadcast for ESPN’s Sunday Night Baseball (July 1). Even with that, I still made the decision to leave around 11:00 PM the night before. Contrary to what you might believe, it was actually one of the easier drives that I’ve pulled off whenever I make my long pilgrimages to California. Aside from packing nothing but a gallon of water, Clif Bars and a pack of smokes, I timed my drive perfectly so that I would hit the vast wasteland of dried up farmland that stretched from just south of the Bay Area all the way to Bakersfield at the hottest part of the day. One of my techniques for staying awake involves the temperature to top 100 degrees and I continue to drive without the window rolled down and the air conditioning off. Not only does it serve as an endurance test, it helps motivate me to stay on course and get to my destination before I burst into flames. Basically, you would hate to be riding shotgun at that moment.

Around 2 PM I pulled off of I-5 and onto 7^th Standard Road to make a stop at my parents’ house to take a much needed shower before I made the final stretch to LA. With about 10 miles to go until I hung a right onto Coffee Road I received a flurry of text messages and tweets from my friends and followers from all over the country. What I had forgotten was that the first-ever All-Star Game Selection Show was taking place for the 2012 All-Star Game and apparently the commercial I’m featured in was aired during a break; kind of my last hurrah from my time at the Fan Cave. Due to the fact that I was driving I waited until the next day to respond to everyone who hit me up.

After a quick shower and wardrobe change I made the push for the last leg of my tour… which I miraculously survived without hitting a wall of traffic. I pulled up to Nick’s house, knocked on the door and was greeted with a friendly hug. Nick was in the middle of getting ready so he took me into his room and showed off all of his LA sports memorabilia he had been collecting since he was a kid. It was pretty much how I imagined it would be, Dodgers, Lakers and USC gear all over the place, mocking me with all of the championships those teams had collected throughout their history. I gave him some grief about the USC stuff, but only because I had to because of my Oregon and UCLA basketball fan ties. He had a pretty good laugh. After he geared up we jumped into my car and headed down Jefferson Street in an attempt to save time in making our way to Chavez Ravine.

On the way we ran into a bit of a skirmish, rather, I ran into a bit of a skirmish. I can’t remember which intersection it was but I had the right of way when a black gentleman decided to make a left-hand turn as I was coming upon the streetlight. Just as I hit the brakes the man in the car slowed down and yelled, “Yah! I know I fucked up!” before hitting his accelerator as I swerved a little bit to avoid a collision. I kept driving. Nick then leaned to me and said, “Yah, it was probably for the best that you kept going.” I laughed for a solid three blocks after he said that. As we continued down Jefferson we both noticed that traffic was starting to build, which was a bit odd for that area on a Sunday. As we got closer we both noticed the slew of limousines and the giant sign on the front of the Shrine Auditorium which read, “2012 BET Awards.” I pulled my traditional smirk face and made my way through the lines, not realizing that the BET Awards would make an appearance later in this story.

I took about 40 minutes in total to get there, on top of the ridiculous jam of cars we had to sift through just to be able to park at Dodger Stadium, but we made it with an hour to spare. Even though it was a nationally televised game neither of us had any clue that it was Japanese Heritage Night at the game. Basically this meant that the game was sold out on account of the Hello Kitty bobbleheads they were giving out at the gate. It was chaos. I hadn’t been to Dodger Stadium since 1998, which I cataloged in my post from June17th, and of all the things that had noticeably changed since my last visit was the abundance of armed guards waiting to pat everyone down as they entered the gates. It was interesting to say the least, but we got through… with our Hello Kitty bobbleheads in tow. We made a quick stop in the team store just at the edge of the left field bleachers before we made our way to our seats which sat just a few rows back on first base side.

The walk through the corridor to our seats was a “comforting” reminder of all the traffic that I had somehow missed on my way to, and driving around LA. For some reason it felt like everyone decided to be in one another’s way all at the same time. After braving the gauntlet of flesh, beer and shirseys we made it to our seats.

I hate beach balls at baseball games.

I have to say, they weren’t that bad. As the game got underway we went back-and-forth on everything that had happened on the season, including my time in the Fan Cave. I did my best to not come off as bitter about it, especially since he was in the running for the same job. So, we stuck to baseball primarily as it was a good happy-medium. Around the third inning the hunger started to build so we headed up to the concession stands at the top of our section. With all of our recently acquired gear under our arms we trekked upward to get our Dodger Dog on, which still blows my mind that you can get a 10-inch hot dog for $5, probably one of the best food-related values of any ballpark. On top of that, Dodger Stadium serves Coca-Cola, not Pepsi, which always constitutes that the largest possible serving of such product is mandatory as well. So needless to say, I was sitting pretty in the snack department. While we were in line a woman came up to me and asked if she could have my Hello Kitty bobblehead to give to her daughter. I was in an especially good mood so I didn’t really see any problem with this. Plus, I really had no use for it and didn’t really want to carry it around anymore. All I asked in return was that she take a photo of Nick and me while we waited for our turn to order.

With our bellies full of ballpark nourishment we kicked back and watched Kershaw deal to the hapless Mets. He went seven solid innings, only allowing one earned run while striking out nine (typical Kershaw). Somewhere around the sixth inning a random bit of news popped up on Nick’s Twitter timeline. I could sense in his face that it was something big. He replied with, “Chris Brown got arrested at the BET Awards for carrying a gun.” For those of you who don’t remember this or why it happened, it all stemmed from an altercation at a nightclub between his and rapper Drake’s entourage. Brown apparently felt the need to go “Plaxico Burress” in case he had another run-in with the kid from Toronto and his crew. Clearly the LAPD were on top of things a wee-bit faster than Brown. Aside from us having a good laugh about the incident, the news gave Nick a bit more material to discuss on his radio show “The Nick Hamilton Experience” the following day.

After the Dodgers finished trouncing the Mets to the tune of 8-3 Nick and I took a few pictures before heading back to the car, only to wait it out a bit until traffic cleared up. From then and on the drive home we talked about what the future held for both of us. I did and still continue to praise Nick for all that he has accomplished and know that he will be a household name in the not too distant future of sport journalism. We both share the same tenacity to make it in our respective fields and I know that one day it will all become a reality for the both us.

Up until this moment I hadn’t chosen any numbers to mark this cap up with as there really wasn’t much that had gone on during the 1999 season to really praise. However, there is one bit of confusion with the statistics for two players that I feel should be mentioned and given more praise than they received. Soooooooo…

#10- Gary Sheffield is arguably one of the greatest players in MLB history; however, steroid speculation over the last bit of his career has clouded much of his legacy. In my book though, ability and talent reign supreme.

Sheffield’s Major League potential was seen at a very early age (11) when he and other former Major Leaguers, including Derek Bell, were members of the Belmont Height Little League All-Stars team who made it to the final of the Little League World Series in 1979, only to lose in the final game to Taiwan by the score of 4-3. That year Sheffield set the all-time doubles record in the LLWS before it was finally broken in 2012.

Sheffield, the nephew of Dwight Gooden, tore it up through high school, batting .500 with 15 home runs in 62 at-bats in 1983, the year he won the Gatorade National Player of the Year award. In 1986 he was selected sixth overall by the Milwaukee Brewers in the draft and continued his mashing pace all the way through the minors. The first time I ever saw him play was in 1987 when I was four-years-old and he was with the Class-A Stockton Ports of the California League. That season he hit .277 with 17 home runs.

He made his MLB debut on September 3, 1988 and recorded his first Major League hit on September 9^th, a home run off of Seattle Mariners pitcher Mark Langston. Sheffield’s time in Milwaukee came to a close right before the start of the 1992 season as he was traded to the San Diego Padres for Ricky Bones, Jose Valentin and Matt Mieske. That season he came two home runs and nine RBI shy of winning the National League Triple Crown while batting .330, becoming the only member of the Padres not named Tony Gwynn to win a batting title. Gwynn has eight of the nine. Sheffield finished in third place for the NL MVP and made his first All-Star Game appearance that season as well; however, the following season he was dealt to the 1993 expansion Florida Marlins along with Rich Rodriguez for Andres Berumen, Jose Martinez and a kid named Trevor Hoffman.

At first Sheffield didn’t want to play with the Marlins; however, after the ’93 season the team signed him to a four-year deal making him the highest-paid third baseman in the Majors… only to move him into the outfield midway through the 1994 season. During his time in Florida Sheffield hit 112 home runs, including 42 in 1996 and even won a World Series ring in 1997. But despite being a fan favorite and a two-time All-Star with the team, he was shipped out to the Dodgers right before the 1998 trade deadline along with Bobby Bonilla, Manuel Barrios, Jim Eisenreich and Charles Johnson for Todd Zeile and Mike Piazza because the Marlins “couldn’t afford” to give him a contract extension, plus the Dodgers then-owners, News Corp., were trying to secure a TV deal which involved getting rid of Piazza. In short, the business side of baseball is really f---ing stupid sometimes.

But alas, we’ve reached the point about this cap. In 3½ seasons with the Dodgers, he hit 129 home runs and drove in 367 runs. He made three All-Star games while playing with the Dodgers and had become one of the best outfielders in the game. Collectively his time in LA was the best of his career, and in 1999 he went .301/24/101, yet didn’t even cause a blip on the NL MVP radar. The following year he did when he went .325 with 43 home runs (most of his career in a season) and 109 RBI and finished ninth in the NL MVP vote. But even after a great run in LA the Dodgers shipped him off to the Atlanta Braves due to his constant bickering about the management. Sheffield lasted two seasons in Atlanta before signing as a free agent with the New York Yankees only to be traded to the Detroit Tigers after three years and then signed as a free agent by the Mets after a two-year stint in Detroit. Sheffield retired in 2011, finishing his career with a .292 average, 2689 hits, 509 home runs and 1976 RBI. He also hit the 250,000^th regular season home run in MLN history on September 8, 2008 off of Gio Gonzalez of the Athletics. Not exactly a milestone I prefer to remember. He made nine All-Star games in total and won five Silver Slugger awards. His NL batting title in 1992 was the only one of his career in which he also won Comeback Player of the Year to boot. What exactly he came back from is a mystery to me.

#23- Eric Karros was drafted by the Dodgers in the 6th round of the 1988 Amateur Draft. He made his Major League debut as a pinch runner on September 1, 1991 against the Chicago Cubs. He made his first start, at first base, on September 4, 1991 against the St. Louis Cardinals, when he was 0-3 with two strikeouts. Karros recorded his first Major League hit as a pinch hitter in the bottom of the 12th inning against the Cincinnati Reds Ted Power on September 16, 1991. The hit was a two-RBI double to left field. In 14 appearances during the 1991 season, he only had the one hit in 14 at-bats.

In his first at-bat of the 1992 season, on April 9th against the Padres, Karros hit a two-run home run to deep left field off of Craig Lefferts for his first career home run. He became a full-time starter for the Dodgers that season, appearing in 149 games and hitting 20 home runs while driving in 88 runs. He was named the 1992 NL Rookie of the Year, the first of five straight that the Dodgers would win from 1992-1996. Karros put up consistent numbers throughout his career with the Dodgers, with a batting average just under .270 and an average of almost 25 home runs a year. 1999 was his best year with the Dodgers, a batting average of .304 with 34 home runs and 112 RBI. His 270 home runs as a Dodger remains the third most in Dodgers history.

Like Sheffield, Karros was hosed on any votes for the NL MVP that season despite the fact that both of them put up better numbers than most of the guys in the top-25. Apparently a 77-85 record that season under then first-year manager Davey Johnson would halt such accomplishments.

May 31- Albuquerque Isotopes

It’s kind of funny how often people ask me one specific question and it turns into the most complex scavenger hunt this side of “Super Sloppy Double Dare.” Not so much the 1987 version though. I think the “Super-ness” and the “Sloppy-ness” really came into its own on its second run in 1989. But we can debate all that nonsense later. The question I’m referring to, at least in my head, seems like an incredibly easy task; that being, “what would you like for a gift?” This has been a common question any of us have heard throughout our lives, but very seldom do any of us ever have an answer right on the spot. Yes, when you were around 10-years-old you probably asked for a Super Nintendo because the graphics were “so much radder” than that of the NES. Depending on how old most of you are, that entire reference probably launched right over your heads. My point is, now that we’re in our adult years the only thing that really constitutes as an appropriate gift in money… or Dave and Buster’s gift certificates if that’s your thing. Having never been to Dave and Buster’s I cannot attest for its awesomeness, but what I can tell you is that in most cases I just tell people I want New Era Caps when it comes to gifts.

Given my circumstance, let alone my boisterous appreciation for New Era’s product mixed with my extensive love for baseball, one might think that this is a more than reasonable (and obvious) request. However, as I’ve quickly learned the last two years from my parents, even after I’ve given them specific lists of which hats I’m looking for, I still end up with $50 in ITunes gift cards and some baseball books. I’m not going to deny how awesome those gifts are, but it would be kind of nice if I had a hat or two waiting to surprise me underneath the Christmas tree. As it stands now only four people have been successful in this mission.

Will MacNeil (@RFWill149) has hooked it up quite a few times, and I still feel like I’m in his debt for his generosity. Will has gotten me four hats thus far; two of which I’ve written about on March 9^th and April 5^th. The other two will be coming later. Then of course I have my wonder girlfriend Angie Kinderman (@sconnieangie) who got me this beauty on April 18^th. Third, let’s just say I was treated very well by the New Era Flagship store in New York City while I was in the MLB Fan Cave. Actually, for the sake of not getting anyone in trouble, I was only gifted one hat which will be covered down the road. As for the fourth person, a fine tip of the cap goes out to my friend Tyler Runyan who got me this Albuquerque Isotopes.

Tyler and I have known each other for a solid six years. We first met at Max’s Tavern in Eugene, Oregon during the summer of 2007 as we were both trying to covet the wonderful prizes of sorts during Max’s Tuesday Knight Trivia. After a few months of being each other’s nemesis we decided to join forces for a bit. Then dude pal got a job at the bar, all the while I continued to clean up at trivia. As years pressed on I joined the staff and then we started taking English classes together at the University of Oregon. Anytime one of us didn’t want to show up at class we always made sure to text ahead so that the person actually going to class could mark the initial’s of whomever stayed home. Anytime we were together outside of work and school we generally just talked about Saturday Night Live sketches, specifically an Adam Sandler sketch where he plays a drunken Bostonian reminiscing about his days at the Boston Garden during Celtics games. The one moment in particular that literally had us pissing in our pants was when Sandler talks about beating the organ player because he didn’t know the intro to “Freeze Frame” by J. Geils Band. This became our song, and one of us would always turn it on the loudspeakers at the bar as the other walked in for a beer.

Not too long after I returned from my whirlwind trip across the country did I realize that Tyler had moved to Salt Lake City, Utah. Not too long after that he moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico where his longtime girlfriend Ali lived. They soon got engaged and I moved back to Eugene to finish up school. We didn’t talk to each other much after that, but we would text each other jokes every now-and-then to let the other person know they were still alive.

On May 4^th I got a text from Tyler asking if I had even been to an Isotopes game. I told him I hadn’t even been in “The Land of Enchantment” (state motto of N.M.). He then went on about the game and how awesome the setup is, and that I of all people would really appreciate going out there. All of this is true; I’ve been wanting to get out to a game for quite some time. He then made his way to the gift shop and sent me a photo of the giant wall of hats which featured an array of custom Isotopes hats, game style and even old school Albuquerque Dukes hats. 

Now, during the time we were talking it was mostly taking place on Facebook as I was in the middle of doing research on another blog post and I completely missed the part about him asking me which hat I wanted. He had previously asked my size and offered to buy on for me, but I missed the part where I was supposed to give him relatively important information regarding the fact that I don’t particularly like custom caps; however, a gift hat is a gift hat, and I appreciate them all the same. After sliding him my address and giving him many, many thank yous I waited.

I went to California and back to catch the Oakland Athletics take on the Kansas City Royals during the Third Annual Bacon Fest over the weekend of May 17^th-19^th and when I got back I had this lovely box waiting on my bed.

Needles to say, I was a bit confused, mostly for the sake that I couldn’t figure out how the mascot for the Houston Astros got my address. Which reminds me of another thing; mascots CANNOT have the same name. The Isotopes mascot is also names Orbit, which technically is legit because the current Astros’ Orbit is a re-release after taking a hypersnooze for the last 14 years. Not knowing what awaited, I grabbed a knife, cut the tape off and dove into the completely full box of packing peanuts… and this hat. As soon as I saw the hat, all of the packing peanuts made way more sense.

Due to the fact that this Isotopes cap is a custom I will forgo talking about the team’s history until I get my hands on one or more of the official caps, but… keeping within the realm of my markings, I have two good ones for this cap. Both of the numbers I chose are for two players who made an impact in the game that Tyler and Ali attended on the 4^th, one of which who got called up not too long after that game. Crazy!

#17- Nick Buss is a two-time draft pick of the Los Angeles Dodgers, the first of which came in the 35^th round of the 2006 amateur draft out of De La Salle Collegiate High School in Warren, Michigan. The second time came in the 8^th round of the 2008 amateur draft while he was attending USC (like a jerk) (Sorry, Trojan bias. Quack Quack!!!). As a leftfielder and centerfielder, Buss has made his way through the ranks of every Minor League affiliate in the Dodgers organization and has been with the Isotopes since the start of the 2013 season.

On the night of May 4^th Buss went into “Billy Badass mode” and had himself a multi-hit game. His at-bats looked like this...

1^st- single

2^nd- F7

3^rd- triple

4^th- 2-run home run

5^th- strikeout swinging

Yes, Mr. Buss almost hit for the natural cycle and then almost finished up a miscellaneous cycle just in case. Alas, he didn’t, but what he did was still impressive nonetheless.

#38- Originally slotted as a first baseman, current Dodgers outfielder and son of Andy Van Slyke, Scott was drafted by the Dodgers in 14^th round of the 2005 June amateur draft out of John Burroughs High School in Laude, Missouri. Due o the overwhelming presence of outfielder on the Dodgers 25-man roster, Van Slyke had been stretching his legs with the Isotopes since 2009, with a few brief stints at AA Chattanooga with the Lookouts and advanced-A Inland Empire with the 66ers.

On this particular night Van Slyke went 2-4 with a single and a home run, his ninth on the year at the time. His batting average was a solid .408, his OPS 1.255 and he had knocked in 27 runs in just a little over a month. After that, the Dodgers brass came to their sense and called him up for his second stint in the Majors.

May 22- Los Angeles Dodgers

It’s come to that time; the time when these Stars and Stripes posts get a little bit longer and way more in depth. I don’t mean that as a bad thing by any means. I purposely withheld a lot of these teams until the very end for the reason that there is way more to talk about, and the Los Angeles Dodgers are certainly a team riddles with history when it comes to our country’s military. I will apologize ahead of time if I jump around a lot. I’ll do my best to keep it all time relevant and concise, but I can’t make any promises.

I should probably start with my stepfather Robert. Last summer I found myself in a very interesting place. I had been kicked out of the MLB Fan Cave the day after Memorial Day and went back home to Oregon to stay with my parents in Portland for a few months before I had to head back to Eugene in the Fall to finish up my schooling. I was struggling to come to terms with what had happened. From my standpoint I had done everything I could to interact with every fan possible. I made every guest, whether they were a ball player, musician, actor or even just a regular person taking a tour feel welcome. Most important, I represented more than just the Oakland Athletics; I did my damndest to represent everyone and every team who didn’t have a place in the Fan Cave. And for all I did, or tried to do, I was sent packing. Only one time in my life had I ever felt so helpless; the biggest difference between then and now was that this time around my career was in jeopardy. I had truly sacrificed everything, including my appearance to be in the Fan Cave. I didn’t know what to do. Over the next few weeks I literally sat around the house and continued watching baseball. My brain was still locked in Fan Cave ode and I didn’t know how to stop it. My mother did her best to try and help me through it, but it was my stepfather who really jumped in and rung my bell.

Robert was orphaned around the age of 16. His father had died and his mother had walked out on him and his younger brother. He did what he could to support himself, but never let his situation get in the way of taking time to have fun. Of all the stories he’s told me over the seven years we’ve known each other, his time as a freelance photographer for Rolling Stone has never left my mind. Quite a few of the photos from concerts he caught at the LA Forum he still had in his possession (all slides) had graced the magazine in one form or another. Concerts like: The Rolling Stones, Jethro Tull, Led Zeppelin and every other rock band from that era I routinely listen to today. Robert also took time to catch Dodgers and Los Angeles Lakers games when he could, all while finishing school and working at the local Carl’s Jr. in Torrance. When he was old enough he joined the Army and sought a place within Special Forces. He made it. When the time came and he wanted to be a paratrooper his vision was too poor for the program and he was sent to the doctor for approval or dismissal. Not wanting to miss his chance he forged the doctor’s signature for approval. I never knew him during his time in the military, but I’ve done my best to piece together what I could from that part of his life without asking too many questions. When it comes to war, and those who have been an active participant in it, I know there are certain questions I should and should not ask; even though I am a journalist. The few things additionally I can tell you is that he spent a lot of his time doing extraction work in South America and Southeast Asia. Yah, hardcore stuff. He worked in the White House in Intelligence during the Jimmy Carter administration. And, he was a paratrooper instructor for years while he was stationed at Fort Bragg. The day that part of his life came to an end was when he did a jump and his parachute didn’t open.

The last time I took a physics class was probably well over a decade ago when I completed by two-year degree at Clark College in Vancouver, Washington. Of all the things I will never forget from that class is the speed of terminal velocity; 9.8 meters per second squared. That’s how fast he was traveling when he luckily hit a body of water from over 10,000 feet which only managed to break a little more than 75% of his body. It took over two years for his body to heal, in which time his wife at the time divorced him and kept his only son from seeing him. After hearing all of this any worry or complaint I really ever had in my life ceased to be. During my lull he sat me down and, in so few words, told me to get off my ass and not wallow around.

The last time I had been in such a deep depression I got over by traveling around. I started with the Oregon versus Ohio State Rose Bowl in 2010 and then backpacked through Western Europe by myself later that summer for two-and-a-half weeks. He reminded me of this. He told me that I had to pick myself up and start from scratch. It took me a few days to put something together, but I finally set my place to travel across the country to visit all of the Major League ballparks. Before I did so I bought Robert this hat a few days before Father’s Day.

Over the last couple of years I’ve gotten to a point of giving my parents really amazing gifts that I’ve kind of backed myself into a bit of corner. I’ve never been one to settle for the mundane; everything I give has to have a deeper meaning behind it. I was out shopping around when I decided to stop by Just Sports (@JustSportsPDX) to say hello to my friends who worked there and had been supporting me through my Fan Cave experience. I think I spent an hour just letting loose with all of my stories over the last few months before I finally took the time to actually look around the store for anything interesting. I hadn’t picked up the Athletics Stars and Stripes hat so I made sure to grab one in my size before it was too late. As I walked over to the front of the store to pick it up I saw the Dodgers one sitting next to it. I thought about it for a brief second and figured, “what the hell?” and picked up Robert’s size. When I got home I handed it over and gave him a hug. He’s never really worn hats so there was a slight awkward moment when we both looked at each other and knew that part about him, but he still thanked me nonetheless for at least being thoughtful.

From time-to-time we still talk about his military past, but it is what it is, in the past. Much like my time with the Fan Cave, it’s in the past. I’ve done what I can to move forward; reinvent myself, so to speak, as a writer. Honestly, prior to this last summer I had a horrible habit of writing, as in I never really did it unless it was vital. Now, I don’t want to go a day without writing about something.

I’ve never really thanked him enough for everything he’s done. For some odd reason as emotional and outspoken as I am I’ve always done a horrible job of conveying it with spoken word. Put a piece of paper and a pen in front of me and I can turn into Charles Dickens. Once of these days I’ll pass this story his way. He doesn’t actually read my work. I’ll actually have to email this to him. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just the way we are.

I have to tip my cap to the Dodgers. This season they’ve invited astronaut, and Homer Simpson rival, Buzz Aldrin to lead the hand salute during the National Anthem on Memorial Day. This on top of the number of years the Dodgers have done outreach work with veterans in and outside the United States.

Since 1971 the Dodgers have gone 21-18 on Memorial Day with four games missed due to travel/off days. As far as any patterns are concerned the Dodgers’ best record against any opponent is 3-0 against the Colorado Rockies and 1-0 against the Arizona Diamondbacks, while their worst is 1-3 against the New York Mets. The one bit of information I found interesting is that the Dodgers had a weird run of games against the Cincinnati Reds around or on Memorial Day from 1976-1981. In ’76 they played a doubleheader against the Reds they day before they lost to the San Francisco Giants on that Monday. In ’79 they lost to the Reds by the score of 3-2 and the following year they played a doubleheader on Memorial Day in which they split with the Dodgers winning the early game. Last, in ’81 the Dodgers best the Reds 14-6 a week after they played another doubleheader against one another. After that, the Reds were no longer seen around the Dodgers on Memorial Day.

There were just too many names and players that I could have paid tribute too for this cap… so I figured, why not put them all on there?

#1- Harold H "Pee Wee" Reese was born in Ekron, Kentucky on July 23, 1918. He was signed by the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1938 and played with the Louisville Colonels in the American Association. When the Pirates' minor league agreement with the Colonels came to an end after the 1938 season, Reese was obtained by the Boston Red Sox, who sold him to the Brooklyn Dodgers for $35,000 and four players. Reese made his debut with Brooklyn on April 23, 1940. He played 84 games his rookie season and batted .272, sharing the shortstop position with player-manager Leo Durocher.

By 1942, the 24 year-old was a National League all-star but that was to be his last season in the major leagues for the duration of the war as he joined the Navy. Reese was stationed at Norfolk Naval Air Station in 1943, where he regularly played baseball. In 1944, he was sent to Hawaii and played for the Aiea Hospital team. He joined the Third Fleet team for the US Navy's Pacific tour and was then assigned to Guam where he was shortstop and assistant coach for the 3rd Marine Division baseball team.

Throughout Reese’s 16-year career he made the National League All-Star team 10 times, the first coming in 1942 before he shipped off to the Navy. Upon his return in 1946 he made the All-Star team nine consecutive times. From 1946-1955 Reese also found himself in the Top-25 voting for NL MVP, eight of which came with the Top-nine. His best season arguably came in 1954 when he hit .309 on the season, the only year in the Majors that he ever hit .300 or better. That year he also hit 10 home runs, eight triple and brought in 69 runs. He won one World Series ring in 1955 and played one year in Los Angeles in 1958 for a total of 59 games. Reese was inducted into the Hall of Fame by the Veteran’s Committee in 1984. He passed away on August 14, 1999.

#2- There’s something to be said about a guy who can get out of a bad situation with a smile on his face, and Tommy Lasorda has been doing it for well over 60 years as a member of the Dodgers. Before his playing career took off, so to speak, he spent two years in the Army at the tail end of World War II in 1946-1947. He only played in the Majors for a total of three seasons (1954-1956), the most notable of which came in 1955 when he pitched in four games with a 13.50 ERA and a 0-0 record. Despite his poor showing, the man still got a World Series ring. Lasorda spent a numbers of years in the Minor Leagues, one year in particular I wrote about on January 23rd when he was with the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League.

Lasorda's first off-field assignment with the Dodgers was as a scout from 1961–65. In 1966, he became the manager for the Pocatello Chiefs in the rookie leagues, then managed the Ogden Dodgers to three Pioneer League championships from 1966–68. He became the Dodgers AAA PCL manager in 1969 with the Spokane Indians (1969–71) and remained in the position when the Dodgers switched their AAA farm club to the Albuquerque Dukes (1972). His 1972 Dukes team won the PCL Championship. Lasorda was also a manager for the Dominican Winter Baseball League team Tigres del Licey (Licey Tigers). He led the team to the 1973 Caribbean World Series Title in Venezuela with a series record of 5 wins and 1 loss. A lesser-known fact about Lasorda is that he is fluent in Spanish, which has helped swimmingly throughout his career.

In 1973, Lasorda became the third base coach on the staff of Hall of Fame manager Walter Alston, serving for almost four seasons. He was widely regarded as Alston's heir apparent, and turned down several major league managing jobs elsewhere to remain in the Dodger fold. Lasorda became the Los Angeles Dodgers manager September 29, 1976 upon Alston's retirement. He compiled a 1,599-1,439 record as Dodgers manager, won two World Series championships (1981 and 1988), four National League pennants and eight division titles in his 20 year career as the Dodgers manager. His 16 wins in 30 NL Championship games managed were the most of any manager at the time of his retirement. His 61 post-season games managed ranks fourth all-time behind Bobby Cox, Casey Stengel and Joe Torre. He also managed in four All-Star games. He was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1997 as a manager in his first year of eligibility. The Dodgers retired his uniform number (2) on August 15, 1997 and renamed a street in Dodgertown as "Tommy Lasorda Lane". Lasorda came out of retirement to manage the United States team at the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney. He led the Americans to the gold medal, beating heavily favored Cuba, which had won the gold medals at the two previous Olympics. In doing so, he became the first manager to win a World Series Championship and lead a team to Olympic Gold Medal.

This last Spring Training Lasorda showed how great of a motivator in life, let alone baseball, he is by encouraging a disabled war veteran by the name of Daniel Jacobs to try out for the Dodgers. Seven years earlier, Jacobs was on a battlefield in Ramadi, Iraq when an IED exploded beneath him, killing the Marine with him and shattering his body.

Jacobs underwent more than 50 surgeries, including an amputation of his left leg below the knee. Within years, he became the first amputee to return to active duty in the Navy. One of his lifelong dreams was to play professional baseball. Lasorda, upon hearing his story at a California Disabled Veterans Business Alliance meeting, talked with Jacobs, did what he could for him and convinced him to attend an open tryout. He did.

Love him or hate him, Lasorda is one of the biggest class acts the game has ever known. One of the unfortunate blights to occur in his heralded career took place this last fall before Game 2 of the World Series in San Francisco as the Giants hosted the Detroit Tigers. During a pre-game ceremony the Giants paid tribute to veterans who had fought and served during World War II. Lasorda would be the only person booed during the presentation. And not a light boo either. The reaction from people watching the game lit up social media networks; however, Lasorda, being the guy that is he is, took it all with a smile. Like I said, class act.

#4- Edwin D "Duke" Snider was born on September 19, 1926, in Los Angeles, California. “My Dad started to call me Duke when I was just five years old,” he told The Sporting News on July 27, 1949. “But he never did tell me why. I guess it was just one of those things that stick.” Like a lot of players of his era, Snider was a gifted athlete in every sport. He played tailback for the football team; however, baseball and softball were his main focus. By the end of his high school days he was getting scouted hard by the Dodgers, Reds and St. Louis Cardinals, but he waited to sign with anyone until after he graduated. The Dodgers were the first team to visit him after he finished school and signed with them that day.

Snider was 17 years old when he reported to the Montreal Royals of the International League in April 1944. He made just a couple of appearances with the Royals and played the remainder of the season with the Newport News Dodgers in the Piedmont League. Snider got off to a great start at Newport and was hitting .342 in his first 19 games. He was later hit on the elbow by a pitched ball and finished the season with a .295, which was still fourth best in the league.

He returned home to California after the season, turned 18 on September 19, and reported to the pre-induction center in the Watts section of Los Angeles for his military physical on October 19.

"They checked us just enough to make sure we were warm and upright," he explained in his autobiography The Duke of Flatbush, "and a guy handed me some papers I didn't want to know about and screamed 'NAVY!' in my face at the top of his lungs. I was headed for the high seas. I wondered why they took me if they thought I was deaf."

Snider served as a fireman, third class on the submarine tender USS Sperry at Guam. Snider used to win bets against other sailors and servicemen by throwing a baseball the length of submarines that arrived at Guam, that's about 300 feet. "I'd throw the ball the length of their sub, my crewmates would win $300 or so, and I'd pick up my guarantee - $50," he recalls.

“We played lots of baseball and basketball on Guam. Pee Wee Reese was stationed there, too, but I never bumped into him.” Snider moonlighted for the 2nd Marine Division team while on Guam as well as playing for the USS Sperry team.

In between playing baseball, Snider's main duty on the USS Sperry was dishwashing detail. "There was a porthole behind the sink and any time we came across a chipped glass or dish that wouldn't come clean in less than a second we fired the sucker into the Pacific Ocean."

Snider felt he had a very comfortable and safe war while his father - also serving with the Navy - was involved in many of the island invasions in the Pacific. "There was one close call when it looked as if I was going to find myself in combat after all," he explains in The Duke of Flatbush. "I was on watch duty on the number one 5-inch gun when we sighted an unidentified shop ahead. The command came down from the bridge to load the gun with a star shell that would be fired if the ship did not respond to our signal requesting identification.

"No World Series moment ever scared me as much. I was no authority on loading or firing shells. All I had been told in our drills was that you press this lever, a shell comes up, you put it in and press another lever, and the shell goes 'Boom!' I pressed the first lever, the shell came up, and I put it into the loading chamber. I was actually shaking while waiting for the command to fire. Two ships might start firing at each other in the middle of the Pacific Ocean as a small part of World War II, and I was going to be the one to start the firing.

"Seconds before the command to fire would have come, the other ship identified itself as friendly. I needed an immediate change of underwear."

Snider was later stationed at Long Beach Army Air Base in California, and while playing for the base team Babe Herman offered him $13,000 to sign with the Pirates, but Snider had his Brooklyn commitment to fulfill. – The Duke of Flatbush

After serving 19 months in thee service Snider returned to the Dodgers for another season in the minors. On April 17, 1947 Snider made his Brooklyn Dodgers debut. Snider played for 18 seasons; his last two came with the Giants and Mets for a season each. Snider made eight All-Star Game appearances for his career. His lifetime average was .295 with 407 home runs, 1,333 RBI and 2,116 hits. He won two World Series rings in 1955 in Brooklyn and in 1959 in Los Angeles. The Dodgers won the World Series in 1963; however, Snider was playing for the Mets that season. Snider never won an NL MVP award; the closest he came was a second place finish to his teammate Roy Campanella in 1955, a decision that was marred with controversy for years. In 1980, his 11^th year of eligibility, Snider was elected to the Hall of Fame with 86.5% of the vote. He passed away on February 27, 2011.

#42- No offense to Jackie Robinson, but I all ready did an extensive piece on his back on April 15th. In that post I didn’t say much about his time in the military so I’ll use this time to focus on it. In 1942, Robinson was drafted and assigned to a segregated Army cavalry unit in Fort Riley, Kansas. Having the requisite qualifications, Robinson and several other black soldiers applied for admission to an Officer Candidate School (OCS) then located at Fort Riley. Although the Army's initial July 1941 guidelines for OCS had been drafted as race-neutral, practically speaking few black applicants were admitted into OCS until after subsequent directives by Army leadership. As a result, the applications of Robinson and his colleagues were delayed for several months. After protests by heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis (then stationed at Fort Riley) and the help of Truman Gibson (then an assistant civilian aide to the Secretary of War), the men were accepted into OCS. This common military experience spawned a personal friendship between Robinson and Louis. Upon finishing OCS, Robinson was commissioned as a second lieutenant in January 1943. Shortly afterward, Robinson and Isum were formally engaged.

After receiving his commission, Robinson was reassigned to Fort Hood, Texas, where he joined the 761st "Black Panthers" Tank Battalion. While at Fort Hood, 2LT Robinson often used his weekend leave to visit the Rev. Karl Downs, President of Sam Huston College (now Huston-Tillotson University) in nearby Austin, Texas; Downs had been Robinson's pastor at Scott United Methodist Church while Robinson attended PJC.

An event on July 6, 1944, derailed Robinson's military career. While awaiting results of hospital tests on the ankle he had injured in junior college, Robinson boarded an Army bus with a fellow officer's wife; although the Army had commissioned its own unsegregated bus line, the bus driver ordered Robinson to move to the back of the bus. Robinson refused. The driver backed down, but after reaching the end of the line, summoned the military police, who took Robinson into custody. When Robinson later confronted the investigating duty officer about racist questioning by the officer and his assistant, the officer recommended Robinson be court-martialed. After Robinson's commander in the 761st, Paul L. Bates, refused to authorize the legal action, Robinson was summarily transferred to the 758th Battalion—where the commander quickly consented to charge Robinson with multiple offenses, including, among other charges, public drunkenness, even though Robinson did not drink.

By the time of the court-martial in August 1944, the charges against Robinson had been reduced to two counts of insubordination during questioning. Robinson was acquitted by an all-white panel of nine officers. The experiences Robinson was subjected to during the court proceedings would be remembered when he later joined the MLB and was subjected to racist attacks. Although his former unit, the 761st Tank Battalion, became the first black tank unit to see combat in World War II, Robinson's court-martial proceedings prohibited him from being deployed overseas, thus he never saw combat action.

After his acquittal, he was transferred to Camp Breckinridge, Kentucky, where he served as a coach for army athletics until receiving an honorable discharge in November 1944. While there, Robinson met a former player for the Kansas City Monarchs of the Negro American League, who encouraged Robinson to write the Monarchs and ask for a tryout. Robinson took the former player's advice and wrote Monarchs' co-owner Thomas Baird.

VS- As if this post wasn’t long enough, I felt it would be a disservice if I didn’t talk about another one of the longest tenured employees in Dodgers’ history. Vin Scully, the voice of God for Dodgers and baseball fans has spent 64 seasons with the Dodgers (1950 – present) and is the longest tenure of any broadcaster with a single team in professional sports history, and he is second by one year to only Lasorda in terms of number of years with the Dodgers organization in any capacity. After serving in the Navy for two years, Scully began his career as a student broadcaster and journalist at Fordham University. While at Fordham, he helped found its FM radio station WFUV (which now presents a Vin Scully Lifetime Achievement Award each year), was assistant sports editor for Volume 28 of The Fordham Ram his senior year, sang in a barbershop quartet, played center field for the Fordham Rams baseball team, called radio broadcasts for Rams baseball, football, and basketball, got a degree, and sent about 150 letters to stations along the Eastern seaboard. He got only one response, from CBS Radio affiliate WTOP in Washington, which made him a fill-in.

Scully was then recruited by Red Barber, the sports director of the CBS Radio Network, for its college football coverage. Scully impressed his boss with his coverage of a football game from frigid Fenway Park in Boston, despite having to do so from the stadium roof. Expecting an enclosed press box, Scully had left his coat and gloves at his hotel, but never mentioned his discomfort on the air. Barber mentored Scully and told him that if he wanted to be a successful sports announcer he should never be a "homer" (openly showing a rooting interest for the team that employs you), never listen to other announcers, and keep his opinions to himself.

In 1950, Scully joined Barber and Cornelius (Connie) Desmond in the Dodgers radio and television booths. When Barber got into a salary dispute with World Series sponsor Gillette in 1953, Scully took Barber's spot for the 1953 World Series. At the age of 25, Scully became the youngest man to broadcast a World Series game (a record that stands to this day). Barber left the Dodgers after the 1953 season to work for the Yankees. Scully eventually became the team's principal announcer. Scully announced the Dodgers' games in Brooklyn until 1957, after which the club moved to Los Angeles.

Scully's view of the game was always wider than what was happening on the field in front of him. In a game in Ebbets Field in 1957, an odd series of game-related events required the Dodgers to use their third-string catcher, Joe Pignatano, in the middle of the game. Scully knew that Pignatano's wife had recently had a baby and she was not at the game – she might not be listening to the broadcast. Not wanting her to miss her husband's major league debut behind the plate, he suggested that any listeners who might know the Pignatano family should pick up the phone and alert them.

Little mentions like that, and especially the long stories that we’ve heard from Scully for years are what separate him from any other broadcaster most of us have heard throughout our lives. Scully has the ability to establish a connection with not only the players, but the audience as well to transcend what is merely seen on the baseball field, he humanizes the game.

April 15- Brooklyn Dodgers

Today is one of the few days where I’m happy that I waited until the end of the day to write this post. When I woke up this morning I had Jackie Robinson on the brain; it showed in the photos I posted to my Instagram account. For the rest of the morning I hummed out a few stories I had been working for one of the sports Web sites I write for, eDraft Sports (@eDraftSports). The Boston Red Sox had just finished off their sweep of the Tampa Bay Rays with a Mike Napoli walk-off RBI double, the Colorado Rockies/New York Mets game had been postponed due to snow and a series of bombs had gone off near the finish line of the Boston Marathon.

The first message I saw came from my friend Kaitlin Flanigan (@KaitlinFlanigan) on Twitter as she was live on the scene doing coverage of the marathon for NECN in Boston. I asked to make sure she wasn't hurt in anyway, at which she let me know she was fine. For the next hour or so I retweeted anything she sent out as to hopefully let it get to those who may have had friends or family on scene who follow me. The irony of this interaction sent me mentally back to December 11 when I was held up at the Clackamas Town Center Mall in Clackamas, Oregon after a gunman opened fire in the food court. Kaitlin was one of the first people I was able to speak to once I was extracted an hour after the first shots were fired, taken outside to be handcuffed and questioned before being released to notify everyone that I made it out safely. She and the newsroom got me on the air live to discuss everything that had happened. Needless to say, these are crazy times we live in.

All day long I’ve been wearing my 1932-1957 Brooklyn Dodgers cap, and all day long I’ve been trying to come up with an answer to what Jackie Robinson Day means to me and everyone else. I could easily take a cop-out approach and say that it’s about diversity or equality, but those are just words. I always need something more concrete to really exercise a real emotion.

I’ve never been one to look at photos of carnage, but today I found myself shuffling through the ghastly aftermath of the bombs that wounded so many and killed three including an eight-year-old boy. I couldn’t help but think back to all of my history classes in middle school, high school and at the University of Oregon when we discussed segregation during the 1930s through the 1970s. Photo after photo and story after story the end result was almost always the same; churches were bombed or burned, black men were strung up by their necks for all to see and children ran through the streets, avoiding assault for nothing more than because they were born with a different skin color. While the motives of today’s bombing are unclear at the moment, the events of today are no different than what our country has been through for the last 100 years. As much as we like to think that times have changed I can honestly say that I don’t believe it. If it’s not about skin color, it’s about religion. If it’s not about religion, it’s about economic stature. People feel that they need to be against one another for reasons that only make sense to them. All my life I’ve done what I can to live up to my principles of not discriminating against another person because they are different than me, but I can’t force anyone else to feel the same way. I can only try to talk sense into others, reason with them and let them know that I’ll always be there to listen and understand.

If you read my post about Hank Aaron on April 13 then you have an idea of the environment I grew up in and how intolerant I am of prejudice. If not, go back and read it before moving on with this piece.

In February of last year 30 baseball fans, including myself, were flown to Phoenix, Arizona for the Top-30 final auditions to get into the MLB Fan Cave. On the final night we were together we were paid a visit by Jeremy Barfield (@Baseclogger). Jeremy is an outfielder in the Oakland Athletics organization and is also the youngest son of former Toronto Blue Jay Jesse Barfield. He was in the hot tub with a few other people by the time I had gotten there. I was wearing one of the t-shirts I had made for my Fan Cave campaign and he immediately asked me where I was from. I told him I lived in Eugene, Oregon, to which he replied, “So you probably don’t like black people then.” We were off to an amazing start. Everyone else around kept to themselves, but waited to see how I would react. I responded with, “No, but I can totally understand why you would assume so.” I told him that I was only living there to go to school and that I was actually from the Bay Area, but I kept a pretty cool attitude despite being a called a racist within a matter of seconds. I then turned the conversation around on him and asked how he came to that conclusion. By this time it had been about five minutes and no one had dared to join in on our conversation. He said that he had played games there when he was with the Vancouver Canadians and he ran into to trouble at one of the bars near campus. I asked him if he remembered the name. He couldn’t. I then described which bar I thought it was and he agreed on all accounts. “Yah, that’s Taylor’s,” I said. Taylor’s is a decent place to get a drink or meal in the afternoon, but at night and on the weekends it’s overrun by all the fraternity and sorority kids. In Eugene, that means a lot of rich white kids. Once we solved this mystery I asked him if he wanted to hear a story. He said yes, so I told him the story about the last time I had been to Taylor’s at night on a weekend…

I was with four of my closest friends, just shooting some pool and having a few beers. I happened to be wearing a Jackie Robinson Brooklyn Dodgers player-T I had purchased a month prior because it was summer, but more important, because it was baseball season. As the night progressed the pool table area began filling up. With that, people also started to get heavily intoxicated. Around midnight it was hard to continue playing pool, let alone walk around. It was late and I wanted to head home to get to bed so I went up to the front counter to close out my tab. I put my cue up and took about four steps to the left when some kid yelled at me, “Fuck you nigger lover.” I turned my head slightly, recognized the kid from my nights as a bartender down the street, at which he said again, “Fuck you nigger lover.” The last time I had thrown a punch was when I was 21-years-old in downtown Portland. And in that case I had knocked a kid unconscious after he tried to rob me with a knife in-hand. In this case, it wasn’t worth it. I hastily walked up to the front, closed my tab and left. 

Jeremy was shocked. Everyone else listening was more surprised that I had used the “n-word,” but I didn’t make excuses for it. It’s what really happened. Jeremy and I chatted for another 20-30 minutes. I told him stories about the history of Oregon and the Eugene area and how in the 1920s the largest population of Ku Klux Klan members per capita was in Cottage Grove, as well as other torrid stories of prejudice which took place yards away from where I went to class. By the end of the night Jeremy had asked me for the shirt I was wearing, which I happily handed over… which then began the tattoo discussion. In the end, we were better people for it. Clearly we’re both people who wear our emotions on our sleeves, but we were able to be amicable with one another on a friendly basis. We still talk to this day.

4/15/47: On April 15, 2012 I had the fortune to be meet Jackie Robinson’s daughter Sharon while I was in New York City for the MLB Fan Cave. All nine of us were given a cache of jerseys and shirts from Majestic Apparel the week prior. One of the jerseys we got was an authentic #42 Dodgers jersey. I had always wanted to get one, and I was more than thankful to have one provided; so thankful that I emailed everyone who may have been possible for this coming to be. Everyone.

When the day came I threw on my Jackie Robinson player-T, my Robinson jersey over the top and this cap with the date Jackie first took the field all ready written on the front panel. When she arrived we all greeted her, shook her hand and thanked her for stopping by. She was on a bit of whirlwind tour, having traveled around New York doing other interviews on her way to that night’s New York Yankees game against the Los Angeles Angels. The public relations staff had us take photos with her, the majority of which felt really unnatural, much like a lot of things that happened while I was there.

After the photos we corralled around the couch, asking her questions about her father, mother and her life. The ladies had elected to sit on the couch; however, us dudes opted to stand as she was.

She told us all about what she could recall from his playing days as she was only seven-years-old by the time he retired at the end of the 1957 season. I had asked her if she had the opportunity to go to the old house her parents lived in when he played for the Montreal Royals before playing for the Dodgers. She said she was there not too long before our meeting as they had made it a national landmark in 2011. I looked around the room a bit and noticed that Eddie really wanted to say something, but decided to keep it to himself. The back story behind that most of the other Cave Dwellers didn’t like Eddie very much and complained that he always talked about himself too much. I was not one of these people. One thing that I did know about Eddie is that, while a little rough around the edges, he is an incredibly polite and loyal person. I also knew that his neighbor was Chadwick Boseman, the actor who portrayed Jackie in the film “42.” When Sharon finished talking about Montreal I asked Eddie about this in front of everyone. Sharon lit up, and she and Eddie went back and forth talking about Boseman and the upcoming film. Before she left she gave us all copies of her book Promises to Keep and when I had a free moment I nervously told her I had a tattoo in honor of her father. I really had no idea how she was going to react to it, and the last thing I wanted to do was make a 62-year-old woman uncomfortable. I asked her if it was ok to show her, she said yes, so I did.

She smiled and thanked me. She then told me that one of her nephews had quite a few tattoos which we both laughed at. We said our goodbyes and away she went. It was definitely one of the more exhilarating days in my life.

In August of last year, almost three months after I had been let go from the Fan Cave, I visited my friend Dave Kaufman and stayed with him in Montreal. One of the most important things I wanted to do while I was there was check out Olympic Stadium, the former home of the Montreal Expos. Around midnight on a Thursday evening we made our way there. When we arrived the first thing I saw was this…

In all the excitement I had forgotten about the year that Jackie had played with the Royals in 1946, but the city of Montreal certainly hadn’t. The only thing about that trip I regret not doing is stopping by his old house. I suppose I'll have to make another trip in the future.

Unlike a lot of other players and teams I’ve written about it’s hard for me to really give a great, detailed story about Jackie. Not because I can’t, but because so many people have done at way deeper levels than I have. With this post I mostly wanted to talk about the moments in which I was influenced by him. This day and the #42 have touched more lives than any of us can really come to terms with. Jackie graduated from UCLA, served for his country in the Army, won the National League Rookie of the Year award in 1947, won a batting title (.342) and the NL MVP award in 1949, won a World Series ring in 1955, was elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1962 and focused all of his attention to the Civil Rights movement until his passing on October 24, 1972. The man lived, breathed and bled humanity.

In the days leading up to Jackie Robinson Day while I was in the Fan Cave we were all asked to write about our opinions of what the #42 means to us. Most of the others took their time, but I penned out my thoughts in less than five minutes. As I reflect upon every story that I’ve told, and emotion that I’ve felt I think it’s best to leave you with what I wrote as an ending.

42 is an interesting number to me. As a baseball fan it has clearly become synonymous to the man who broke the color barrier for the Brooklyn Dodgers back in 1947, but in life, it is something more. A number of years ago I read through Douglas Adams’s novel Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and in it is a particular passage about the “ultimate question about the universe, life and everything,” at which the answer is 42. There isn’t much of an explanation as to what that means exactly, but to someone like me, a baseball fan, I draw my conclusion based on my experiences.

42, to me, is the symbol within the baseball community that signifies equality. In life, it signifies change. I was lucky enough to be raised to look past color, gender and/or differences in other people, and know that I am no better nor worse than anyone. I will never know, nor understand the daily struggles that Jackie Robinson faced, but I can continue to learn from the manner in which he dealt with it. Robinson’s impact during and after his playing career changed the way we look at one another. Whether it was when he played his heart out on the ball field, or marching down the streets alongside Martin Luther King, Jr., Robinson’s message was always simple and to the point, “I'm not concerned with your liking or disliking me... All I ask is that you respect me as a human being.”

Robinson’s priorities went beyond baseball. Like the men and women he marched with in life, his priority lied on the unification of everyone. Looking back on Adams’ point of what 42 means, I think it’s safe to say it’s true. 42 is the number that bonds us all as human beings. It’s life, love, happiness and an outlook on a brighter tomorrow.

January 23- Los Angeles Angels

The first time I saw this cap was sitting on the couch at the MLB Fan Cave, watching the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim taking on the Seattle Mariners at Safeco Field on May 26 of this last season (2012). Ricardo Marquez and I both turned to each other, locked eyes and gave out a simultaneous, “Oooooooohhhhhh!!!” Yes, this hat is that awesome.

This hat is not new, but a throwback to the old life of the Angeles in Pacific Coast League, and also served as the inspiration for the Los Angeles Dodgers logo which has been going strong since 1958. The hat was only used for three years from 1955-1957 when the Angels served as the AAA affiliate of the Chicago Cubs (1932-56) and Los Angeles Dodgers (1957). After the ’57 season the team moved north to Spokane, Washington to become the Indians. But, one thing that is to be noted is that the current Angeles team has no actual affiliation with the old Angels squad other than the name. Therefore, the old school uniforms they wore last May were technically incorrect. But what do I know, right?

When putting together numbers for this hat I had a hell of a time finding any of significance. You’d be surprised what you aren’t able to find within a three-year window. However, there were two names that I immediately recognized and spent over an hour trying to track down their jersey numbers. In which case, when trying to track down minor league numbers from almost 60 years ago, I wish you all the best of luck. I got so flustered that I had to recruit outside help. Luckily, I asked the right guy.

#26- (First off, yes. I did screw up on making the 6. It looks more like a lower case "b".)
John Beare (@Interstate19Cap) and I have been a pair of chatty Kathys for the last seven months or so, and he is definitely one of the guys who I admire that has a lot more New Era Caps than I do. But, where slight envy comes in, so does knowledge. Having seen a photo of the cap as his avatar on Twitter a few months ago I figured that he, of all people, might know how to find both players’ numbers. Sure enough, he did. Tommy Lasorda played for the Angels in their final season and John happened to have a book by a man named Richard Beverage (awesome name) that had this tidbit inside. Lasorda went 7-10 with a 3.90 ERA, which wasn’t exactly the cat’s meow of his career, but how can you blame a guy who had been moved up and down routinely from the Majors to the Minors throughout his career?

#?- The second spot on my hat is still blank on account of no one knowing what number Monte Irvin wore for the Angels. Irvin only played four games for the Angels in 1957, which is not exactly going to make the hunt any easier. While I could just role with another name and number, that would kind of defeat the purpose of what I’m doing. First off, there aren’t really any other notable names from those three years. Second of all, despite only four games, Irvin is a Hall of Famer. Irvin is best known for his time with the New York Giants, winning a World Series title with the club in 1954 alongside Willie Mays. I would almost guarantee that the vast majority of you reading this post probably didn’t even know who Irvin was until I just pointed it out. He was elected to the Hall of Fame in 1973 by the Negro League Committee after his career had come to a close in 1956.

So, if anyone wants to do me a huge favor, and knows where to find that piece of information, it would be more than appreciated.

UPDATE!!!

#15- Success!!! After a month-and-a-half of investigating, an answer has finally been brought to light. A fellow member of the Twitter-verse named Nick Parson (@NicholasParson) is the person most responsible for this find. Prior to the discovery, very little hope was left in the search after a trail ran cold with Parson's contact at the library of the National Baseball Hall of Fame, Jim Gates. I received a direct message from Nick a few days ago in which he detailed that a member of SABR (Society for American Baseball Research) came across Irvin wearing #15 on his jersey in a program from April of 1957 and relayed the information to Jim about an hour after Jim had told Nick that hope was pretty much lost. Absolutely incredible. I cannot thank Nick Parsons, Jim Gates and SABR enough for making this discovery.

It really blows my mind to think that my dumb little hat markings helped bring a 56-year-old oversight to light. I thought I was just being clever. Wow!