Sports outlook 7/13

Sunday, July 13, 2003

It's difficult to grasp the undeniable fact that an entire generation has grown up since they stopped playing professional sports at 22nd & Brooklyn in Kansas City. One thing Jim Novak always says makes sense. If we were younger, we wouldn't have the memories we will take with us either to the grave or until Alzheimer's disease or something else just as rude steals them from us. Novak is entirely correct. As I look back at my life and recall the enjoyment I have gotten from professional sports, my happiest times were at Municipal Stadium and Municipal Auditorium in Kansas City. Sure, both the Steers and Kings had some good teams at the auditorium and the Chiefs were champions of all the world, so let's eliminate them and get to the crux of the matter…the Athletics. Bad baseball, great fun What the A's gave me, and I'm certain many others, were 13 years of bad baseball and pure fun. You don't have to be a champion. It's easy to root for a winner. How times have changed. I've asked people why they like Mike Tyson and they replied, "Because he is good." The same query concerning Tiger Woods got an identical reply. I'm sure these are the people who also liked Mickey Mantle. Maybe Novak and I were the only two who held an opposite view of him. I just find it awfully difficult to hold any love for an athlete who is rude to kids. Mantle was rude to kids and, like many of his teammates, couldn't spare a couple seconds to sign an autograph. But I'm sure there were plenty of people out there who loved Mantle and all the Yankees because they were good. As someone once said, "rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for U.S. Steel." If they had all been as nice to me as Tony Kubek, Phil Rizzuto and Moose Skowron, I'd have liked the Yankees, regardless of their position in the standings. And so I offer for you my top 10 moments in Municipal Stadium, proving you don't have to be a great team with great players to provide cherished memories. Top ten moments No. 1 -- Municipal Stadium, itself. Just walking through the gates on Brooklyn and emerging along the first-base concourse was a feast to at least four senses. You could smell the freshly mown grass, see the criss-cross alternating light and dark grass, hear the loud hum of the fans and the omnipresent serenade of Harry Jenks on the organ and feel the strength and warmth of the building surrounding you. It was the stadium itself that had to be altered one opening night as the game was delayed while workmen with torches cut the roof off the Kansas City half-pennant porch. That's an entire story in itself, compliments of Charles O. Finley. No. 2 -- Satchel Paige. He started a game and pitched three shutout, one-hit innings for the A's at age 59. Or was is it 65? Maybe 72? Some say he was only 54. Who cares. It was a magnificent time and a magnificent performance. Just to watch that old guy come up out of the rocking chair they had set up for him adjacent to the dugout (the air-conditioning was hard on his tired old bones is what he said) and amble out to the mound. He couldn't throw hard any longer, but he tied some of those Red Sox players up in knots with his hesitation pitch and phenomenal control. No. 3 -- Lew Krausse. Just out of high school, the 18-year old Krausse pitched a three-hit shutout in his major league debut. It was a tremendous performance and one has to wonder how good Krausse might have been had he been brought up properly and learned how to pitch. For the remainder of his career, Krausse was never any better than average. No. 4 -- Suitcase Simpson. In 1956, Simpson, of all people, hit the longest home run in the history of the yard. Not only did he hit one of the 15 or so balls to reach Brooklyn Ave., his drive cleared the street and landed on the porch of a house that sat behind the parking, sidewalk and front lawn. The ball must have gone close to 600 feet that Sunday afternoon. No. 5 -- Larry Stahl. Here was another guy who drove one over Brooklyn, but it was pulled more than Simpson's and rose majestically upward before disappearing in to the night, more than 500 feet from home plate. No. 6 -- Early Wynn. An aged Early Wynn started and pitched five innings of an early season afternoon game in 1963. It was Wynn's final and 300th major league victory. People hardly remember it any more for some reason, but Wynn was only the 14th pitcher to do it. No. 7 -- Farmer's Night. This was Charlie Finley's No. 1 brainstorm in KayCee. This promotion always topped 30,000 in attendance, with none topping the first one when a record was set for illegally parked vehicles, which were towed all night long. Some farmers actually drove tractors to the game -- on Kansas City streets. No. 8 -- Campy Campaneris. The night he played all nine positions was amazing. Campy was the first true Kansas City star. Gus Zernial and Bob Cerv were exciting, but they weren't all ours. Something you never hear anymore was when every time Campy reached first the crowd would start the "go" chant, "Go, go, go, go." That's something forgotten in baseball. No. 9 -- The Fight. It was 1967 and in addition to its being the first baseball fight I ever saw, it remains as the best for several reasons. It started in the old classical way. None of this charging-the-mound garbage. Dick McAuliffe executed a drag bunt and when pitcher Blue Moon Odom went over to field the ball, McAuliffe attempted to spike him. The fight was on. The best thing about this one was that it was a two-parter with Willie Horton and Jack Aker being the primary combatants. Eventually, George Toma's perfectly manicured right field was a mess. There was a huge area without a single blade of grass remaining. No. 10 -- Vida Blue. It was 1971, when rookie Blue was taking the world by storm. He pitched at Municipal Stadium on Aug. 3, drawing 35,623. Finley had this bank of green and gold lights and an air horn that was still behind the left-field fence. For some reason, they left it there when he moved. Then they were gone When the A's won, the lights flashed and the horn blasted. It was silly, but fun…and loud. The A's came back that night to beat the Royals and as we all got up to go, we failed, for a moment, to notice the lights flashing and horns honking because it was so familiar. Suddenly, it hit me. The A's weren't our team any more. The lights had been inactive since 1967 and Finley had bribed a groundskeeper to turn them on if the A's won. As soon as I noticed and realized what was going on this lump came to my throat. The A's were gone and Municipal Stadium would follow, except at 332 N. Tower, Nevada, Mo. There are four pictures of it on the wall of the east bedroom, two on the wall in the front hall and two more on the wall of the den. In the north bedroom is a stack of photos of the place.

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