Look Matt, Cal Ripken!! A lifelong baseball fan's summerlong courtship with his new passion
It was the summer of 1987. Tracy Jones hit 48 homers, Tom Browning threw a perfect game with 24 strikeouts, and the Yankees played the Reds almost daily. If these baseball stats have you scratching your head it means two things: 1) You know that interleague play wasn't adopted until ten years later and 2) Your name isn't Matt (me), nor is it Dave (my brother).
Dave was the Reds, and 13 years old at the time. I was the Yankees, and 7 at the time. No wonder the Reds showed such dominance in our backyard wiffleball league. I use the word league lightheartedly of course, as the “league” was just Dave and me. We each had several teams, but it was the Yanks vs. the Reds that was ultimately the daily showdown. But the question at hand: What spawned that truly remarkable, seemingly never ending summer of week-long days? Put simply, it was the same vacation that birthed my passion for America's pastime. Without further adieu, here is my story.
School was out. First grade was over, and shortly before that, I had just finished my first year playing tee ball. I was given a brand new baseball glove by my parents, in tribute to my tee ball season. Inside of the mitt, it had this cursive name written—one that I couldn’t read. I asked my brother what it said. He replied “Cal Ripken, Jr.” I responded “OK, I think he’s my new favorite player.” At that time, baseball was a sport that I liked; a sport that I would watch my brother play frequently, but considering it a passion, or going through the arduous task of determining my favorite player, was something I’d never considered—until I got that mitt! Shortly after school (and tee ball) ended, it was announced that my entire family would be taking a trip to Cooperstown, NY. I didn't really think twice about its implications. I remember thinking that a museum would probably be boring, and that I’d be miserable. When we finally arrived, I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was that magical moment, almost twenty years ago, that solidified baseball in my heart forever.
We embarked early one morning, with the destination of Cooperstown a staggeringly long four hour drive away. My brother’s best friend, Mike, had joined us, and we crowded into my mom’s 1979 Chevrolet Malibu. On the way there, Mike hounded my mom for a chocolate shake, an offer to which my mom finally gave in—on Christmas day in 2003. Along the way, also, my brother and Mike hounded me. Every 15 minutes or so one of them would say “Look Matt, Cal Ripken!!” Me, being seven years old, and incredibly gullible, fell for it every time with a resounding “WHERE?!?!” This was greeted by simultaneous laughter from Dave, Mike, and both of my parents every single time.
When we finally arrived in Cooperstown, checked into our motel, and made our way to the museum (this was about 35 “Look Matt, Cal Ripken’s” later), I remember walking into astonishment. My father had predictably parked what seemed like 4 miles away from the museum (maybe to save a dollar on parking??) so we walked along Main Street in Cooperstown. Baseball was EVERYWHERE!! I wanted to stop in every shop along the way to add to my collection of wood framed 1987 Topps baseball cards. I wanted everything! There were pennants, hats, bats, jerseys; you name it… at EVERY STORE! Unfortunately, we didn’t stop at any of the shops. We proceeded into the museum, and I spent hours in ecstasy. Of course, I wanted to run through everything in the blink of an eye, but my slow- paced father had to stop and read every little sign, and every little historical snippet in front of every piece on display. I would have been through that museum in 10 minutes if I had my way. But I’m glad that we took our time. It gave me time to appreciate the Honus Wagner card, and the green uniform worn by the Cincinnati Reds on St. Patrick’s Day in 1978. It also gave me time to finally see Cal Ripken! Well, his 1987 Topps baseball card, at least, displayed proudly with all of the other 1987 cards that were on display at the time. When we were done perusing the museum, we visited a local batting cage that also had a booth to test your fastball. I set the record in my age group that week, with an astounding toss that registered 39 mph! While there, my parents bought several of those plastic imitation batting helmets for all of us boys. Included in the collection were helmets of the Yankees, Reds, and Orioles.
After our stay in Cooperstown ended, we journeyed home. Mike repeatedly asked for a chocolate shake. I had gotten wise to the claims about Cal Ripken walking down the street (sorta) and thought it was cute by countering “Look Dave, Dave Winfield!!” Winfield was my brother’s favorite player at the time, but he predictably never fell for my bogus claims. So much for seven year old logic! But, when we got home, the first thing we did was play wiffleball, plastic batting helmets and all. And for the rest for the summer, we played wiffleball. All I could think about that summer was baseball! And here I am, nearly twenty years later, and all I can think about is baseball.
Since 1987, I’ve been back to Cooperstown several times. The most recent trip was in 2001, right after Dave Winfield was inducted. Dave and Mike accompanied me on this journey, and, predictably, Mike wanted a chocolate shake, and the phrase “Look Matt, Cal Ripken” was uttered every fifteen minutes or so. That time, however, I didn’t fall for it.
I do look forward to falling for it, though. With Cal Ripken now eligible for, and seeming to be a lock for, induction, I hope my schedule will allow me to attend his induction ceremony. As I watch him speak, I do hope that Dave and Mike will be standing beside me saying “Look Matt, Cal Ripken.”
Dave was the Reds, and 13 years old at the time. I was the Yankees, and 7 at the time. No wonder the Reds showed such dominance in our backyard wiffleball league. I use the word league lightheartedly of course, as the “league” was just Dave and me. We each had several teams, but it was the Yanks vs. the Reds that was ultimately the daily showdown. But the question at hand: What spawned that truly remarkable, seemingly never ending summer of week-long days? Put simply, it was the same vacation that birthed my passion for America's pastime. Without further adieu, here is my story.
School was out. First grade was over, and shortly before that, I had just finished my first year playing tee ball. I was given a brand new baseball glove by my parents, in tribute to my tee ball season. Inside of the mitt, it had this cursive name written—one that I couldn’t read. I asked my brother what it said. He replied “Cal Ripken, Jr.” I responded “OK, I think he’s my new favorite player.” At that time, baseball was a sport that I liked; a sport that I would watch my brother play frequently, but considering it a passion, or going through the arduous task of determining my favorite player, was something I’d never considered—until I got that mitt! Shortly after school (and tee ball) ended, it was announced that my entire family would be taking a trip to Cooperstown, NY. I didn't really think twice about its implications. I remember thinking that a museum would probably be boring, and that I’d be miserable. When we finally arrived, I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was that magical moment, almost twenty years ago, that solidified baseball in my heart forever.
We embarked early one morning, with the destination of Cooperstown a staggeringly long four hour drive away. My brother’s best friend, Mike, had joined us, and we crowded into my mom’s 1979 Chevrolet Malibu. On the way there, Mike hounded my mom for a chocolate shake, an offer to which my mom finally gave in—on Christmas day in 2003. Along the way, also, my brother and Mike hounded me. Every 15 minutes or so one of them would say “Look Matt, Cal Ripken!!” Me, being seven years old, and incredibly gullible, fell for it every time with a resounding “WHERE?!?!” This was greeted by simultaneous laughter from Dave, Mike, and both of my parents every single time.
When we finally arrived in Cooperstown, checked into our motel, and made our way to the museum (this was about 35 “Look Matt, Cal Ripken’s” later), I remember walking into astonishment. My father had predictably parked what seemed like 4 miles away from the museum (maybe to save a dollar on parking??) so we walked along Main Street in Cooperstown. Baseball was EVERYWHERE!! I wanted to stop in every shop along the way to add to my collection of wood framed 1987 Topps baseball cards. I wanted everything! There were pennants, hats, bats, jerseys; you name it… at EVERY STORE! Unfortunately, we didn’t stop at any of the shops. We proceeded into the museum, and I spent hours in ecstasy. Of course, I wanted to run through everything in the blink of an eye, but my slow- paced father had to stop and read every little sign, and every little historical snippet in front of every piece on display. I would have been through that museum in 10 minutes if I had my way. But I’m glad that we took our time. It gave me time to appreciate the Honus Wagner card, and the green uniform worn by the Cincinnati Reds on St. Patrick’s Day in 1978. It also gave me time to finally see Cal Ripken! Well, his 1987 Topps baseball card, at least, displayed proudly with all of the other 1987 cards that were on display at the time. When we were done perusing the museum, we visited a local batting cage that also had a booth to test your fastball. I set the record in my age group that week, with an astounding toss that registered 39 mph! While there, my parents bought several of those plastic imitation batting helmets for all of us boys. Included in the collection were helmets of the Yankees, Reds, and Orioles.
After our stay in Cooperstown ended, we journeyed home. Mike repeatedly asked for a chocolate shake. I had gotten wise to the claims about Cal Ripken walking down the street (sorta) and thought it was cute by countering “Look Dave, Dave Winfield!!” Winfield was my brother’s favorite player at the time, but he predictably never fell for my bogus claims. So much for seven year old logic! But, when we got home, the first thing we did was play wiffleball, plastic batting helmets and all. And for the rest for the summer, we played wiffleball. All I could think about that summer was baseball! And here I am, nearly twenty years later, and all I can think about is baseball.
Since 1987, I’ve been back to Cooperstown several times. The most recent trip was in 2001, right after Dave Winfield was inducted. Dave and Mike accompanied me on this journey, and, predictably, Mike wanted a chocolate shake, and the phrase “Look Matt, Cal Ripken” was uttered every fifteen minutes or so. That time, however, I didn’t fall for it.
I do look forward to falling for it, though. With Cal Ripken now eligible for, and seeming to be a lock for, induction, I hope my schedule will allow me to attend his induction ceremony. As I watch him speak, I do hope that Dave and Mike will be standing beside me saying “Look Matt, Cal Ripken.”
posted by Dodd at 5:10 PM
2 Comments:
great story, kevin costner.
Good stuff. I am still a whiffle ball freak. My car has a bat and like ten balls in the back. You can't have just one ball, that's stupid. My friends and I got a chance to break them out at Castle in the Clouds in NH this summer. We stood in this huge field all by ourselves while people watched us in admiration.
My fiance and I also attract tons of girls and boys in the parks to shag balls and swing wildly. I can't help but laugh when you see the face of a young one connect for the first time. One child started running for a first base bag that didn't exist. One hundred yards later he slid into an imaginary base. Those were some of the best days of leisure I spent his summer.
Thanks for trading memories. They age like wine until you get Alzheimers and start sundowning in the old folks home. Then memories become confused with the Children of the Corn movies. Malachai is up to the plate! NOOOOOOO!
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