"Soon It Will Be Spring" By Andy Oeth

The last out has been called,
They felt joy, we felt pain.
We retreat to our clubhouse,
As the wind blows in rain.

The rain soon lets up,
and the leaves change their color.
They fall to the ground,  as the sky becomes duller.

The snow flurries down,
The cold strikes my heart,
but a Son soon appears, and breaks ice apart.

Warmer winds blow,
brown blades turn to green.
The fresh newborn smell,
brings a familiar scene.

Soon leather will follow,
and dark colored earth,
and sticky strong pine,
and ash, will give birth.

A gift from our creator,
seems a little thing.
In my bones, in my blood;
soon, it will be spring.
-AO

My Baseball Ancestry

Post ALCS Victory Hugs, with my Dad

 I have been wringing my brain, to write a preview of Game 1.  I have have had 29 years to come up with something.  Now, I fear, I have so much to write about, and so many emotions, feelings, and match-ups to unpack; I may drown in my my own research and information.  That's okay because my father, wrote a very moving post that he put on the heathen Facebook, for the commoners to view.  With his permission I am editing it and re-posting it here.  

More gratuitous father/son hugging

It's so moving for me, because my father is the man who taught me the game of baseball.  His story is about the man who taught him the game.  

So this post is half-baseball romanticism, half-World Series preview, half-Royals history, and half-baseball heritage. Wait, that may be two wholes.  Nevertheless, please read this post from our Guest Blogger, My Father, and life-long Royals Fan (since the beginning), Kevin Oeth. Enjoy.
-AO

Dad and me on my birthday this year, at our favorite place on the planet, Kauffman (Royals) Stadium

By Kevin Oeth

I hope and pray, that you all know, and I think most of you do, that what I say about the Cardinals (or Angels) is all in good fun. When discussing this topic, First and Foremost, I am a baseball fan, yeah, I'm the guy that will stop and watch a bunch of kids play in an empty lot just because I love the game. I may not know any of the kids, but I know they're playing the game that I love.

 I remember the day I fell in love with the game almost as well as the day I fell in love with the love of my life, Barbie. It was a fall day in Marshall, MO after my long brutal day of morning kindergarten at Benton Elementary in 1968. I walked home, deftly avoiding the yapping little dog down on the corner, to our house on Morgan St. All I wanted to do was relax, maybe have a snack and prepare for the rough evening ahead full of playing outside, fighting with my sister and all the other things a six year old has to deal with.

My hope was to be denied.

As I got home, I saw my mother was deeply engrossed in something on TV. Normally, when I got home, she might have been watching "As the World Turns," or the sands of the hourglass flowing through "The Days of our Lives," but today, today was different. She was watching baseball! It was the St. Louis Cardinals and the Detroit Tigers in the World Series! Now keep in mind, kids this was no High-Definition TV. This was, maybe, a 19-inch Black and White. There was no remote, just me or my big sister occasionally being told to change the channel to one of the three (that's right, THREE!) channels we received. Anyway, I could tell, this was something special!

I sat and watched as my mom explained some of the things that were going on, like why they drove one of the players in from around the outfield area in a little golf cart then some kid came out and took his jacket and ran off with it. I learned so much that day I'm sure I thought my head would explode. I didn't want to go to school the next day, because my mom told me there would be another game!

The love affair had begun!

The following spring (1969), over in the American League, the Kansas City Royals played their first season ever, being an expansion team they fared better than anyone ever expected as they finished second in their division, but first in my heart. Being the rebellious seven-year-old that I was, I knew these upstart Kansas City Royals were the team for me. You see, back in those days you couldn't watch every game on TV like we do now. In Marshall, you could generally only watch if the Royals were playing out of town on a Saturday or Sunday. So you just didn't get to see "your" team as much as you wanted to but you relished every moment that you did.

Sometime in the early seventies things got a little different in my life, as my Grandma and Grandpa moved to Marshall. You see up to that point, pretty much all of my baseball influence was from my mom, as my dad, just didn't care much for sports, but when Grandpa moved to town, I had a guy that could help me, sure mom knew most of the general things one needed to know about baseball and to be honest, she's probably forgotten more about baseball than most people ever know, but a boy needs a man to explain to him just exactly how the infield fly rule works, how to throw a curve (I never could, but I know how), and how to lay down a sacrifice bunt, something my middle son came by naturally.  Grandpa moved to town and my life changed. (He also showed me how to roll a cigarette, a skill I never used for myself, but you can imagine this skinny little 11 or 12 year old rolling a cigarette for his grandpa, yeah, I was a real man about town.)

By that time, "cable" TV had come to Marshall. You could watch more than just the weekend games. Marshall had gone big time, I remember being very excited by the fact that the Royals announced they were going to show 41 games on TV. I'm not sure what was so magical about 41 unless it was the fact they were being shown on Channel 41 out of KC? All of these games were road games with the exception of the last televised game of the year, the "Fan Appreciation" Game in KC.
While this was great for me, Grandpa was a dyed in red Cardinal fan so, living in Marshall, the only time he got to see the Cardinals play was when they were on NBC's Game of the Week or ABC's summer counterpart to Monday Night Football, Monday Night Baseball. Unfortunately, for him the Redbirds were not all that good in the early “70’s, never finishing higher than second in their division the entire decade, so they didn’t make it on those games very often.

I think Grandpa nurtured my love for the game itself, as well. He too loved baseball even more than just the Cardinals, based on the fact that just like me with the Royals, he’d watch games that had nothing to do with the Cardinals. Soon, he and I would spend many summer hours watching the Royals together. Some of my greatest memories with him were watching the Royals.

Sometime before 1974, Grandma and Grandpa started running the Marshall Hotel, a horrible little place that probably in it’s day was a pretty nice place, but I think it’s day had passed. On a regular basis, since Grandma and Grandpa didn’t drive, my Mom or Dad would take us kids up to the Hotel to hang out with Grandpa, while one of them took Grandma to the store. This was baseball time, for Grandpa and I. This is where I learned how to keep score, read a box score and see that even if you didn’t get to see the game, you could look at a scorebook, or the box score and tell what happened.

Our greatest moment in the early ‘70’s occurred on June 19, 1974. We were sitting in the living room of the apartment they lived in, watching Steve Busby pitch against the Milwaukee Brewers. As the game progressed, I noticed Grandpa had gotten pretty quiet. I’d ask him questions, and he would answer, but the answers were quiet and short. Soon it became obvious even to this 12 year old that he was becoming very involved in this game. You see, to my knowledge, my Grandpa had never seen a no-hitter. Of course, neither had I. What a thrill to see your first no-hitter, thrown by a pitcher from your favorite team, with your baseball mentor sitting beside you. After the game, we were thrilled to have seen this young guy throw a no-hitter. He also explained his quietness to me by telling me that when a guy is throwing a no-hitter, you don’t say anything about a no hitter for fear of jinxing it. That day, I learned, often times, baseball is full of superstition.
In September of ’75, my dad passed away. That’s when my mom and I started watching a lot of baseball together, but still, as much as Mom loved the game, and as much as I loved (and still love) watching the game with her, the thrill of watching with Grandpa was special. His love and knowledge of of the game, was surpassed by no one. He KNEW baseball.

In the late ‘70’s my Royals got hot.

Amos Otis, Cookie Rojas, Hal McRae, Frank White, John Mayberry, Clint Hurdle and oh, yeah some kid named George somebody, made the Royals the talk of western Missouri. They may not have been big names around the country, but they were our guys. In ’76, ’77 and ’78, they won the American League West, losing every playoff to those “Damn Yankees”. Yeah, we despised those guys and they were not real fond of us, either. Thurman Munson, Reggie Jackson, Graig Nettles, Rich Gossage, Sparky Lyle, that stinkin’ Chris Chambliss and Billy Martin: We were all sure, lived to make our lives miserable…and they did their jobs very well.

During this time, I believe in ’77 or ’78, my Grandpa fell and broke his hip. I’ve noticed over the years that oftentimes the breaking of a hip is more like a death sentence for the elderly, and this was true in Grandpa’s case. For several years, he hung in there, but he was never the same. For the most part he was bedridden, with help, he could get up and go to the bathroom or dinner table early on, but as the years passed, the ability to do that did also. Every Saturday, though, no matter what else might be going on, I would go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house with my mom and stay and sit with Grandpa while mom took Grandma to the store. This was usually, not a fun time for me. There I was, just a high school kid, wishing I could hang out with my friends, but instead looking after my Grandpa.

The great part was, that sometimes during those summers, we’d have those perfect moments, those moments when Grandpa was himself and recognized what was going on around him. Moments when he wasn’t using his sheets as rolling papers to roll imaginary cigarettes, or calling me by names of people I didn’t know. Moments when the Royals would come on and he’d see baseball, and we’d talk about it, and I’d be a kid again, and he’d be my mentor…no, he’d be my friend. The friend that I needed. He didn’t care who was playing, he just knew it was baseball, he loved it, and someone that he loved, and that loved him was with him, watching. 

I remember, watching the Bucky Dent Game, in Grandpa’s hospital room. I remember going away to college, and the Royals beating the Yankees in 1980 and going to their first World Series. I don’t remember getting to watch any of it with Grandpa as I was in south MO for most of it, but I remember Mom telling me that he did watch some of it. KC lost in six games that year to the Phillies. That’s what happens when you hit a buck eighteen in a four out of seven series.

In the fall of ’81, we lost Grandpa but I think of him often. I remember in 1985 when the Kansas City Royals and the St. Louis Cardinals played in the World Series. My first thought, when the matchup was set was not of “I hope the Royals win,” but ”boy, Grandpa, would love this one!” THEN, it was, “I hope the Royals win!”

I’m sure he was thrilled when the Cards have won Championships over the years, because I believe that so many of the things we love will be with us in heaven, so I’m sure we get to watch baseball. 

I’ve never told anyone this, not even my beautiful bride, or my sons or my grandchildren, but when Grandpa died and we had the funeral …well, you know how there’s an area at the bottom of the coffin where you can’t see the deceased’s feet? Well, when we had the visitation, I kind of hung out when no one else was around, and slipped a baseball down there, and jammed it down between the pad and the sidewall of the coffin so it wouldn’t roll around. Just a little something I wanted to share with my Grandpa.

So, God, next Tuesday about 7 pm central time, when you’re looking around heaven and see a guy holding a baseball like Rex Hudler, that’s my Grandpa, getting ready to watch our Royals in the World Series. Would you give him a hug, and tell him I miss him? Would tell him, I love him?

Buck's Promise

Before I was a married father of two; before I had a job that could actually pay my bills (well…most of them at least), and a mortgage, and life insurance, and other not-fun adult, real world things; I was a security officer at The University of Missouri Hospital in Columbia.  This job afforded me several opportunities: restraining naked drunk people, fend off exposure to vomit, urine, feces, and many other types of bodily fluids, not suitable for decent company.

There were a few highlights however.  I did meet my wife, a rookie nurse, on the Labor and Delivery floor.  She was attempting to deliver a baby, while I was holding an overly aggressive and controlling father against the wall.  It was a chaotic scene, but through all of the wailing and gnashing of teeth, our eyes met briefly, sparks flew, and I could tell she wanted me.

On one special occasion, I met a legend. 

I was doing my normal rounds, walking floor to floor, unsuccessfully flirting with nurses, when I headed down a long visitor’s hallway that led to the cardiac ICU.  Walking in the opposite direction was an older man, with bright white hair accompanied by a younger woman, to whom I was not introduced.  The man struck me as familiar, but I did not put my finger on it until the pair had passed-by. 

Then his face and name clicked together in my memory, and I like a bumbling idiot, I blurted out the name I had been silently searching for.  “Buck!  Buck O’neil

He replied, “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

I fumbled for words to complete sentences, and when I could string a few together they began to run away from me.  Even though I was in my early twenties, I had an addiction-like interest in baseball history, and the Negro Leagues.  You cannot tell the history of the Negro Leagues, without telling the story of the man who was standing, right in front of me.  For the first time in a while, I was star struck.  Somehow through all of my incoherent babbling, I was able to communicate inquiry as to what he was doing in Columbia that evening.

“…just visiting an old friend.  He’s laid up with some heart trouble, back there.  He’ll pull through, though.”…with a huge smile on his face.  

 Buck’s smile was something you didn’t see as much as feel.  When Buck smiled, you smiled.  It was an involuntary reaction.  I couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say, but I did not want the moment to end.  So I ask the one thing that connected us, the one thing that even remotely set us on the same plane.  I asked, “So how are the Royals going to do this year?”

“We’ll see, we’ll see.” Buck said.

“I just want them to get back in the Series at least once more in my lifetime.” I said.

Buck assured me, “They will.  You can count on it. They will.”

I was a little embarrassed by my pessimism, especially in front of a man who seemed to broadcast optimism as if it were his native tongue.  However, I accepted his statement as a promise.  It felt like he knew something, I did not. Actually, he knew a lot of things, I did not.  I have planted that affirmation in my heart and held on to it since that day.

“Well, my friend, I have to go.  Have a lovely evening… try not to work harder than you have to.”  He said.

“What an honor to meet you, Sir.  Maybe I’ll see you at a ballgame sometime.” I replied.

“No need to call me ‘Sir’, just Buck.  I’m just your friend Buck.” He insisted.

What?  His, friend?  How humbling it was to be in the presence of someone far more humble than I.  We said goodbye and he continued down the hall, and I could not resist looking back, still marveling at the encounter I had just had.

Last night, after the Royals continued their unlikely post-season winning streak, bringing their lead over the Orioles to 3-0, one of my favorite sports writers and former Kansas City Star columnist, Joe Posnanski  Tweeted, a timely Buck O’neil quote;

 "Sure, the Royals can win! They have nine players just like everybody else! It's baseball, man. Baseball."

Buck’s love for the game and people, ruled his life far more than any bitterness or anger.  If anyone had the right to be angry it was Buck.  If any had the right to be bitter, it was him.  Buck was treated differently for the color of his skin.  Buck was left out of the Baseball Hall-of-Fame, which in my opinion is an absolute travesty.  Buck was a tenured scout for one of the worst teams in the game, for way longer than most teams stay that way.

Buck knew that baseball happens, and eventually the tides would turn, The Royals would be good again.  In fact, he promised me that they would.  Buck knew that life happens, and even though he was once seen as a second class citizen because he was a black man, now he was Kansas City’s baseball ambassador, and one of the foremost authorities and resources on the Negro League.  The League where he played alongside Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, Cool Papa Bell, and the first African-American Major League Baseball player, Jackie Robinson. 

He knew baseball and he knew life.  His optimism is something we she all embrace, not only as baseball fans, but as people living life.  God gives us things to take joy in and most of the time we turn them into something to stress about or something that we allow to cause us grief.   Baseball is a beautiful thing.  It’s something intended for leisure, it is our favorite pastime.  Buck helped me to keep my die hard Royals fandom in perspective.  

Today the Royals have the opportunity to sweep the O’s in the ALCS, and punch a ticket to World Series.  The Royals are a win away from fulfilling the promise Buck made me.  The joy I have felt over the team I love, these past couple of weeks, have made me think just how much Buck would have enjoyed all of this.  I believe, though now, he knows joy far beyond what any Championship could bring; he is enjoying this. 

I truly hope the Royals come through.  I really hope they do this.  I hope they do it, for My Friend Buck.  

The Super Heroes of October

Since Monday I have been on vacation with my family.  My wife and two boys bring me more joy than a man really should be allowed to have.   My two boys, ages four and seven, are really two of my best friends.  We like all the same things, pizza, mac and cheese, driving Mommy crazy, and baseball.  My wife has worked very hard for nearly 6 months to plan this vacation.   As a result, we have spent the past week in the happiest place on earth, Walt Disney World.

Overall it was a great trip.  The rides are pretty cool, the different parks offer something different for everyone, and now that Disney has purchased the Star Wars franchise, Disney’s Hollywood Studios offered this fanboy a chance to geek out, complete with enrolling my younglings in Jedi Training.

It was a great vacation, but with two major flaws.  The first flaw had to solidify my nomination for father of the year.  My wife and boys wanted to attend Mickey’s Not-so-Scary Halloween Party at the Magic Kingdom.  This means we will walk around a theme park for almost 9 hours, in Halloween costumes. Normally this would be, in my mind, a pretty fun evening, however my family wanted to go as, The Incredibles.  This is a great idea, for my hyperactive sons, who both have the metabolism of a hummingbird, or my wife who has the kind of figure, for which spandex was intended.  For me, a 6 foot, 220 pound clone of Football Hall of Famer, Art Donavan, it may not have been such a great thing.

I, however, know that life is short, and my kids are only small and as easily entertained for so long. So while my kids where looking adorable, and my wife was looking smoking hot; I squeezed all 220 pounds of me into a fire engine red spandex bodysuit.  While I looked a lot better than I imagined I would, it still was not pretty.  I looked like a red sack of laundry, wearing a pair of black ladies briefs. We then set out for The Happiest Place on Earth, to join thousands of other middle class families, for a night of candy, costumes, annoying music, Disney Magic, and chafing.

The second major flaw of this vacation, was that we planned at a time when I pessimistically assumed, that the Royals, even if they made to the post season, would surely be finished playing baseball by this point in the postseason.  I obviously, could not have been more incorrect.  Friday night, I was a wreck.  Sneaking peaks at my phone was easy.  I had to carry my phone, because I did not have any pockets, so it did not look unusual to have the phone in my hand at all times. This worked until for some reason, simultaneously, my phone refused to send or receive any information utilizing any 21^st century methods of communication.

This really wasn’t all bad, I was able to focus and give my undivided attention to my family. 

On the shuttle from the park to the Disney All-Star Sports Resort, I regained service, and was able to see that the Royals and O’s were tied, though I was unable to see how old the update actually was.   Upon arrival at our hotel, my wife couldn’t understand why I was rushing everyone to the room, which felt as if it was located another Disney shuttle bus drive away.  Finally we make it passed the Big swimming pool, passed the grassy-turf football field courtyard, pass the small baseball diamond shaped pool, and to our room.

We burst in, my oldest son not really sure why we are running, but enjoying the race anyway, immediately jumps onto the bed.  I grabbed the remote, and found the game, just in time to see Alex Gordon, my son’s baseball hero, standing at the plate.  I directed my son’s attention to the score, and the man at the plate.  Just then, Alex Gordon, destroys a baseball, and the Royals go ahead.

I look over at my son, and his jaw is on the floor.  His eyes could not open any wider.  Not long after Moose crushes another one. Again my son is amazed.  “Daddy, it’s like, every time I want them to hit a homer, they just…do it!” He yells, “I am so excited I don’t know what to do!”

He then jumps on the pristine, housekeeping fresh hotel sheets, on which his little brother had already, in full costume, fallen asleep, and completely destroys them.  After a quick scolding from Mommy, the hottest Elasti-Girl, I’ve ever seen, He jumps into my arms, and I catch him. 

I asked him, “Did you have a good night?”

He says, “It was awesome, Dad.  This was an awesome night.”

Though I looked ridiculous, and knew the Facebook pictures of me dressed as Mr. Incredible, would almost certainly come back to haunt me, it was all worth it.  We have to seize these moments.  Why did I agree to wear a full body spandex suit in front of thousands of people? Because I must seize the moment with my children before the moment is gone.

Why are the Royals suddenly tearing the cover off the ball, after finishing the regular season, dead last in the AL in homeruns? Maybe they are seizing the moment, for fans that have longed for greatness, and have always been forced to go away unfulfilled and bitter, for the last 29 years.

These Royals have sacrificed, looked like fools, looked weak, appeared vulnerable; Not unlike a 32 year old man wearing his underwear outside his bodysuit.  I guess sometimes you have to look vulnerable, and embrace the flaws, in order to seize the moment, and be a superhero.