My old friend Stephen sent my wife an article that he had written for his local newspaper. The piece describes the joy he feels when--on a given day--the White Sox and Mets win, and the Yankees lose.
My wife says it's a good piece. But I'll never know because I view it as the equivalent of second-hand smoke. Reading about another person's spectator-driven emotions is dangerous.
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Thanks for the mention of my article, Murray. It is really more about the powerful attachment we people of a certain age had for the Brooklyn Dodgers. Here is the article:
Red letter day
By Stephen Gessner
The other day, I had what can only be described as a Red Letter Day. (The phrase comes from the practice of medieval churches printing saints' days and other holy days on church calendars in red ink.) My special day happened because of baseball.
When I was a child growing up in New York, my and, it seemed, my family's life revolved, both figuratively and literally around the Brooklyn Dodgers. I knew the starting batting order by memory, including daily updated batting averages. That day's starting pitcher's record and other statistics were easily recalled. I cut out articles, pictures, box scores and other pieces from the daily newspapers and taped them to my wall. I slept every night in my Dodger uniform, to my mother's great chagrin. But she shared my passion for the Dodgers, and in fact may have fueled it even more than my father or older brother.
In the summer we rented a house in what was then rural northern New Jersey, and my daily activities, involved swimming, tennis, playing with my dog and, when he deigned to acknowledge my existence, baseball tosses and hitting with my older brother. But in the rounds of these activities there was a central focal point, which was the radio broadcasting the Dodgers' game. In those days, most games were played in the daytime. My mother had a radio adapted to outdoor life, by getting someone to change the regular short cord to a long cord and strung the cord into the house where it was plugged in. This was before the days of extension cords and battery-powered radios. I circled back by the radio at various intervals, depending on how close the game was and how engaging my own activities were. My mother would update me on the score and any highlights that I missed.
The height of this scene was the 1950s. Baseball fans old enough to recall or young enough to care know this was a tremulous era for the Brooklyn Dodgers. This was a time of joys and tragedies, for what was called "the Boys of Summer," whose fans' end-of-season disappointment was assuaged by the phrase "wait 'til next year." After the infamous 1951 playoff lost to the NY Giants, "next year" finally came with the delicious victory over the hated NY Yankees in 1955, and then the sweetness of that first World Series triumph was shattered so soon by the tragic loss of the team to Los Angles in 1958.
Living in Manhattan, it was interesting that we were Dodgers fans at all. All my friends and relatives were Yankee fans, though there were occasional odd Giant fans floating around. I think it had to do with my father's identification with the underdog, the loser and "d'em Bums" as their fans affectionately called the Dodgers, usually after a frustrating loss. (Only fans were allowed to use that phrase, no evil Yankee fans). And that was part of the attraction of the Dodgers, their comparison with the Yankees, the successful and triumphant perpetual winners. The Yankees, whose name alone suggested New England wealth and aristocracy, were decried by some pundit who famously declared, "Rooting for the Yankees was like rooting for U.S. Steel." My liberal academic father would have had a hard time rooting for U.S. Steel, so rooting for "d'em Bums" seemed more politically correct, even in an era before that term had been invented.
I have a good friend who grew up in Brooklyn, Coney Island to be exact, who was a Yankee fan. I remember when I first learned this about him I was outraged at his lack of loyalty to his Borough. He explained that the Yankees were the winners, they were successful, and that was what he aspired to. He wanted out of Brooklyn, a fast trip to Manhattan, and it was almost like the Yankees were his ticket to ride.
The other powerful distinction between the Dodgers and the Yankees was racial integration. The Dodgers were the first team to sign an African-American player, Jackie Robinson, in 1947. It took until 1955 for the Yankees to finally do the right thing. Even the Giants acted much earlier by signing an African-American in 1949. To us Dodger fans this was a powerful message from both our team and our hated rival.
So, what does of all of this have to do with my Red Letter Day? When the Dodgers left, I tried to root for them in L.A., but it just did not work. The Mets never really took the Dodgers' place in my heart and by the time of their arrival I had left the city. I went through baseball withdrawal for a long time, until I settled in Chicago where I could replay my childhood baseball rivalry.
Of course I became a White Sox fan, the Southside, working class team owned by an old Polish family (Comiskey) and I hated the lovably, popular and wealthy Northside team owned by the patrician Wrigley family, the Cubs. When I lived in Chicago, the rivalry was intense, with each of the two daily papers clearly being identified with one or the other team. You could not root for both teams. As a Sox fan, a Cub loss was almost as pleasurable as a Sox win. It reminded me of the Yankee haters from around the country who root for both their home team and whoever was playing the Yankees.
We are getting really close now to my Red Letter Day. The final ingredient was my returning a few years ago to New York and adopting the Mets as my preferred team. My departure from Chicago preceded the recent White Sox World Series victory, so I missed out on that Chicago excitement. Now all the elements are in place: On this recent day, my Red Letter Day, the Yankees lost, the Mets won and the Red Sox won. To make it even sweeter, the White Sox also won (and even the Dodgers too, but that really doesn't count anymore.)
So your favorite team wins, your hated team loses and its arch rival wins. And for a little dessert, your two former favorite teams also win. I don't know the odds for all of this happening on the same day, but I assume it is fairly rare. (Some perhaps would acknowledge the roots of the Red Letter Day and offer thanks for some sort of divine intervention.) For me though, it not only prompted present day pleasure but also provoked many old and fond memories of a childhood loyalty to a beloved but heartbreaking team.
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http://www2.timesreview.com/SIR/stories/289546138985543.php
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