“TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL ~ GAME” (BOTTOM OF THE INNING (PART II OF II))

JULY 26, 2019 – (cont.) As for my part, I was thrilled. Dad, the anti-sports fan, was showing me a new and unexpected side. We hopped in the car and proceeded down West River Road, bound for Bloomington and old Metropolitan Stadium. Along the way we stopped at a burger drive-in in the Camden neighborhood of Northeast Minneapolis. We stuffed ourselves with belle weather food—burgers, fries and chocolate malts. Just the two of us, playing hooky together.

As it turned out, someone at the courthouse, where Dad worked, had given him the tickets. Our seats were just a few rows up from first base. I was baffled by some of the rules—the concept of extra innings, for instance, a couple of which were provided for on the scoreboard but which had no meaning to me until Dad explained. I was surprised, actually, that he knew as much as he did about the rules, which he revealed in answer to my many questions. His secret knowledge baffled me as much as the rules, but on the other hand, I thought, Dad knew a lot about a lot, so why not a lot about baseball, even allowing for the fact it was a big-time sport?

The Twins played the Tigers in that game and lost 2 – 0 in what was a pitching duel. After the novelty of the experience had worn off—by around the third inning—I was ready for the game to end, but we stayed to the bitter end.

As long as that pitching duel had lasted, however, the game sparked my curiosity about the world of major league baseball. Upon our return home after the game, the first thing I did was call some friends to play our form of sandlot baseball . . . in a local sandlot. My team, I imagined, were the Twins, and the other team were the Tigers. By suppertime, the Twins were ahead.

With the very next real Twins game, I found the WCCO play-by-play broadcast on my transistor radio. I was hooked.

A sampling of baseball cards soon followed—thanks to my oldest sister’s boyfriend. The top card featured the 1963 National League strikeout leaders, Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, and Jim Maloney. I’d never heard of these stars, didn’t realize they were pitchers and thought they were being publicly humiliated for poor batting performances. As it turned out, I was the one who was publicly humiliated when I revealed my ignorance to the boyfriend. Determined to turn my reputation around, I poured all of my allowance into the acquisition of Topps baseball cards on sale at Anoka Drug, an easy bike ride away. I studied those cards and stats to the point of putting the boyfriend’s knowledge to the extreme test, striking him out a regular basis.

Dad remained an anti-sports dad for the rest of his long life, but to his credit, upon my request he took me to several more Twins games the year our home team won the American League pennant.

As I sang in the stands yesterday evening, I thought about Dad and his improbable gift of baseball.

© 2019 Eric Nilsson