Home and the World Series

It's fascinating what impact place imprints upon us.

I was born in Washington DC at World Series time in 1945[1]. Only the faintest echo of memory remains from going to that town's Griffith Stadium with my father and brother to watch the hapless Senators. But baseball became my favorite game, and the Senators my favorite team. I can still remember much of their starting lineup, names like Eddie Yost, Mickey Vernon, Pete Runnels, and Jackie Jensen.

My love of baseball fueled my early love of language. I read the sports pages avidly, listened to games on the radio, and fell in love with the sounds of ballplayers’ names. 

I had no clue back then that a man's name could be an indicator of his ethnicity. Hell, I didn't know what ethnicity was, or race either for that matter. I was just a child in mid-century America, an innocent in an era which many people — not just the current GOP nominee — likely use as a reference point for a time when America was Great, Good and Ruler of the Free World.

I was only obliquely conscious of what it meant to be a Negro. I rooted for Joe Louis and Jackie Robinson without even knowing why; it was just something in the air. I certainly wasn't conscious that the Senators were all white because that's what their owner insisted upon. I was not to learn for decades that the leadoff hitter with the keen batting eye, 3B Eddie Yost, sold his house because a black man moved into his neighborhood. I didn't even understand that Washington was a segregated southern town until sometime after Brown vs. Board of Education. All I really knew was that ball players had really cool-sounding names like Chico Carrasquel and Sandy Consuegra [KON-sue-A-gruh].

By the time the Brown decision came down in May of 1954 we had moved to Cleveland where my father had been called to pastor one of the city's oldest black churches. It was in fact the only nonwhite Congregational church in the whole state. I was beginning to learn about race and ethnicity by then, courtesy of living adjacent to the Cultural Gardens and being in third grade class with those white Central European-American kids whose families were on the tail end of white flight from our middle class Glenville neighborhood.

Without even knowing it I quickly became a fan of the Cleveland’s sports teams, the Indians, the Browns, and even the Barons, a minor league hockey team reportedly so good they were looked upon as the NHL’s seventh team. It was easy to identify with the Browns and the Indians. Not only were both teams regular winners; several of the players lived in my neighborhood — Bill Willis, Marion Motley, and Dave Pope, to name a few.

My first full season in town, 1954, the Indians won 111 games, then a major league record, and featured one of the best pitching staffs ever, with all time greats Bob Feller and Hal Newhouser still fabulous but limited to spot starts and bullpen duty, respectively, behind a Big Three of Bob Lemon, Early Wynn and Mike Garcia.

The Indians' historic record and tremendous pitching, which included the remarkable duo of Don Mossi and Ray Narleski, made them prohibitive favorites to beat the New York Giants in the 1954 World Series, even though the Giants had the already incomparable Willie Mays. But Mays’s incredible Game 1 catch and Dusty Rhodes’ cheap 10^th inning home run kicked off a four-game sweep by the Giants that has yet to be exorcised in Cleveland’s collective sports brain.

These memories come flooding back as Cleveland prepares to take on the Chicago Cubs tonight in the 2016 World Series opener here in town. Were I younger, richer, hardier, or more devoted, I might have forked over a few hundred dollars to sit in the bleachers on a chilly night and cheer on the hometown representatives. They are certainly worthy American League Champions, featuring a budding superstar in the infectious shortstop Francisco Lindor, the amazing Swiss Army knife relief pitcher, Andrew Miller [his superlative skill belies his incredibly pedestrian name], old school dirt eaters like Jason Kipnis and Mike Napoli, and the irrepressible Jose Ramirez.

They face off tonight against a team that has even more incompetence in its history than the Indians. The Cubs have not won a World Series since 1908; when they last appeared in one — 1945 — there were no black players in the major league baseball.

But these Cubs are big favorites to win this Series. They have more talent at virtually every position. They field with historic precision, have a deep starting rotation, several bona fide sluggers, and a closer who regularly throws 102 mph.

By contrast, the Indians one undeniable advantage is in being baseball’s best team on the basepaths. Of course, they will first need to reach base safely to unleash this talent. This skill hardly seems enough to overcome the Cubs’ multiple advantages.

New York Giants fans likely felt the same way about their underdog team in 1954. 

But I have observed a few lessons about professional sports over more than six decades. As in life, talent matters, but so do character and attitude, qualities this Cleveland squad has in abundance. And the best team does not always win, especially in a short series. So don’t be too surprised if this continues to be Cleveland’s year, and the Billy Goat bleats once more.

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[1] The Chicago Cubs won Game 6 of the Series that day in extra innings, but would go on to lose Game 7 to the Detroit Tigers. Incidentally, 1945 was the year that gave rise to the Curse of the Billy Goat, which, hopefully, like me, has yet to complete its course.

ABOUT LAST NIGHT's DEBATE • Cleveland Heads to World Series

I was a 19-year-old college sophomore majoring in political science when I learned to recognize a certain kind of b.s. I wasn't a serious student at the time but I did habitually keep up on current affairs. I was an avid reader of the weekly newsmagazines — Newsweek, Time, US News & World Report — the New York Times and the local Philadelphia Bulletin. I was well armed to defend my opinions in the debates about the world that college students engage with gusto.

One of my roommates — the starting halfback on our mediocre football team — regularly throttled my arguments in our debates by his uncanny use of statistics. He could always take the wind out of my sails by referencing irrefutably numbers like 67% of this or 73% of that. My shoulders would shrink as my arguments bumped against the stony force of his numerical fortress.

Halfway through football season, it dawned on me that, unlike our more scholarly roommates — Doug and Wilbur — Toby seldom could be found with his nose in a book, much less any source of facts that could back his positions. When I began to challenge Toby to cite his sources he would feign loss of memory or retreat into ambiguity. Gaining the upper hand, I relentlessly pounded him to cite even one source.

Finally, one day Toby collapsed in paroxysms of sheepish laughter when forced to admit that his vaunted stats were all concocted. The four of us celebrated his tattered charade with some suds at the local pub.

Toby was a sweet and amiable guy, literally a Philadelphia Quaker, who is unbelievably close to becoming the next president of the United States. But I think of him whenever I listen to his characterological antithesis: the ignorant, immoral, unethical, unhinged, New York charlatan whose braggadocio would put even Art Modell to shame.

According to this celebrity telemarketer, everything President Obama or Hillary Clinton have done is a "disaster", an utter failure, and “the worst in history". Every country in the world is beating us in trade. Nobody respects us. Our generals suck. Crime is at historic highs. Our inner cities uniformly suck. Life has never been worse for African Americans. The Chinese and Mexicans outsmart us daily and will soon overrun the country. Unless radical foreign terrorists beat them to it.

Only the Great Telemarketer can save us! Want proof? He has built a Great Company! (Don't mention the multiple bankruptcies, failed casinos — how can you lose your shirt running a casino? — or ask to see his tax returns!) He knows more about ISIS than the generals. He will restore law and order. He will hire the best the people to run the government. (No other president has ever thought of that.) He will bring jobs, jobs, jobs to all of us who need them. And he's gonna build us a huge horizontal tower that somebody else will pay for.

And nobody respects women more than he does. Because he has a big brain.

This stuff is all so clear that the telemarketer doesn't need to cite a single statistic, much less offer a plan. His greatness is so evident, as attested to by Rudy Giuliani, Newt Gingrich, Don King, and Pastor Darrell Scott, that only the vastest of conspiracies — comprised of Democrats, Republicans, Independents, and elected officials in thousands of jurisdictions — could deny him coronation as King, er, president of the United States.

Donald Trump's political career began with his leading the birther movement, a bogus and bigoted dog-whistle assault upon the legitimacy of Barack Obama's citizenship status. His biography claims graduation from a prep military academy (five military deferments for the star athlete) and the University of Pennsylvania. But I suspect his resume omits his true place of higher learning: the Barnum and Bailey School of Fake, Fear, and Fool from which he undoubtedly graduated summa cum sleazy.

• • •

The Cleveland Indians won the American League pennant in Toronto yesterday afternoon, defeating the Blue Jays behind a rookie pitcher's splendid effort, some timely hitting, and baseball's best bullpen.

I didn't want the accomplishment to go unmentioned here, notwithstanding our muted enthusiasm for the team due to its horrid racist mascot, which represents in our view a narrow-minded clinging to offensive traditionalism evocative of the Confederate flag symbolizes to the South.

Apart from that, we share delight in the team's success. For those of you who will be jumping on the bandwagon for the World Series ride, we thought we'd share what we said leading up to the playoffs about the reasons for the team's success to some of our foreign correspondents stationed in places like Maine, Florida, Washington DC, and Seattle, WA.

First and foremost, the Indians are where they are because of a guy who can no longer run, throw, hit or catch. Manager Tito Francona, besides having a deep understanding and love for the game, has uncommon leadership skills that makes all his players focus on team goals as opposed to individual ones. His players have all bought in, which means they stay focused and persevere no matter the obstacles. Guys stay ready and confident, and step up to perform when called upon.

Ups and downs are inevitable in a long season. Francona has kept his guys on an even keel and a steady march. He has a track record of success in this that commands respect. No current manager has a better post-season record, which includes a fabulous 8-0 World Series record.

Add to this the fact that is difficult to name the one indispensable player on the team. It's easy to say Andrew Miller, the mid-season acquisition who was named MVP of the American League Championship Series. But where would the team be without, in no particular order, Francisco Lindor, Jason Kipnis, Corey Kluber, Carlos Santana, Rajai Davis, Jose Ramirez, Mike Napoli, Coco Crisp, Cody Allen, Brian Shaw, Dan Otero, and on and on. Every one of these guys has had bad games, days, or mini-slumps. But their teammates have consistently picked them up. You never know who will be the hero on any given day. It's no longer a surprise when it turns out to be Tyler Naquin or Ryan Merritt.

Individually, the team has only one everyday superstar, the shortstop Lindor, and he is just budding. But collectively, they have the best infield in the League, with bat or glove, the best manager, the best bullpen, and the best base running, a bona fide ace in Kluber, and a lineup where any spot one through nine can deliver the clutch hit or the sacrifice bunt. They have a bunch of guys who believe in each other and their leader. And they have home field advantage backed by Cavaliers momentum. They may be underdogs to whoever emerges from the Dodgers-Cubs series, but they have the best chance to win a World Series since 1954. And Willie Mays has retired.

Go Cleveland!