A Season-Ending Opening Day

[JimSlade]

This is how I remember it…It was Opening Day at Veterans Stadium, or at least the Phillies’ home opener. I’m guessing it was 1975. I’m certain that the Phillies were playing the St. Louis Cardinals, and I’m certain I was sitting in the old picnic area down the leftfield line. I forget when it went out of existence, but there was a picnic area down where the ball girl sits. Groups could book it. You’d sit at picnic tables through the whole game. I don’t remember if people brought their own food or if it was catered by the Phillies. I went to about 3 or 4 of these games, probably from 1975 to 1977. I was a guest of a friend of my uncle’s, a guy named Sylvester. He and his bar buddies booked it for a game early in the season during those years. Sylvester was like a second uncle to me, or along with my uncle and grandfather, one of the handful of father figures to fatherless me.

Sylvester was a cool guy. Along with being my uncle’s longtime friend and conspirator, he was a regular in my grandparents’ luncheonette. The luncheonette was an amazing hub of Port Richmond activity. Local factory workers poured into the place for breakfast and lunch. The luncheonette stood on the place where my grandfather was raised. I’m sure I’m messing up some details, but hey. When he was a kid, the downstairs was a corner store run by his parents. My grandfather and his brother, ironically known to all as Husky, would turn it into a luncheonette. Uncle Husky and Aunt Annie would open the place, in the wee hours, managing the breakfast crew. My grandmother would come in a little later and get set up to manage the lunch rush. My Mom sometimes worked there. My grandfather would occasionally pop in in the afternoon and have fun talking sports, horse racing, and the numbers with the oldtimers who seemed to be there from opening to closing, at 3:00 pm.

Sylvester was in and out, sometimes a couple of times a day. I think he was the driver for one of the factory owners, some kind of job that kept him a bit connected to a world beyond Port Richmond. He was one of the regulars I most looked forward to seeing, when I would hang out there in the summer and eat cheese and egg sandwiches for breakfast, then a hoagie or cheesesteak for lunch (or both). I always thought Sylvester looked like the comedian Flip Wilson. He had a quick, sandpaper laugh. Half the time I couldn’t understand what he and my uncle were talking about, but I’d listen in and try to anticipate the moment when they’d crack each other up.

I forget the details, but my family had a long history with Sylvester’s family. I think my grandparents helped out his mom during some tough times. The luncheonette and my family’s circle of friends was way more diverse than the circle of people I, a comfortably liberal, open-minded, progressive person, typically experience as an adult. White, Black, and Hispanic working people were crammed along the counter that ran the length of that thin space every day. The whole Norman Lear suite of shows was at its height, and the luncheonette workers and patrons felt like the real-life characters who made up those shows. Like the instigators of those shows, the Archie Bunkers and George Jeffersons, people would express some of the worst biases of those characters and then laugh about it in real time, as if both the characters and the audience of an episode of All in the Family or The Jeffersons. It could be puzzling, when I was in my early teens and still trying to find a way to steer myself thoughtfully through racial biases, but it was exciting. It felt real. And man, people laughed through the hardships they shared while grabbing a quick bite of my family’s amazing food.

Sylvester’s bar buddies at the annual picnic area Phillies game represented the same mix of Philadelphia working-class people. Sylvester was one of those people who was great at asking people questions and introducing his various friends to each other. He could make people feel like they mattered. He made me feel like I mattered. I don’t know if I will ever run into him again, but let me send him a big, cosmic hug before I forget.

So, I’m pretty sure this was the second early-season picnic area game Sylvester brought me to, because I know I’d gone to at least one of these games before and not witnessed something as horrific as I would witness at this one. As I said, the Phillies were playing the Cardinals. If it was indeed the opening game of the season, it may have meant I was getting to watch a Steve Carlton-Bob Gibson matchup. Gibson was my favorite pitcher on an opposing team. No matter how great I knew Tom Seaver was – and I had no “hate-the-face” issues with Tom Terrific – it used to crush me when he’d outduel Lefty. The Cubs’ Fergie Jenkins was the other ace who could give Carlton a run for his money, but he may have been in the American League by 1975. He was no longer a threat. I think Gibson was still pitching in 1975, and if so, he was still the only ace beside Seaver who could give Carlton a run for his money.

I know who led off for the Cardinals that day, and almost every day the Cardinals played baseball in those years: leftfielder Lou Brock, who I’d be seeing up close in the bottom half of the inning. I loved Lou Brock. He was the game’s premier base-stealer. He was a perennial .300 hitter. He was so many of the things the nerdlingers of the Nu Metrics era pooped on in the ’90s and early 2000s. For any baseball fans who have yet to escape from their sabermetrics cult society (and I’m not saying sabermetrics did not bring some good perspectives to the game), Lou Brock was an absolute joy to watch. He was also lefthanded and, like my favorite lefthanded bassist, celebrated a birthday 1 day before my own.

Stationed out in leftfield for the hometown Phillies, within reach of us in the picnic area, was The Bull, Greg Luzinski. This young, homegrown slugger regularly hit tracer shots over the wall in left and left-center. The Phillies had 2 up-and-coming homegrown sluggers at this point: The Bull and Mike Schmidt. A franchise that had been in the basement for years, was showing signs of cracking .500 in 1975, or whatever year I’m remembering.

Fans were already starting to split in their emotional responses to these 2 sluggers. Everyone knew that Schmidt was the better athlete and all-around player: a Gold Glove fielder at third base; good speed for a big man who’d suffered knee injuries; and a basher of majestic, high-arching shots that allowed Phillies’ TV play-by-play man Harry Kalas Ray Guy-worthy hangtime to dramatically linger over the ball’s flight. Early on, I think we had a notion that Schmitty might be a future Hall of Famer. However, for as talented as Schmidt clearly was, he sometimes struck out. Like a lot. And he never showed emotion after doing so. We wanted him to throw his bat or visibly curse at himself or any of the things his somehow naturally Philly-wired teammate Larry Bowa did 4 times daily. Not Schmitty. We wondered if he cared. (The nerve, as I would eventually come to realize!)

Luzinski, a thick guy from Chicago who was recruited to play linebacker for Notre Dame (or something like that), lumbered in leftfield. As for speed, the best you could say was, “He runs OK for a big guy.” The Bull also struck out a lot and, like Schmidt, he wasn’t that expressive when he failed at something, but he hit .300. Hitting .300, like speedy Lou Brock, AND being able to knock baseballs off the scoreboard meant something. I don’t know if Phillies fans were in agreement on this, but at that time, I always liked Luzinski a bit more than the clearly more talented Schmidt because Luzinski hit line-drive home runs, while Schmidt hit rainbow ones. Aesthetically, I always thought line-drive home runs were cooler. (Dick Allen, a legend from my uncle’s youth, would return to the Phillies later this season or the next and also hit line-drive home runs.)

OK, we’ve all sung the National Anthem. The Phillies starter has completed his warmup tosses. Stadium PA announcer Dan Baker’s voice rings out: “Now batting for the St. Louis Cardinals, leftfielder…LOU…BROCK!”

Brock was a rare visiting player you kind of wanted to clap for. I probably politely clapped with my hands down between my legs, as I’ll still do for a visiting player I can’t help but love, such as Freddie Freeman.

First or second pitch, Brock hits a foul ball down the leftfield line, right alongside the picnic area! The Bull – the real-life, up-close Bull, with thunder thighs and calves that gave my own thunderous thighs and legs hope – came over to scoop up the foul ball. He bent over, with his ankles together, then suddenly fell in a heap! He would be carted off the field. If memory serves, he tore ligaments, or something bad like that. He would miss all or most of that season. The Phillies’ prospects for that season dimmed.

Now, let’s see if I can find the game…

https://www.baseball-reference.com/boxe ... 6050.shtml

Well, what do you know? The game was June 5, 1974 vs the Atlanta Braves! Not even close to opening day. Luzinski did tear ligaments – and it must have happened early in the game, because he never got up to bat – but Lou Brock was nowhere in sight. If the injury did actually happen on the first or second pitch of the game (out of the hands of classy veteran addition Jim Lonborg, who would go on to pitch a complete game in a 4-2 win), it came off the bat of another speedy, high-contact leftfielder, Ralph Garr. Yes, the same Ralph Garr mentioned in an earlier tale, whom my uncle taught me could be dragged out of a deep sleep at 3:00 am and hit ropes! The SABR society’s web page, of all places, confirms my memory of his knee buckling while chasing down a flyball: https://sabr.org/bioproj/person/greg-luzinski/. (Sorry for calling you sabermetrics people cult members!)

I stand by all the nice things I said about Lou Brock and Bob Gibson.

[Jwalk100]

These stories send me back to my childhood watching baseball on NBC with Joe Garagiola and Tony Kubek.

[BTuck2112]

Man this was an awesome read! It took me back to when I was a kid going to Braves games at Atlanta Fulton County stadium in the late 70's and 80's. There was a TeePee in the outfield where "Chief Knock-A-Homa" would hang around after running onto the field before games. Sometime around 7-8 years old I got to go into the tent with other kids and the Chief himself. Not sure this would fly in 2024 lol, but it was a truly magical day that I will never forget.

[RonCo]

Great story. I, too, loved Lou Brock, despite the fact that I was a Cubs fan as a little kid growing up in South Bend, Indiana and getting all the games on WGN back when you could actually watch all the games -- as an older kid we moved to Louisville, and in that triangle I grew to follow the Cubs, Cardinals, and Reds in about equal measures. Being in the area during the Big Red Machine era was cool AF, as the kids say today.

The only thing Brock needed to do to be a Sabermetric hero would have been to walk a bit more. His hit tool was great, and his SB rate was fantastic for the era, and his defense was a touch over league average at his peak (he played until 40, so yeah, that degraded). But he was bigger than his numbers. Quite dashing and a real joy to watch play. I remember I used to pretend to be him when I was in the open lot beside my grandfather's house and playing wiffleball with my friends.

[JimSlade]

Man this was an awesome read! It took me back to when I was a kid going to Braves games at Atlanta Fulton County stadium in the late 70's and 80's. There was a TeePee in the outfield where "Chief Knock-A-Homa" would hang around after running onto the field before games. Sometime around 7-8 years old I got to go into the tent with other kids and the Chief himself. Not sure this would fly in 2024 lol, but it was a truly magical day that I will never forget.

Man, for a little Braves fan that must have been like meeting Santa Claus!

[JimSlade]

Great story. I, too, loved Lou Brock, despite the fact that I was a Cubs fan as a little kid growing up in South Bend, Indiana and getting all the games on WGN back when you could actually watch all the games -- as an older kid we moved to Louisville, and in that triangle I grew to follow the Cubs, Cardinals, and Reds in about equal measures. Being in the area during the Big Red Machine era was cool AF, as the kids say today.

The only thing Brock needed to do to be a Sabermetric hero would have been to walk a bit more. His hit tool was great, and his SB rate was fantastic for the era, and his defense was a touch over league average at his peak (he played until 40, so yeah, that degraded). But he was bigger than his numbers. Quite dashing and a real joy to watch play. I remember I used to pretend to be him when I was in the open lot beside my grandfather's house and playing wiffleball with my friends.

How great was the Big Red Machine? When they swept the first good Phillies team I ever got to experience in 1976, I could only tip my hat to them. It was a different story the next 2 postseasons, when the damn Dodgers broke our gentle Philly hearts.

The Cardinals and Cubs were always fun back then, too. I played on a Cubs fantasy camp baseball team a couple of years ago, with a buddy from my time at Northwestern and his Chicago fantasy camp friends. I've kept a Cubs hat in my office ever since.