Billy Williams--1968
Recently as part of my scouting
coverage, I paid a visit to Wrigley
Field to observe the White Sox take
on the Cubs. Growing up a Cub fan,
it was my first time back to the
Friendly Confines since my Traveling
Secretary days with Cincinnati in the
1980s.
The experience was enjoyable, as
between innings I would reflect back
to my days of youth. There was the
moment of my favorite autograph
from Ernie Banks at the end of the
dugout when I was 11 years old.
Sitting up behind third base with my
Dad, cheering my Cardboard Gods
Ron Santo, Fergie Jenkins and Billy
Williams as the Andy Fran usher led
our seating section in clapping in
rhythm to the organ as we yelled
"let's get a hit." And sitting down the
right field line with my high school
friends Bart, Carl and Paul as we had
a final fling to the big city following
our graduation from Niles High
School.
Ah, the many memories of Wrigley.
As a credentialed Major League
Baseball official, I have access that I
was not afforded when I was a
youngster. My pregame ritual last
week was to watch the White Sox
batting practice down the first base
line, followed by the climb to the
press box for a bite to eat with the
other scouts and members of the
media.
Without an elevator in sight, the trek
to the press box is not an easy
venture. At Wrigley, to get to the
upper limits fans have to take the
many ramps. However, with my pass,
I was allowed to go up the main
grandstand and onto a small
staircase up to the next level, which
took me to a short ramp that led to
another small staircase the led to the
press box area.
Well, after having lunch on my last
day, I was talking with a member of
the media when I realized that I
needed to hurry down to my seat
behind home plate for a day of work.
With the National Anthem already in
the books, I scurried down the first
set of stairs to the ramp, then to next
the next staircase. With my head
down I was careful to hit each step.
Once on the landing, I turned to start
to the next set of steps down only to
hear the usherette guarding the
stairway say, "Have a good day Mr.
Williams."
Being preoccupied with hitting each
step, it didn't register that the person
coming up the stairwell was
none-other-then Hall of Famer Billy
Williams. The man with the "sweet
swing" that I had cheered for growing
up had his head down as he too was
concentrating on the steps, though
he glanced up as we passed each
other. It all happened so fast and the
best I could come up with was, "Hi,
there."
Funny thing is, I never say "Hi,
there," and I can not begin to explain
how I regressed to the Freddie
"Boom-Boom" Washington saying
from Welcome Back Kotter. Yet that's
what came out... Hi There!
Billy glanced up and returned a "hey"
and the moment was over.
In the days to follow, I was amazed at
how despite working 25 years in the
game of baseball, I can be a kid
again when confronted with a
Cardboard God of my youth.
(6/22/09)
coverage, I paid a visit to Wrigley
Field to observe the White Sox take
on the Cubs. Growing up a Cub fan,
it was my first time back to the
Friendly Confines since my Traveling
Secretary days with Cincinnati in the
1980s.
The experience was enjoyable, as
between innings I would reflect back
to my days of youth. There was the
moment of my favorite autograph
from Ernie Banks at the end of the
dugout when I was 11 years old.
Sitting up behind third base with my
Dad, cheering my Cardboard Gods
Ron Santo, Fergie Jenkins and Billy
Williams as the Andy Fran usher led
our seating section in clapping in
rhythm to the organ as we yelled
"let's get a hit." And sitting down the
right field line with my high school
friends Bart, Carl and Paul as we had
a final fling to the big city following
our graduation from Niles High
School.
Ah, the many memories of Wrigley.
As a credentialed Major League
Baseball official, I have access that I
was not afforded when I was a
youngster. My pregame ritual last
week was to watch the White Sox
batting practice down the first base
line, followed by the climb to the
press box for a bite to eat with the
other scouts and members of the
media.
Without an elevator in sight, the trek
to the press box is not an easy
venture. At Wrigley, to get to the
upper limits fans have to take the
many ramps. However, with my pass,
I was allowed to go up the main
grandstand and onto a small
staircase up to the next level, which
took me to a short ramp that led to
another small staircase the led to the
press box area.
Well, after having lunch on my last
day, I was talking with a member of
the media when I realized that I
needed to hurry down to my seat
behind home plate for a day of work.
With the National Anthem already in
the books, I scurried down the first
set of stairs to the ramp, then to next
the next staircase. With my head
down I was careful to hit each step.
Once on the landing, I turned to start
to the next set of steps down only to
hear the usherette guarding the
stairway say, "Have a good day Mr.
Williams."
Being preoccupied with hitting each
step, it didn't register that the person
coming up the stairwell was
none-other-then Hall of Famer Billy
Williams. The man with the "sweet
swing" that I had cheered for growing
up had his head down as he too was
concentrating on the steps, though
he glanced up as we passed each
other. It all happened so fast and the
best I could come up with was, "Hi,
there."
Funny thing is, I never say "Hi,
there," and I can not begin to explain
how I regressed to the Freddie
"Boom-Boom" Washington saying
from Welcome Back Kotter. Yet that's
what came out... Hi There!
Billy glanced up and returned a "hey"
and the moment was over.
In the days to follow, I was amazed at
how despite working 25 years in the
game of baseball, I can be a kid
again when confronted with a
Cardboard God of my youth.
(6/22/09)
