APBA Thanksgiving, 2019 Version

For the first time in nearly three decades, I’ll have two days off for Thanksgiving and I’ll be able to resume a tradition that I began when I first got involved in playing APBA games as a youngster.

While everyone is digesting their turkey and pies and then watching Detroit play football, I’ll be rollin’ the dice for a lot of games in my 1947 APBA baseball replay.  And on Friday, while shoppers camp out in front of stores and prepare for the onslaught of Black Friday shopping maneuvers akin to the violent pick and rolls of the 1980s NBA, I’ll be cozy in the APBA room watching how Ralph Kiner, Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Enos Slaughter, Warren Spahn and all do on the field.
It all began with the APBA football game in 1978. I got the game the previous Christmas when I was in high school. The following Thanksgiving, I played several games during the turkey break, setting the routine that has become a tradition despite so many changes over the years.

I had worked in news and had only the Thanksgiving Day off, if any. Two days off? Forget it. News, as they say, takes no holiday. When I worked as the northeast Arkansas bureau correspondent for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette for 20 years, I’d always see the day after Thanksgiving as either the slowest news day of the year or a day of total chaos. One year, I had to speed off to a town some 45 miles away suddenly when a woman decided to plead guilty that day to killing her niece. Another day after Thanksgiving, police got into a shootout with a bad guy in someone’s crawl space.

After my wife passed away in 2006, I ended up in various places for the actual holiday. I went to my in-laws that first Thanksgiving, but when I walked into the home and heard my father-in-law, a spiritual man who prays akin to an Old Testament prophet, thanking God for the fantastic year, I, who was still bitterly reeling from the loss of my spouse, didn’t think it was so fantastic.  I left.

On others Thanksgivings, friends invited me to their homes to eat. They took pity on me, fearing I would be eating alone that day. I ate every day alone, but other days were not celebratory feasts and there were no invitations for the other 364 days of the year.

Twice I took friends to the airport in Memphis to either fly out to family or to bring family home. Once, I ate a Burger King in West Memphis, Ark. My festive cornucopia came in a wrapper marked “Whopper” that year.

Regardless of where I was during the day, I’d always come home and, while others slept off their meals, I’d begin playing whatever APBA season I was doing.  It helped any seasonal depression that some feel when alone during the holidays and it was a time to really focus on the replay season. On those holidays I was off, or the evenings when I came home from work, it was a quiet time with no calls. I’d venture back to the APBA room and start rolling, continuing the tradition.

This Thanksgiving, I’m about a month into the 1947 replay. One of the nice things about the earlier seasons is that there are fewer teams, meaning there’s more frequency in playing teams. Back then, there were 16 teams. A full day of the real schedule meant eight games were played. On a good, productive day, I can have a team play at least two games, meaning I can see if a player has the hot bat, if he continues a hitting streak or if he suddenly has a tendency to strike out.

So while others are sleeping off their meals, I’ll be playing the games. And with the extra day off, I’ll get even more games in and I can see how the season is developing. It’s a tradition that began long ago and keeps on going.

APBA Thanksgiving, everyone!

Fat Butt

For the past 20 years, I’ve been on, shall we say, the slightly heavy side. We can say that, but it’d be a lie.

All right, I got large. The medical term, I believe, is lardassicus flabbelly. It happened after my wife passed away in 2006. When dealing with depression, some survivors turn to gambling, others chase women, many indulge in alcohol or food in a self-destructive mode. I fell into a habit of Jim Beam bourbon and potato chips. It got bad enough when I went to the doctor’s office and weighed in, the nurse looked at the scale to see if two people were standing on it. Nope. Just me and my ass.

I quit the Jim Beam since meeting Holly in Illinois four years ago, but dropping the chips is much more difficult and something I’ve not accomplished. I also have become addicted to pretzel rods. I chomp on them like an old weathered Brooklyn sports reporter chomping cigars while rolling the games in my 1947 APBA baseball replay.

“Get me the copy boy,” I’d holler, flicking salt off the end of the rod like Red Smith would dump ashes. “Rewrite! Stanky just hit one out and the Bums won after all.”

Bless Holly. She’s not said anything about my weight issue. She’s not judgmental at all, hence, why she has stayed with me over these years.

 I’m not that bad in girth. I used to be worse. I once dated a girl who told me she was embarrassed to be seen with me because of my size. She ended up dumping me for an illiterate guy.  He may not be able to write well, but he didn’t have to run to the stockyard to weigh like I did.

A friend who worked in the same building as I did during my newspaper days asked me to walk with her on the weekends several years ago. She wanted to exercise, but was afraid to do it alone on a park path that led through remote wooded areas, so I went more as a bodyguard than a fitness buff.

But something happened. I began losing weight and felt better, both physically and about myself. I lost nearly 100 pounds in the year we walked.  I met Holly shortly after. Maybe it was a reward for my trying to get fit.

But now, as I’m getting older and, after getting laid off from my newspaper job, I’ve gotten a weekday job that’s a lot more sedimentary. The weight, alas (all ass?), is slowly coming back.

It was perfect timing a few weeks ago when Holly gave me a Fit Bit, the wrist-watch thing that records heart beat, breathing rate, sleep patterns and steps taken.  In my case the Fit Bit should be called the Fat Butt, but I digress. She did it not as a complaint of my weight, but a means to think about staying alive. She got one for herself, too, although she’s tiny.

I can track my mileage daily and it serves as a motivator in a sense. It also acts as a reminder when I slow down too much. A few minutes ago, while I stopped to think about writing transitions for this, the Fit Bit buzzed. “Only 224 more steps to go,” it harkened.  It could easily have said, “Get up, ya lard bucket. You ain’t moving any.” It served the same purpose. I got up, walked some and added to the daily total. I’m at 2.2 miles today. Last weekend was busy and I logged over 6 miles.

It’s a heartfelt gift and I take it that Holly wants me to stick around for a while. I keep it on often and I’m not one to wear watches usually. I catch myself checking my mileage and heart rate and act accordingly – either slowing down or walking around more when I can.

And if I’m rolling APBA games and become too stationary, watching the Philadelphia As lose another game and rolling yet another home run for Ted Williams, I know the Fit Bit will buzz me back into action.

Game #195: Why replayers play every game

Game No. 195 of my 1947 APBA baseball replay didn’t size up to be much of a contest. The 9-14 Chicago Cubs were in Cincinnati to face the 9-17 Reds on May 9, 1947, It definitely wouldn’t be featured on NBC’s Game of the Week had they televised the show back then. (Note: 10 years later, in 1957, NBC began airing the Saturday baseball game of the week.)

The game before this one featured the Boston Braves and the New York Giants – two teams that have started off well and are interesting to play, both because of the Braves’ pitching and the Giants propensity to hit home runs. Johnny Mize hit his 7^th homer of the season and the Giants won, 4-3.

The Cubs-Reds clash was just a minor speed bump for better games ahead. The Yankees were scheduled to face the Red Sox three games later and the Cardinals, who have been a surprise so far, were up for Game No. 197. There were definitely better games ahead.

But season replayers must replay each game no matter how drab they may seem. I’m sure there are a lot of replayers with stories of drudging through those late August San Diego vs. Montreal games during replays of mid 1970s seasons. When I did the 1977 replay, I almost dreaded seeing Texas and Cleveland coming up.

There are times, though, when looks may be deceiving. And that’s why we replay each and every game.

Since I’ve been playing the ABPA baseball game in 1998, I’ve played more than 19,000 replay games. Each game counts in the standings, regardless of who the teams are, and each game has the opportunity for something different to happen.

For those uninitiated with APBA, it is a statistical-based game that uses players’ results from real seasons and transposes those stats onto cards. Replayers role dice (or click mouses on the computer version) for each player at bat and those results dictate how the games progress.

So, Game No. 195 was up and I began rolling. I wasn’t disappointed.

Cincinnati took a 2-0 lead in the bottom of the first when Babe Young hit a home run. But, rather than fade away like they have in previous games, the Cubs fought back. Four singles and a walk gave Chicago four runs in the second. The Cubs then scored three more in the third and two in the fourth on nine singles and three walks.

They led, 9-2, after four innings.

But the Reds returned the favor. Augie Galan pinch hit a two-out homer in the fourth and Cincinnati battered Cubs’ pitcher Doyle “Porky” Lade for five runs in the sixth. The standards for obesity must have been different back then. Ol’ hefty “Porky” stood 5-10 and was a portly 180 pounds.

The Cubs took an 11-8 lead in the seventh, but the Reds answered with four more in their half of the seventh, giving Cincinnati a 12-11 lead. By then, I knew I needed help and was forced to summon resources.

I called Holly, my Illinois sweetie, in to roll for the Cubs. She rolled several Cubs’ contests during my 1991 replay and uncannily seemed to constantly roll 66s for Andre Dawson, the universal dice roll for home runs.

Sure enough, she rolled well; Bill “Swish”Nicholson, the Cubs’ early version of Dave Kingman who mostly either homered or struck out, blooped a single and drove in catcher Bob Scheffing in the top of the ninth to make it a 13-13 tie.

The Reds were scoreless in the bottom of the ninth and the game went into extra innings.

Both teams failed to score in the 10^th and the contest continued.

Apparently, Holly was getting tired and, wanting to wrap up the game and get on with her own life, did her best rolling of the season so far in the 11^th inning.

With one out, Scheffing singled and Nicholson added his own single, driving Scheffing to third. Eddie Waitkus then hit a sacrifice fly to drive in Scheffing. Fans remember Waitkus as the idea for Bernard Malamud’s novel “The Natural,” which later became a movie with Robert Redford and Glen Close. Waitkus was shot in 1949 by an obsessed, love-struck fan upset when he was traded to Philadelphia.

Then, the gates opened and the Cubs followed with a triple, single, walk, single, error and single before Scheffing, batting around, flied out for the final out. Seven runs scored and the Cubs took a 20-13 lead.

Cubs pitcher Bob Chipman closed out the game, giving up only a one-out double before getting two ground outs to win the game.

The score seemed more like a Bears-Bengals game with Chicago winning on a fourth-quarter touchdown. Instead, it was one of 1,232 games I’ll play in this replay and there were many elements to this game that made it stand out. The score, Holly’s rolling of the dice, the stories associated with the players such as Waitkus and the fun of a really wild game.

Even though some of the games on the schedule may appear boring and pointless, we have to play them out. You never know what will happen.