1965: When the Myth and Magic of Baseball Began

I was about to turn 5 in the summer of 1965 and I was just getting a hint of the legends and mythical figures of those who played baseball for a living.

My parents had moved to Madison, Wisc., a year earlier so my dad could finish his doctorate in music at the University of Wisconsin and I was about to attend kindergarten that fall in a school about two blocks from our West Lawn Avenue home. I had yet to become obsessed with sports and at that age I was more interested in playing cowboys and Indians and going to the nearby city zoo.

But news of baseball, and football because of the state’s worship of the Green Bay Packers, was always available, even for a youngster my age.

Somewhere, I heard about Henry Aaron, the outfielder for the Milwaukee Braves that summer. It was either from my father relating a story he had heard earlier or from something I saw on television. I’m sure I didn’t read it in the Sporting News while poring over box scores, which I started doing a decade later. Wherever it came from, it implanted the first notion that baseball players were special.

Aaron, the story went, had such strong wrists that he could hit baseballs through outfield walls. Aaron had already achieved godlike status in Wisconsin for his 1957 MVP season and winning the World Series against the New York Yankees with his three home runs that year. I wasn’t alive then, but I had heard of Aaron, so the story of his powerful wrists had to be true.

One late summer day before school started for both me and my father, my family drove to Milwaukee. I sat in the back of our old Rambler station wagon and looked at the city. We were downtown and we passed what I thought was County Stadium where the Braves played, driving right next to the brick walls of what I believed was the outfield wall. I’m sure it wasn’t. There was no parking area for fans; it must have been some construction site. But I looked closely and saw sheets of plywood pinned to the wall. I assumed it was the outfield wall; we were looking from the outside, so it had to be the back of the wall. Again, I didn’t even think of stadium seating for the fans behind and above the wall, just that where the outfield ended the street began. Remember, I was only 5.

I noticed holes in the plywood and, by gosh, I knew, I knew, they were made by the slashing line drives of Aaron. The myth became a reality in my world and Aaron was elevated to my favorite player status. Still is, by the way.

Now, 55 years later, I know, no matter how strong Aaron’s wrists were, he couldn’t drive baseballs through outfield walls some 360 feet away. Still, I like the tale and I hang on to that.

I began the 1965 APBA baseball replay a couple of weeks ago and when Aaron is at bat, I think of that story. We hold on to the magic of baseball all these years. Rolling the game dice for him brings back that memory and of a time when my only worries were if my friend across the street could come outside and play and if the lion in the nearby zoo could roar loud enough in the evenings that I could hear him through the open windows of the bedroom.

One of my APBA friends said 1965 was her favorite season to replay. I may echo her on that assessment, although usually whatever season I’m doing is my favorite. However, 1965 seems really special. I remember so many of the players on these teams, and it’s sad that many are passing away. Joe Morgan is the Houston Astros’ second baseman. Jim Bouton, four years from his “Ball Four” fame, is a starter for the Yankees. The Braves are stacked with Aaron, Eddie Mathews, Joe Torre and Felipe Alou, one of the three fascinating Alous who played in that era. I get to roll for Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris. Lou Brock, Curt Flood and Bill White are on a Cardinals’ team that’s doing really well in the replay so far. Willie Stargell, who I emulated his hitch-swing later when I played whiffle ball in Minnesota, is with the Pirates. And I get to roll for Harmon Killebrew, who I idolized along with Aaron.

This is one of the main reasons I believe APBA game players love this game. We can go back in time when we remember these players. There’s no Covid-19 in  APBA, no players’ strikes and no salary fights. There are not even any rainouts in my replays. It’s a great way to remember the times. And when I roll for Aaron, there’s a chance that maybe, just maybe, he may drive one so hard that it does go through the outfield wall and into the streets of Milwaukee.

APBA Christmas 2020

Another Christmas has arrived and for most of us, I’m guessing, the magic of it all, the excitement of the times, has somewhat passed by.

I’m not being a curmudgeon saying “Bah,” to the holiday, but I’m offering that as we age, the tables of this season have tipped. When we were kids, we got things. Now, those of us who ended up with kids, we give things.

I never had kids and I worked at the newspaper on Christmas days so others could be with their families during the nine years between when my wife died and I met Holly, who is now my family. One Christmas, I covered a deliberate fire set at the boyhood home of former Pres. Bill Clinton in southern Arkansas. Another year, I wrote a story about people who had to work on the holiday and then filed a late story about a snow storm that hit northern Arkansas that night.

But, despite the negative tone of all this, there is still some magic for those of us who play the APBA games. Most of us who play this game are probably reaching middle age or beyond. We grew up in a time before Play Stations and other video games and our sports games consisted of cards or spinners or dice. But we loved those games and for many of us, I bet, we got our initiation into APBA through Christmas.

I did. In 1977, 43 years ago, my parents bought me the APBA football game. It was the headliner present of the season. It beat the shirts, sweater, books and other things I received then and I remember the heft of the package. I still recall that Christmas night, poring over the cards and realizing I had a sports universe right there. I played Washington and the New York Giants in my first game. I probably did it wrong, but I entered the realm that I’m still in. A year later, the APBA basketball game was under the Christmas tree and I was hooked with the game company.

Flash forward nearly half a century. I am no longer toiling in news and instead work for the prosecuting attorney in the county in which I live. We are off Thursday and Friday for the holiday. I spent Christmas Eve Day playing games in the 1965 APBA baseball replay I began two weeks ago.

The Christmas magic is still there. I’m 60, but I still had that feeling of wonder as a child as I rolled a game between the Milwaukee Braves and the Chicago Cubs. The wind must have been blowing out of County Stadium in Milwaukee. Eddie Mathews hit two home runs, Henry Aaron, Joe Torre, and Gene Oliver each hit one for the Braves. Billy Williams and reserve catcher Chris Krug, who with a “5” has one of the lowest ratings for a catcher I’ve seen, each hit homers for the Cubs.

Earlier in the day, Willie Mays hit his second home run of the season, pacing the Giants to a doubleheader sweep over the New York Mets. And even earlier, Pittsburgh and Houston split games in their doubleheader. Later tonight, as Santa loads his sleigh and heads out on his run, the Los Angeles Dodgers will face the Philadelphia Phillies. Sandy Koufax is scheduled to start his second game of the season.

So, despite my age and the loss of the childhood awe of the overall season, there still is that spirit of excitement with this game.

And, raise your hands if you’re with me on this: Whenever you order a season from the APBA company, you wait for it to arrive with anxiety. And when it comes, regardless of the month, you tear into it much as you did when you were a child opening a Christmas present. There’s a shelf by our kitchen door in the garage where the postman leaves packages. I’ve always gotten a charge when I saw a box on that shelf with unmistakable red APBA logo.

What else have we carried through our lives this long? The game still has that innocence we had as youngsters. It’s a simple game. Roll two dice, look at the results on a player’s card, match that with the results on a chart and see what happens. But it’s also a complex game. Things can happen that inspire our imagination. Willie Stargell hit two home runs in a game I played a week ago. I didn’t need to see it occur on a video game screen. I could see Stargell do his hitch swing and then clout one over the Pittsburgh fence.

And there’s that magic that we hold onto that is the spirit of Christmas. Despite changes in life, whether it’s loss or failed dreams or not having enough money or just being alone on the holiday, those of us who roll the game still have that feeling we had when we were young and first played the game.

Merry Christmas, APBA brethren.

1947 World Series recap

Amidst the backdrop of uncertainty and bizarre times, I recently completed the 1947 APBA replay that I began in August 2019. Other than a brief stop in daily play when I got somewhat burned out and another stretch when I dealt with two infections, the season moved along pretty quickly and its resolve turned out well. Like I always, always say when doing these replays. It was a good season.

And one of the draws of APBA is learning the particular season. Sure, when we roll the Brooklyn Dodgers of 1947, we know of Jackie Robinson and Gil Hodges and Ralph Branca, but I learned of relief pitcher Hugh Casey who, I believe, cost the Dodgers’ their pennant with poor pitching during the stretch. The Dodgers lost the pennant to the Cardinals by six games. Casey lost six games during the season, mostly during that stretch. There was a point when he’d come to the mound, I almost expected him to blow the lead and lose the game. Often, he did.

So, we see some of the nuances of the season develop as we play. The New York Giants seemed to hit back-to-back home runs often. The team led the majors with 231 home runs. In the real 1947, they hit 221 home runs to lead baseball. And in a mirror to real life again, Ralph Kiner and Johnny Mize tied, each with 53 dingers, for the home run lead in my replay. In the reason season, each hit 51.

There were frustrating teams to play. Cleveland, with Bob Feller on the mound and decent bats, couldn’t make a run and finished 17 games behind the Yankees. The White Sox only had Rudy York, who played well above the rest of his White Sox and the Southsiders finished a dismal 68-86, some 28 games behind New York. And speaking of dismal, the Cubs ended up 53-101, 51 games behind the Cardinals and one game behind Pittsburgh for last place.

As I battled through a serious kidney and prostate infection and then tested positive for Covid-19 around Thanksgiving, I wrapped up the season slowly. Going into the World Series, I picked the Cardinals to win in five games. The Redbirds’ pitching was strong. MVP Stan Musial batted .348 with 32 home runs and 149 RBIs and White Kurowski also hit 32 home runs. The Yankees were a good team, but they seemed inconsistent. They could just as easily score 14 runs against a Philadelphia As team as score one run against the Tigers or Indians. It was hard to predict how they’d do. My prediction, I would discover, would be wrong.

Here’s how the World Series games went.

Game 1 St. Louis 9 at New York 6

The Cards opened with back-to-back home runs. Terry Moore and Musial each clouted a lone shot off Yankee starter Spec Shea. The Yankees responded with a six-run third, but St. Louis chipped back, scoring three in the fourth, tying the game at 6 in the seventh and then adding three in the ninth to take Game 1.

Game 2 St. Louis 4 at New York 8

Tommy Henrich hit two home runs, driving in four runs and Yankees pitcher Spud Chandler added his own shot to pace New York to an easy Game 2 win.

Game 3 New York 5 at St. Louis 1

The Cardinals took the lead in the first inning as the game moved back to Sportsmens’ Park in St. Louis and Moore drove in Red Shoendienst. But Yanks’ pitcher Allie Reynolds shut the Birds down. The key blow came in the sixth inning when Phil Rizzuto drove in two runs with a triple.

Game 4 New York 3 at St. Louis 4

The Cardinals had taken a 3-0 lead into the seventh when pitcher Murry Dickson walked three batters with the bases loaded. Enos Slaughter had hit a two-run homer in the sixth to give the Birds a seemingly insurmountable lead. After the Yankees tied the game, Slaughter stepped up to the plate with two out in the bottom of the ninth and belted out a single, scoring Shoendienst for the winning run.

Game 5 New York 8 at St. Louis 2

The Yankees took a three-game to two-game lead while dominating St. Louis in Game 5. Bull Johnson drove in three runs for New York and Joe DiMaggio, quiet for most of the Series, clipped a two-run double in the ninth. This game showed that the Yankees did have the depth to be a World Series champion.

Game 6 St. Louis 3 at New York 2

Del Rice hit a two-run home run for the Cardinals in the second and held onto a 3-0 lead into the bottom of the ninth. Rizzuto hit a two-run shot with two outs to make it interesting but Harry “The Cat” Breechen got Snuffy Stirnweiss for the last out and the victory.

Game 7 St. Louis 1 at New York 3

Spud Chandler gave up six hits in his complete Game 7 win. The Yanks scored two in the second when catcher Aar0n Robinson hit a one-out single. Chandler added an insurance run in the sixth doubling in Robinson. The Cardinals scored their lone run in the third when Musial drove in Schoendienst and when pinch hitter Ron Northey grounded out to Stirnweiss in the ninth, New York captured its crown.

The season is over. The game cards have returned to the envelopes and boxes and the next season is about to begin. During the quarantine period of my covid issues, I got the 1965 season ready to play. I wrote out team pages with complete schedules, set up pitching line ups, created stat pages for home runs and pitching records. One era, 1947, is over. Another is set to begin. One thing I already noticed is the number of strikeouts in the 1965 season. There were an awful lot of walks in 1947. In the fourth game I’ve played in this 1965 season already, Dodgers pitcher Sandy Koufax struck out 14! In the following game, Juan Marichal and Bob Veale each had nine strike outs for their Giants’ and Pirates’ teams, respectively.

Despite the ever-changing world, one thing is certain, APBA will always be there with games for us to delve into, to forget about the struggles for a while, to learn about another era and just to relax and watch as our heroes perform.

Covid

The plan was to finish my 1947 APBA baseball replay during the Thanksgiving break. For only the second time in more than 20 years, I had both Thursday and Friday off since I’ve been out of news reporting. Couple that with the two-day weekend and I had a four-day slot open to wrap up the season.

Instead, I was knocked down by two different infections that even the iconic red and white APBA dice couldn’t conquer.

The season was only about 20 games of being finished. The St. Louis Cardinals had easily won the National League, fueled by MVP Stan Musial who batted .348 with 32 home runs and 149 RBIs. He also had a 19-game hitting streak during the season. The American League was much tighter and with only two days remaining, New York, Boston and Detroit were all capable of winning the pennant.

But on the weekend before Thanksgiving, I began feeling sluggish. I was getting weak and - this is way too much information but bear with me – I was having a hard time taking a leak. I say this because I had this issue once before in 2016 and I had a hint it was returning. It was a bacterial infection of the kidney, bladder and prostate. Lovely, being of this age. The infection caused swelling of that entire pee line and going to the bathroom was an exercise in torture. Think of trying to water your yard while your car is parked on the hose. It felt like my bladder was having dry heaves. My doctor diagnosed it as prostitis, which is Latin for “Holy, s***, I can’t piss.”

Medicine quickly corrected it, but I still felt bad. My temperature began spiking and on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, it climbed to 101.7 degrees. I missed another day of work and then went back to the doctor. Meanwhile, the APBA games were suspended for a bit. I was able to roll a game every so often when the fog of the fever cleared. I did have a classic, too. Bob Feller threw a 13-inning no-hitter against Detroit, winning 2-1 and knocking the Tigers out of the race. The Yankees then killed the Philadelphia As, 15-1, and Boston was stunned by the hapless Washington Senators, 9-4, and the Yanks were in the Series. Despite sickness, some sense of the games had to go on.

I returned to the doctor the Wednesday after Thanksgiving. I had just started a small cough, alerting the physician who jammed a Covid test up my nose so far and into my brain I can’t recall 1984 anymore. Two days later: positive. I, along with millions of other have this awful virus now. It pisses me off, too. (As much as can be pissed due to the prostitis.)  I don’t go anywhere but work and to the store if I have to and I wear the mask when I go. Still, Covid-19 is everywhere. Of the 20 people or so who work on the third floor of the courthouse annex where I work, at least eight have now tested positive. It’s inevitable that this disease will continue to spread; northeast Arkansas, where I live, is a hotbed. Maybe it’s because this is a college town. Maybe it’s because our city leaders are afraid to shut down things because they don’t want to lose tax revenues. Maybe it’s because of the culture of adaptation. I went into a tire store the other day to repair a tire. My mask had a broken ear thing and I asked the proprietor if he had an extra.

“Don’t need one,” he gruffed. “They do more harm than good.”

I looked on the wall for his medical degree and his high standing with the Centers for Disease Control. All I saw was a plaque that he could rotate tires well.

The good news is that Holly has tested negative despite fluttering over me in care during the worst. The health department thinks I may have had a minor bout of  Covid and my contagious period is over now. Let’s hope so. In a year of insanity and despair, some good news is greatly welcomed.

Enough politics. I’m quarantined now. I feel a lot better and I’ll finish the 1947 Series soon. I also used this time off to do all the prep work for my next replay: 1965. I write out team schedules and write pages to keep up with home runs, win-loss records and saves. I’m always debating about creating a full stat program, but generally opt out and just enjoy watching the games roll. And I’m chomping to play 1965, too, which was given to be as a gift by an APBA brethren. Each new season is an adventure, a voyage to learn about the season in depth. I was alive during 1965; the players are memories of my childhood. Henry Aaron, Harmon Killebrew, Sandy Koufax, Frank Robinson. They’re all there, waiting to provide hours of enjoyment in the hobby that has stayed with us for decades.