1972

Even for an old guy like me, it’s hard to grasp that 1972 was 50 years ago.

It was a busy year in news and culture then and as a child destined for a career in journalism, I paid attention closely to those events.

The war in Vietnam raged on. Astronauts stepped on the moon two more times as Apollos 16 and 17 landed on the lunar surface and it coincided nicely with the release of Elton John’s “Rocket Man.”  The Watergate break-ins occurred in Washington, D.C., that summer, creating a lasting distrust of all politicians, and in September, 11 Israeli athletes were killed by terrorists during the Olympics in Munich, Germany.

The first “Godfather” movie was screened and possibly one of the worst songs ever recorded, America’s “Horse With No Name,” hit the radio. But one of the better ballads of all time also graced the airwaves that year when Eric Clapton serenaded us with “Layla.”

Nineteen seventy-two was also a transitional year for me, an 11-year-old kid living in northern Minnesota when the baseball season began that year. I was wrapping up sixth grade, about to leave my lab elementary school on the campus of Bemidji State University for the big time of junior high.

That year was a pivotal year, going from the peace and serenity of childhood to the stress of living a more regulated life.

Baseball, I found, was a great help during that changing year. I had a hard time adjusting to the bustle of junior high. I was a very nerdy, shy kid who fit in with my elementary school and suddenly, in September 1972, I was thrust into the big time. My first class was held in the adjoining high school building and as a scared nerd that was a daunting adventure.  The only common thing I had left from my more peaceful earlier years was watching the Twins on television. I clung to that baseball season like a shipwrecked passenger clutches a life preserver.

And now, half a century later, I’m replaying the 1972 baseball season with the APBA baseball cards and dice game. For those uninitiated with it, the game uses cards for each player who played in the 1972 season. Rather than the pictured cards that were popular in gum packs back then, these cards have numbers on them that replicate their actual production at the plate. If a player hit plenty of home runs, his card would reflect that with the iconic “1” on the card, indicating a homer. If he struck out often, as did Reggie Jackson or Bobby Darwin on my Twins’ team did, he’d get plenty of dreaded “13s,” reflecting whiffs. Players roll dice and they correspond the results with the numbers on the cards to play the game.

I realize the actual 1972 season was delayed by a strike. I’m going to ignore the strike for my replay and play out the full season as originally scheduled. Like I’ve said before in APBA replays, there are no strikes and no rainouts in my APBA replays.

To further this, the other day I was digging in a closet in search of some old books and came across the paperback Major League Baseball 1972 published by Pocket Books that I bought years ago. It was a preview book of the season, complete with rosters, lineups, schedules and predictions. It had to be a sign I was about to replay the right season. The book predicted Baltimore would face Oakland for the American League title and Pittsburgh and Los Angeles would clash for the National League. It also contains an advertisement offering I could buy a year of Sports Illustrated for $7.90.

So, this replay will be a journey of memories. Readers, be warned I’ll probably ramble on about the old days in upcoming blogs, of remembering some of the stars like Harmon Killebrew and Willie Stargell –who’s batting hitch we all imitated when playing backyard Whiffle ball – and of moments with friends and life back then. I guess that’s what we do when we get older.

Back then, I was playing “replays” of sorts, clanking the magnetic ball on the metal electric baseball game I had, creating batting orders for all American League teams (remember, I lived in Twinsland and didn’t follow the National League) and keeping the standings that I had become obsessed over. I’d read closely the standings in the Minneapolis Tribune (before the merger with the Star) and watch as the Twins took an early lead in the American League West Division before finishing third.

I guess that’s what most of us APBA players do when replaying a season we were alive for. We look back and remember those days. Nineteen seventy-two began with me walking the three blocks from Bixby Avenue to my grade school and ended with me dreading returning to junior high school where they picked on the nerds with little mercy.

Thank goodness for baseball that year. 

Now , if I can only get that stinkin’ “Horse With No Name” song out of my head.