How I Start a Season

Maybe it’s an obsessive-compulsive thing, but when I prepare a baseball season for replay, I get pretty detailed. It’s akin to doing my taxes and it gets to the point, during my preparation, that if anyone else was around me during this time, they’d probably commit me or at least order outpatient counseling.

It takes a while to prep a season to play.

For the uninitiated, I play APBA, a baseball game that uses player cards. Rather than pictures on their cards, numbers are featured. Game players roll dice, match the numbers to the player’s cards and then to corresponding numbers on play charts. It’s statistically based and gamers can replay any season the APBA game company produces.

I began playing the 1942 season, my first time delving in any season in the 1940s.

But before the dice is tossed, the game player has to set up the season, and that’s where it gets focused, at least for me. I don’t know how others do it; I’ve never actually spoken to another APBA player ever. I should post my phone number here sometime and urge gamers to call, but that’s for another day.

Here’s how I start: First, I set up team schedules. I go to retrosheet.org, a baseball website that lists every season and every game, and get the games played. But, because I want each team to play its full schedule, I find I have to often reschedule rainouts or forfeited games at times. For 1942, I found how many times each team played another team. Back then, teams played the seven other clubs in their league 22 times — 11 games at home and 11 on the road — for a full 154-game season. So, I meticulously find which games were not played and then squeeze them into the schedule.

I am old-school, so I handwrite everything in small block print. It goes back to second grade when my teacher held me from library privileges because I couldn’t do cursive writing well. Mastering the Q in cursive — the unexplained method of doing some curly ‘2’ for the letter — really threw me, and, as a result of banned from going to the library, I rebelled by printing ever since then. Some people throw up their arms in revolt. I print. Yes, I am a nerd.

Each team has a notebook page of its 154 games written in blue capital letters and snapped into a three-ring binder.

Then, I have team pages that list every player so I can track home runs and won-lost records.

I also set up pitching rotations, again found by using retrosheet.org, and write them down on index cards.

Finally, I write the games to be played on pages in a spiral bound steno pad and fill in lineups for several games in advance.

It takes three or four days to do all this and there are times when I almost stop and think, ‘I’m an adult here. If I put this much energy to, say, making money, I’d be in better shape.”

Then I shake the idea off and continue writing schedules, players and pitching rotations.

It’s something I’ve done with the baseball seasons since I began playing in 1998 and with APBA’s other games since 1977. It’s always worked for me, and it’s a hard habit to break. 

And, if I ever were to be committed into a mental facility for my obsessiveness, I’d at least have more time to play the games.

Bookends of Life

There’s a repetitive nature of life, a bookending of things, that, as we get older, seem more obvious. It’s either nature’s way of letting us correct errors in the past or allowing us to see things with a changed, time-adled perspective and, while we may not be able to fix them, at least we can see the differences in how we process them then and now.

When I began the 1981 baseball replay with my APBA game, I found this evident in more ways than an obvious one. 

On the surface, my goal was to replay the season with the statistically-based game to see what would have happened if the baseball strike never occurred. That season bothered me; my college girlfriend moved away at the end of 1980 and, in that stumbling reel of heartbreak that first-time loves feel, I moped through the first three months of the following year. I looked forward to the 1981 baseball season with more vigor than normal hoping the games would replace the hole in my heart.

But the strike happened and for several weeks in the summer, there were no games. The distraction I hoped for was gone.

The second goal in doing the season replay 31 years later was deeper. It was to relive, in part, those days of 1981. I could “fix” the season, but while I couldn’t repair the lost love, I could reflect on those days.

Little did I know that the season’s replay mirrored life and I came out on the other end a bit wiser of things.

The replay began and ended with pop ups. In the first game I did, Pete Rose opened my 1981 season for Philadephia with a pop up against Cincinnati. The season concluded when Hal McRae popped up against Los Angeles in Game 6 of my World Series and the Dodgers won the championship, 4 games to 2, over the Kansas City Royals.

The replay was also bookended with contact with my girlfriend from ago. Twenty-five years after our split, she called me and we’ve remained friends in the seven years since, talking on the phone and even going to dinner at times.

So, I played the game, remembering certain dates of that year and where I was. My birthday without her that year, watching Lady Diana’s wedding with her little sister at her parent’s that summer in an attempt to recapture something, the fall that I prepared to fly to Mexico to shoot photographs in a Yucatan peninsula jungle for a college class.

I talked with her on the phone, updating her on the progress of the replay. She seemed interested, but I’m not sure whether it was actual interest or simply polite attention to my weird APBA obsession.

And the bookend of life happened. When I completed the season two weeks ago, I put the APBA game cards in their envelopes and returned them to a closet where I store all the games. Then, I drove about an hour and a half to meet her for lunch. We only spent a few hours together, but it was a great time.  More than 30 years evaporated and it was 1980 again when I was young, innocent, still full of hope and in love.

We aren’t going to get back together, and that’s not the point. I think I’m damaged from the death of my wife seven years ago and I no longer trust people. I couldn’t handle a relationship if I had Dr. Phil hangin’ out with me and giving me daily tips. She also had a tough time in the past and I think dealing with a commitment isn’t in her plans now, either. 

Instead, it was more of an understanding that we were both “the ones that got away” and whatever type of relationship we maintain, it’ll be okay. 

So, the 1981 replay taught me something. The baseball strike happened because, well, because it just happened. It was what it was. It was just the way of life. Our breakup back then happened, too, because it was just the way of life as well. It was no one’s fault. It just happened.

It’s the roll of the dice, life is. You either hit home runs, or you pop up.

1981 Season Ends

Hal McRae of the Kansas City Royals popped up in Game 6 of my 1981 APBA replay World Series, ending the season that began when I rolled dice for the first time for this replay in December 2011.

It was a long season; 16 months of rolling games, recording scores and some stats and watching what happened.

It was a good season. When I embarked upon this, I wanted to see what would have happened if the baseball strike didn’t occur. There were some highs: Mike Schmidt hit 53 home runs in my replay. Jerry Reuss threw two no-hitters for the Dodgers. There were some lows: Minnesota lost 26 in a row and ended with a record of 48-114. The Twins, Toronto, New York Mets, Chicago Cubs and Atlanta all lost at least 100 games.

As I’ve said so many times here before, but for the benefit of first time readers, APBA is a statiscally-based replay sports game. Baseball players for the season are given cards with numbers on them. Replayers roll dice, match the roll to numbers on the cards and determine play results.  I’ve been playing APBA basketball since 1977 and baseball since 1998.

The 1981 replay is the eighth season I’ve completed and this was one of the better ones, despite Minnesota’s awful outcome.

When the regular season ended, Detroit and Baltimore were tied for the American League East, each posting 97-65 records. The Tigers beat Baltimore in a one-game playoff, but were defeated by Kansas City, 3 game to 1, in the American League Championship Series.

In the National League, Los Angeles, which won the West Division by 9 games over Houston, swept Montreal in the three-game National League Championship Series.

The Royals took the first game of the World Series, 1-0, over the Dodgers on Amos Otis’ RBI double in the seventh inning. L.A. took the next two games, 9-0 and 6-2. Willie Aikens drove in the go-ahead run in Game 4 for the Royals in the ninth, and Kansas City tied the Series at two games apiece.

And that was it for the Royals. Dusty Baker hit two home runs for the Dodgers in Game 5 for the win and Rick Monday added two homers of his own in Game 6. McRae popped out and the season was over.

So, the 1981 cards are put back in their envelopes, the envelopes back in the box and the box back on the shelf. It’s over. 

I just pulled out the 1942 card set and have written down the teams’ schedules for that year, the pitching rotations and the stat pages I keep. 

Tonight, I’ll start replaying this season, and again, I’ll see what happens. I hope it’s as entertaining as the 1981 season was.

Goodbye, Bert Blyleven

There is a sense of nostalgia and even my own mortality as I draw near to finishing a season replay of the APBA baseball game I play.

This may come across as a bit weird, as a bit goofy romanticism and as an over-analytical diatribe, but that’s how I’m wired, I guess. I’ve had many an ex-girlfriend accuse me of analyzing our failed relationships too closely when, and if, I ever got a chance to do the post-game interviews following a break-up.

But so be it. It’s there, and it reared again last week when I rolled a game featuring Boston and Cleveland.

It was a meaningless game in the 1981 replay I’m doing. It was the next to last day of the season and both teams were far behind the leaders. It was just a game with little significance.

Bert Blyleven was pitching for the Indians. He ended up losing the game; in the seventh inning, I pulled him for a reliever and realized it would be the last time I’d ever use his player card. 

It’s a sobering idea when considering your own mortality. I doubt I’ll play the 1981 season again. I began the replay in December 2011 and now, 16 months later, I’m about three days from finishing the season. It’s a long, arduous journey to do a complete season game by game. I took on 1981 as a means to see what would happen had there been no baseball strike and to relive a tumultuous year in my own life — one filed with lost love, a turning point from being a kid to an adult and of self-awareness of the way things were to be.

When the game was over, I slid the Indians players’ cards back into the envelope. Cleveland has one more game remaining in their season, but Blyleven won’t pitch again. And he may never pitch in any other season for me.

Next up, when this season is done — perhaps by mid next week — I will tackle 1942. Then, I think it will be 1919 and then maybe 1969. That’s four or five years of work ahead just for those three seasons. 

And there’s plenty more seasons to replay. Couple that with the fact that I’m no longer a kid, I may not be alive to finish all the seasons I have left to play. And, new card sets come out each year for the previous season. It’s an endless conveyor that could stretch for eternity as long as the APBA company prints seasons.

Each season takes on a personality and, for a lack of better wording, the players become “friends” in a sense. Replayers learn their characteristics on the field. We look forward to rolling the dice for certain players and when we put them away, there is a melancholy feel to it all.

See? I do tend to romanticize and overanalyze too much.

So, Bert Blyleven goes back into the card envelope, destined for the shelf once this season is completed. I’ll pull out 1942 and then, as that season reaches its conclusion, I’ll go through this all again. Weird, ain’t it?

Despite my quirks, though, it did make for interesting post-game interviews with those exes.

Two Rolls, Three-Way Tie

Two grand slams have created a three-way tie in the East Division of my 1981 APBA baseball replay with only two games left to play for each team.

Two slams; two swings; it’s all knotted up.

I began this replay in December 2011, rolling three to five games a day. Now, at Game No. 2071 on Oct. 2, 1981, I’ve got the closest pennant race I’ve ever played.

For those of you new to the game, or to this blog, APBA is a statistical-based game that recreates baseball seasons. Baseball players for that particular season are given a card with numbers on it. Game players roll dice, match the rolls with the numbers on the cards and then compare them with play results. It generally takes 15-20 minutes to play a game.

I’ve played APBA for nearly 36 years. However, I only got into the baseball game 15 years ago. But since 1998, I’ve rolled at least one baseball game nearly every day (unless I was sick or on some news assignment). This season is the tightest pennant race I’ve seen.

New York, Baltimore and Detroit are all sitting atop the American League East with 95-65 records. Early on, it appeared the Yankees would run away with the division, but Detroit and Baltimore stormed back.

Today, I rolled two games before leaving town on assignment. Both featured game-turning grand slams.

In the first contest, Baltimore hosted New York. The Yanks took a 4-1 lead in the third, but Orioles’ third baseman Doug DeCinces hit his first grand slam of the season in the bottom of the third and the Birds ended up winning, 8-4.

In the next game, Milwaukee led 4-0 after two innings against Detroit, but Brewers’ pitcher Jim Slaton gave up a single to Lou Whitaker and then walked two in the third to load the bases. Steve Kemp then hit his slam. For APBA fans, Kemp’s home run was somewhat backwards. I rolled a “33” for Kemp’s double-column card. It resulted in a “0,” meaning I needed to roll the dice again for his hit. The dice tumbled around on the second toss, ending on the “66,” APBA’s  signature roll for home runs.

Dan Petry then shut down the Brewers and the Tigers ended up taking the game, 9-4.

Two simple dice rolls, well, three actually when factoring in Kemp’s second one. Two outcomes that really make this game interesting.

I’m hitting the road soon today, heading to Little Rock to cover a conference on school shootings. I’m sure while at this meeting I’ll relive my coverage of the 1998 Westside Middle School shooting where four children and a teacher were killed. It won’t be fun.

But I know when I return home, I’ll have more games to play and I’ll know that as the season draws to a close, each roll could really mean something big. Two of them already have.

I Don't Hate The Red Sox Anymore

A funny thing happened while I replayed the 1981 ABPA baseball season. I found myself rooting for the Boston Red Sox, which goes against the very grain of my existence, I had thought.

I’ve always been a Yankees fan, since nearly birth. I know, I know. “Evil Empire” and all, but I come by the fandom with righteous reasons. 

First, my father instilled the Yankees in me when I was a youngster. He grew up in New Jersey just across the river from New York and would watch and root for DiMaggio, Berra, Mantle and Maris. With a teacher like that, how could I not favor the Yanks?

And, when I moved to Arkansas as a teenager from northern Minnesota, my following the Yankees set me apart from the rest of my classmates, many who tormented me because I was from the north. They called me “Yankee,” with the same vile invective that they reserved for racial slurs. Rather than be offended, I turned it into them calling me by one of my favorite teams.

Despite being a Bronx Bomber, I didn’t hate the Red Sox for years, though. In fact, I rooted for them in the 1975 World Series against Cincinnati. When I was really young, I sent off Corn Flakes box tops and got patches for five teams. I remember getting Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Kansas City, Detroit and ... Boston.

But then 2004 happened and I learned how to hate like a real fan. 

The Yanks took their 3-0 lead against Boston in the American League Championship series that year, but the Red Sox battled back and won the next four. They then won the World Series against Colorado.

Two years later, they swept the Cardinals which, because of my proximity to them, became the National League team I followed.

So, my dislike of the Sox came naturally.

But when I replayed 1977’s baseball season with the APBA game a few years ago, the Red Sox defeated Cincinnati in the World Series and I found myself not broken hearted at that. Now, as my 1981 season comes to an end, Boston is out of the pennant race, but I find myself rooting for them to fare well.

How can you not really like the 1981 Red Sox with players such as Fred Lynn, Carl Yastrzemski, Dennis Eckersley, Tony Perez and Rich Gedman. 

When you do a replay, rolling dice for each game scheduled for that particular season, teams take on personalities, much like they do in real life. The APBA game is statically based. You roll dice, match up results with numbers on player’s cards, compare those numbers to game results and, voila, the game is played. 

You find yourself rooting for teams and players based on how they fare during the season. Quirks come out, and the Red Sox had some fun quirks to watch as I replayed 1981. Dave Stapleton hit home runs in the APBA game above his real totals for the season. In 1981, Stapleton hit 10 home runs for the real Red Sox. In my game, he has 22 homers. Pitcher Frank Tanana, despite receiving a “D” for his pitching grade in the game (grades factor in the determination of plays at times), won games and he struck out a lot of batters.

I don’t know how this will translate into the real season this year. Will my mild interest in the Red Sox carry over to the actual games? I doubt I’ll root for the Sox over the Yankees, but at least the APBA game helped absolve some of the hatred I had for that team.

Now, if the game can remove my dislike for the Cubs, it’ll really be doing something.

The Sound of the South

It’s spring and with it comes the annual sound of baseballs popping in gloves, the cracks of the bats and the ballpark vendors hawking expensive beer and meat byproduct hot dogs.

But here in the south another sound vies for our attention as the trees begin budding and the temperatures climb. It’s the sound of the wailing tornado sirens. Not that I’m rooting for them, but we should hear their cries this spring in Arkansas. 

We had an off year last year with only a few twisters. Meteorologists blame it on the drought; the dry conditions kept storm systems from strengthening over the state and producing the tornadoes. We had only 17 reported in the Natural State in 2012.

This year, though, the drought has improved and forecasters expect at least 50 tornadoes. And with the increase in storms, it means I’ll be heading out more to the various towns that get hit by the winds. One of my duties at the newspaper where I work is to cover weather.

I’ve seen a lot of tornado damage in my years here. In 2008, I drove through a storm cell that produced the longest on-the-ground twister in the state’s history. When I punched through the system, my car was covered in splotched mud and straw.

Once I had the rubber stripping along my car door frame blown off during a storm.  After that, whenever I drove over 50 mph, the wind would blow across the gap and make a whistling noise.

I’ve driven over the remains of a house scattered across a road and dodged downed trees. In 2007, I had to drive through a bumpy cotton field to get to a town that was decimated by a twister because the roads were closed with debris.

And once I covered a tornado in a small eastern Arkansas town that killed two people. Officials set up an area for storm victims in a school gymnasium and posted a large sign “No Media.” While I was there, a second tornado formed and bore down on the school. Police rushed everyone into the gymnasium for shelter, creating a dilemma. As a reporter, do I heed the sign and stay outside, or do I take cover? I took cover.

In 1999, the sirens blared near our home and my wife and I scrambled into a closet under the staircase. She got important papers and photographs to preserve and took them with her; I grabbed my 1998 APBA baseball season set. Priorities, you know.

This year, as we prepare for the storm system here in the south, I’m ready. I have all my APBA seasons already stored in a walk-in closet that, if I were inclined to, I would hunker down during tornado warnings. 

I’ve said here before that in APBA, I never have rain outs. Every team plays its full slate of games in all the replays I’ve done. But, as the winds begin howling and the sirens go off, there may be a few games delayed while I seek shelter and then track down where the damage occurred so I can report on it.