Let me tell you the story how
I met the kids and their fathers.
Our paths crossed on opening
day at the Oakland Athletics home opener at McAfee Stadium against the New York
I was selling peanuts and
Cracker Jacks to the folks seated near the stadium centerfield wall.
“Get your peanuts here,
C-R-A-C-K-E-R J-A-C-K-S!” I bellowed in my deep stadium voice.
I ran down the stairs to this
guy in a New York Yankees cap who had motioned an “Alexander Hamilton” in my
“What will it be Buddy,
peanuts or Cracker Jacks?” I asked him.
The guy looked back at me
from beneath a New York Yankees cap and said, “Give us three bags of peanuts
and three boxes of Cracker Jacks my good man!”
I dug deep into my box of
snacks and before I could hand them over to the guy in the Yankee cap he asked
me to do him a favor.
“Do you think you could go
back to the top of the stairs and throw the Cracker Jack boxes to the kids to
catch with their baseball gloves?”
I looked down the aisle at
these three little kids with three different baseball caps on and gloves the
size of their dad’s heads.
There was this kid named Ruth
in a Yankees cap, a kid named Ty in a Tigers cap and a kid named Jackie in a
“Sure Bub, but these babes
here look fresh out of the high chair and it could get real messy real quick!”
Then I saw “Abe Lincoln” come
out of the guys pocket and I snatched it up and high-tailed it back to the top
of the stairs, convinced that the kid’s dads would be the ones catching my
Cracker Jack curveballs.
I grabbed three boxes of
Cracker Jacks that seemed a bit heavier than normal.
The first box I aimed at
Jackie, the kid in the Dodgers cap and spotting him in the sea of green Oakland
A’s caps was easy.
“OK kid, get ready because
here it comes!” I shouted before launching the box in the kid’s general
My first throw was way too
high and I saw it start to sail over the kid’s head, but then the kid’s dad
lifted him up high in the air and to my amazement the kid caught it!
“J-A-C-K-I-E W-O-B-I-N-S-O-N” the kid giggled as he
snapped his glove around the cracker jack box and smiled a toothy grin.
By that time everyone was
watching so I tried to be more accurate with my second throw.
I spotted my second target,
the little kid Ty in the Tigers cap and I compensated for the wind by
side-arming a low slider.
The Cracker Jack box skipped
off this fat lady’s beehive hairdo and into the aisle and I saw Ty slide off his
chair and into the aisle and catch it!
Ty’s dad brought him back to
his seat as the crowd that watched went wild.
I shook my head in disbelief
and was convinced that I must be in the middle of some dream so I purposely
threw the last box of Cracker Jack extra hard and aimed five rows in front of
Ruth in the Yankees cap.
The kid was still sporting a
yellow mustache from his hotdog and I could have sworn that the kid winked at
me as I threw his box of Cracker Jack.
The box flew hard and
straight this time and headed five rows in front of Ruth but the wind caught it
and it “boom-a-ranged” and landed smack dab in the middle of Ruth’s glove.
Ruth hadn’t moved an inch or
stopped eating his hotdog for that matter, he had simply stood on top of his
chair and outstretched his glove and caught it!
With my “Abe Lincoln”
well-earned I headed back to snack central to restock my snack box and tell the
other vendors the story of these three incredible little kids.
I walked up to Louie my boss
sitting behind the snack counter and handed him my snack box to be filled up
“Hey Morris, you idiot, do
you realize you’ve been passing out Cracker Jack boxes from the 1920’s!” Louie yelled as he bit down hard on the
world’s smallest cigar.
“Yeah right! But if you really
want to hear a yarn, I’ll have to tell you the story of these three little kids
I just threw Cracker Jack boxes to from the top of the stairs,” I chuckled
“Look at the boxes moron,
they’re the old original white box with Sailor Jack and Bingo – do you realize
that someone’s going to get sick and we’ll get sued!
“You must’ve grabbed the big
boss’s box of collectible Cracker Jacks he bought from an auction the other
“That’s probably why the
weight of the boxes didn’t feel right, they were a bit heavier,” I gasped under
my breath as the little hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up at full
“Go get those Cracker Jack
boxes back before we have three very ill little boys on our hands and a lawsuit
I ran back to centerfield
with three brand new boxes of Cracker Jacks but it was already the second
inning and something huge must have just happened because everyone was standing
on their feet.
I looked up at the scoreboard
and saw that Alex Rodriguez of the New York Yankees had just hit a rare opening
day grand slam and the stadium scoreboard cameras panned to the crowd in
centerfield where the ball had landed.
I saw three little boys
cheering and blowing three very peculiar looking whistles and Little Ruth was
clutching the baseball and dancing.
I also saw three empty white
Cracker Jack boxes on the ground and I realized that it was too late; the boys
must have eaten the Cracker Jacks and were enjoying their secret surprises when
Alex Rodriguez launched his magical grand slam.
I slowly walked up to Ruth’s
father and asked them if everyone was feeling alright, but I didn’t mention my
“We feel great! My little boy
Ruth here caught the grand slam ball and the three boys love their Cracker
Jacks secret prizes. I haven’t
seen a whistle prize like this before – it’s made from tin like in the old
I took a quick look at the
boy’s whistles and saw they were all gold colored tins of a man with a very big
mouth – a rare collectible Cracker Jack prize.
I also scooped up the empty
Cracker Jack boxes and told them that I would clear out their trash and
congratulated them and headed back to snack central.
Here is the link to the audio version (varies slightly from text):
Here is a story I started to write about the game we all love.
(I will post more).
Once there were three little
boys that loved the game of baseball.
Their fathers were all best
friends and the little boys oddly enough were all in their “Terrible Two’s” -
the point in their childhood life when they were supposed to turn into
No, they didn’t turn into
monsters – but let’s not get ahead of the story.
The first little boy’s name
was Ruth and he was bestowed his name by his father who loved the New York
Yankees and their famous slugger Babe Ruth – The Bambino – The Sultan of Swat -
The Colossus of Clout.
Ruth would be embarrassed by
his name later in his life, but at the tender age of two and with a big iron-on
number three blazoning his chubby little t-shirt, nobody made fun of him.
The second little boy’s name
was Ty and as you probably already guessed, his father was a huge Detroit
Tigers fan and named him after the mighty Ty Cobb – “The Georgia Peach.”
Ty had a quiet demeanor to
him but like the real Ty Cobb he had the uncanny ability to slide – he would
slide off his high chair, he would slide right out of his car seat, and he
would even slide down the stairs with his baby blanket and laugh.
The third little boy’s name
was Jackie and his father had named him after his favorite Brooklyn Dodger, Jackie
Robinson. The real Jackie Robinson
subsequently didn’t have a nickname.
Little Jackie was fast at
everything and he had just learned to pronounce his name, “J-A-C-K-I-E
W-O-B-I-N-S-O-N,” even though his real last name was Howard.
Jackie’s father would tuck
the little tyke into his bed and would routinely coo the kid to sleep with an
old record album by Buddy Johnson that went something like this:
Did you see Jackie
Robinson hit that ball?
It went zoomin cross the
left field wall.
Yeah boy, yes, yes. Jackie
hit that ball.
And when he swung his bat,
the crowd went wild,
because he knocked that
ball a solid mile.
Yeah boy, yes, yes. Jackie
hit that ball…
Little Jackie never made it to the end of the song because right after the second verse, he was out for the count. “Counting ballpark peanut shells.”
Here is a link to an audio version of this entry:
OK, I’m guilty of being preoccupied with my career and my car…sorry. I HAVE been missing being crazy creative with the Yankees.
Lord knows they can use some humor! (BTW, the photo above is a depiction of E-Stein as a podcaster – I’ll add the mp3 file below).
In the meantime, cruise on over to my other blog: http://wiredcu.com (It’s mostly about Credit Unions and Social Networking, but I’ll photoshop and get funny).
Got lots to write about with the Yankees, so I’m coming back.
P.S. So someone fill me in on what I missed in this space – Is my girl Alyssa still blogging or did she quit yet?
Well – I know I haven’t posted in quite awhile but I wanted to tell you about your boy G here being present in San Francisco for Barry Bonds record breaking home run number 756!
So I am sitting in my office at work last week and I see this email from a co-worker asking if anyone in the office is a Giants fan and WANTS two tickets to a game.
At that point in time, Barry hadn’t tied the record and I thought I might get a chance to see him maybe tie the record, so I shot off the quickest email reply ever recorded.
Over the next few days I get news that Barry tied the record and that Monday August 6th he is expected to make the history books – so I shrug it off and think that I’ll watch him probably swing for 757, no big deal.
ONLY – Barry didn’t hit 756 on the 6th – which meant I had a chance to be present at a historic game.
So…I get the tickets from the co-worker this afternoon and bail out of San Jose at 4:00 p.m. and inch my way through the normal bay area traffic to get at the stadium by 5:30 p.m.
I snapped a few photos in front of the Willie Mays statue – grabbed a dog and a beer and followed my ticket to the club level seat in section 202, row b seat 1 (An awesome seat by the way).
I watched Barry continually get good wood on the ball (ok – this sounded funny) so I suspected something magical.
Sure enough…I witnessed the most awesome swing I have seen in quite awhile (much different from A-Rod – not sure how to really explain it).
The thunderous crack of the bat was soon followed by an eruption of fireworks, cheers, and streaming stuff coming down from the sky.
It was a moment I will never forget….
I saw Barry Bonds tie Babe Ruth’s record in Oaktown and now I saw the most awesome moment I can remember in my short baseball fan life.
I’m framing my ticket – it was truly a moment to remember!!!!
EVERY SELF-RESPECTED CHOLO HAD TO BE CURRENT ON THE FINE INTELLECTUAL READINGS OF LOWRIDER MAGAZINE – OK, MAYBE NOT SO MUCH THE READING, BUT MAYBE, ACUTELY VERSED ON THE ANATOMY OF THE FINE FEMALE CREATURES ACTING AS HOOD ORNAMENTS.
The moment the Senators had been waiting for had arrived and it came at the end of practice – they found out when they would be getting uniforms.
“Senators, I have two announcements to make – one, Gilbert here will be our new assistant coach and two, I have some news about your uniforms.”
“The Milpitas Rotary Club has agreed to sponsor us and we will all be meeting after practice on Tuesday next week for pizza at Mountain Mike’s and uniforms.”
“Make sure to write your sizes down on my list and the number you want – there is no guarantee you will get either, so let’s just hope for the best ok!”
Coach Deanda was kidding right? “No guarantees on either,” what in the heck did that mean – “no guarantees on either!”
The Kid took his turn with the clipboard and at first wrote down “size large” and then nervously scratched that out and wrote “x-large” with the number choice of 44 – ala Reggie Jackson.
The Kid needed a ride home and he threw off the rest of the catching gear as fast as he could so he could beg a ride from Steve the Giant and his brother Gilbert.
“Steve, do you think your brother would give me a ride home since I have a little bit of a problem with my bike over there?” The Kid begged.
“HAHAHA, C’mon, I’m not sure I can even get a ride home with Gilbert. Grab that end of your bike and I’ll carry the other end and we’ll just put my bike and your piece of **** in there before he notices.”
Gilbert was packing up his aluminum bats and was talking with Coach Deanda as The Giant and The Kid made quick work of shoving the two bikes into the back of the old camper.
There was just enough room in the back for the two bikes and two covert stowaways who happened to stumble upon Gilbert’s latest edition of Lowrider Magazine.
The Giant did the honors of flipping through the pages as the two boys gawked at the huge, ummm…tires, when suddenly they heard the driver side door to the camper creak open.
“Shut Up! The Giant motioned with his mouth and finger as Gilbert climbed into the camper’s driver seat and ripped out of the parking lot in his normal B-A-D A-S-S M.O. (Modus Orangutan).
The camper drove down the road for about half a mile before The Giant and The Kid couldn’t help but burst out in laughter at a cartoon in the magazine illustrating a fat Cholo character farting in a swimming pool and claiming the bubbles were from a non-existent Jacuzzi.
Top five reasons why you’re still a Yankees Fan
- If you live anywhere near The Bronx, chances are George Steinbrenner owns the deed to your housing development and you’re afraid he will evict you if he catches you wearing a Mets hat.
- You “blew a hammy” after attempting former Yankees strength and conditioning coach Marty Miller’s eight-minute cha-cha kicks for stress relief and haven’t been able to reach the remote control to turn the channel.
- You’re waiting for Oscar Goldman to be appointed the Yankees new Director of Performance Enhancement, because he is the most qualified person to “rebuild them.”
- You’re still delusional that Roger Clemens will suit up for the Yankees – despite the fact that the current legal sports performance enhancements of Viagra, Ensure and Depends will only get him an extra inning or two.
- You’ve been hanging out with former mini-boss Steve Swindal down at The Big Cypress bingo parlor in Florida – watching the game on TV, sipping screwdrivers and yelling “Bingo” for no apparent reason.