SUPLIZIO FIELD: 

HOME OF THE GRAND JUNCTION ROCKIES

Once arriving in Grand Junction, I made my way over to Suplizio Field to catch a Pioneer (Rookie) League game between the Grand Junction Rockies and the Orem Owlz, an affiliate of the Los Angeles Angels.  On a warm and clear late summer night in God’s country, I was treated to a 7-3 win by the Rockies amidst a small [F2] but enthusiastic crowd of Rockies faithful.  The play in the field was a bit spotty [F3], which should not be surprising since these players are in fact all rookies, most of them in their very first year of professional ball.  The oldest kid on either team was born in September of 1993, making him at the age of 23 years and 11 months, the “senior” player on the field.  Grand Junction has one player who just turned 18 in May of this year, a Venezuelan by the name of Jeffri Ocando, who the Rockies signed in 2016 and who is a product of their development program in the Dominican Republic.  The Owlz have an 18-year-old player by the name of Jordan Adell on their roster, a first round draft pick out of Louisville, Kentucky who appears bound for big things. 

I did not recognize any names on either roster, players or coaches, but I did see that a former pitcher for Creighton University, Keith Rogalla of Oak Park, Illinois, a 12th round draft pick last year, is on the Orem Owlz roster.

The manager of the visiting Owlz is Tom Nieto, whose name sounded vaguely familiar to me, but I could not place him, so I looked him up on my Magic Rectangle [F4].  Turns out Nieto is a former Major Leaguer, having spent time with the Cardinals, Expos, Twins and Phillies during 1984-1990, hitting a grand total of 5 home runs and driving in 69 runs across his time in the Big Leagues.  After Nieto hung up his cleats, his rise through the managing ranks was fairly meteoric, culminating with a spot as the skipper for the Triple A Rochester Red Wings.  However, his record as a Triple A pilot was abjectly dismal at 49-95 in 2010 and 53-91 in 2011 (the first time the Rochester franchise had had back-to-back 90-loss seasons since 1903-1904), which may explain his current status as the manager of a Rookie League team in the Mormon outpost of Orem, Utah.  We’ll keep an eye on him and see where he goes from here.

AS DETECTIVE COLOMBO MIGHT PUT IT,

“JUST ONE MORE THING” ABOUT MY

EVENING AT SUPLIZIO FIELD

The announcer for the Grand Junction Rockies, a golden-throated fella by the name of Ryan Bigley, did the play-by-play for this low-level game with just as much eloquence and passion as if he was announcing Game 7 of the World Series.  (Bigley Announces Rockies' Lineup)  Even when he was reading ads for paying sponsors, or announcing upcoming events, or describing the between-inning games and contests and the usual Minor League tomfoolery [F5], his voice rang out crystal clear and with verve and vigor.  His level of broadcasting far exceeded the level of baseball play on the field below him, and so I probably would have been better off to have listened to him announce the game over the radio, were that available.  A true professional practicing his craft.  Beautiful.

CHARACTERS WITH CHARACTER

One of the things I appreciate most about the Hot Stove League is that I get to associate on a regular basis with a dozen men of high character, but who are also fun-loving, intelligent, kind, wise [F6] and, each in his own way, unique.  In fact, you are all [F7] characters in the very best sense of the word, with your own unique personalities, interests, passions, prejudices [F8] and takes on life.  I mean, how lucky can a person be to have 12 long-time chums who are not only each characters, but also full of character?

The foregoing serves as my segue into discussing a book which I finished earlier this summer and which I think should be required reading for all human beings, entitled The Road to Character, authored by political columnist and Yale teacher David Brooks.  When I first saw it on a bookshelf at the airport and read the reviews on the book cover, I thought, “Yeah, this is something I ought to read,” a thinking man’s self-help guide to being a better person.  So I bought it, and then it sat on the bed stand next to my bed for probably about six months, as I eyed it suspiciously and with more than a little trepidation.  I mean, at age 60, you would like to think that one has had enough setbacks and life lessons that one has developed all of the character that one should need for one lifetime, but alas and alack, at least in my own case this apparently is not true, at least if you believe the book.  I assumed before digging into the book that there would likely be nothing more humbling than reading about and thinking about some of history’s best and most character-filled persons, and then making the inevitable comparisons to yourself and coming up far short.  Who needs that kind of painful self-flagellation? 

But as I found out by actually reading it, The Road to Character isn’t designed to make the reader feel bad by inviting a comparison of the reader’s character against that of the individuals explored in the book, or by making one feel ashamed or unworthy for not being the next Albert Schweitzer or Mother Theresa--it provides instead a recipe for self-examination, and slow but steady moral improvement and deepening of character.  It was Brooks’ aim to peel back the layers of the lives of some very interesting people--many of whom were deeply flawed or had seemingly insurmountable life challenges--and show that through perseverance, self-reflection and self-analysis they were able to develop great character by the ends of their lives.  This was my eventual takeaway from this book.  In other words, even if you are a huge screw-up [F9] on many fronts and in many parts of your life, and even if you have largely lived a self-absorbed, materialist and/or hedonistic lifestyle for all or most of your life, there is hope.  [F10] Just like at the Met, the show isn’t over until the fat lady sings.

In Brooks’ book, if you choose to pick it up, you will read about the following individuals, many of whom I had not even heard of before:

Frances Perkins, labor activist (The Summoned Self)

Dwight David Eisenhower, President (Self-Conquest)

Dorothy Day, publisher of The Catholic Worker (Struggle)

George C. Marshall, general (Self-Mastery)

A. Phillip Randolph, civil disobedience (Dignity)

Mary Ann Evans (aka George Eliot), writer (Love)

Saint Augustine, bishop (Ordered Love)

Samuel Johnson, writer (Self-Examination)

Since I know that you are all busy and that some or all of you may not ever read this truly thought-provoking work, allow me to share just a few of the pearls of wisdom from Mr. Brooks:

In sum, this is a very meaningful read that probably made me as uncomfortable and squirmish as I have been reading a book since See Spot Run in first grade.  [F11] And for the record, I’m not suggesting that any one of you has a shortage of personal character or that any of you need to read the book; but if you do, I feel certain that you will be richer [F12] for it. 

SKIPPER SIGNS OFF

All right, fellas, enough (more than) for one issue.  Have a terrific and blessed Labor Day Weekend, all you characters out there, and Go Big Red!

Skipper

_________________________________

[F1] We May Never Pass This Way Again, September 1973, Warner Bros. Records.

[F2] Reportedly 1604, but I question that.  It felt more like about 500 of us in attendance. 

[F3] The supremely confident--a strutter--Rockies catcher, Nic Motley, a 14th round draft pick out of McClennan Community College in Texas, muffed a throw from the cutoff man to the plate which had the Owlz baserunner dead to rights; and the Owlz third baseman similarly blew a routine play at 3rd which would have nailed an advancing runner, and allowed him to score; and there were at least three or four wild pitches and/or passed balls by the Owlz batterymates.

[F4] Which are the precise words that I used recently to describe my iPad to Michele, when I couldn’t think of the term iPad.  Whoa.  I had better reserve myself a spot now at an assisted living facility.  That day is coming. 

[F5] By way of example, in between the second and third innings, the exceedingly cheerful master of ceremonies wheeled three little kids out onto the field with their hobby horses for a race contest.  With unsurpassed enthusiasm, Ryan exclaimed convincingly, “What a great night for a Pony Hops Race!”  And he was absolutely right.

[F6] I’d like to think that as we get older, we are all getting wiser.  Not universally true, but there is a lot of accumulated wisdom among elders, and for most of us, that is we.

[F7] I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s kind of fun to try to describe to others the characters of the Hot Stove League to people who don’t know them, or don’t know them well.  Take Underbelly, for example.  I wish I had a nickel for every time in my professional life that I started a sentence with, “My friend Bob in Lincoln says . . .”, or “When my friend Bob in Lincoln worked for the railroad, he . . .”, because I would be as wealthy as King Midas.  But I mean, how do you describe the essence of the league Oracle to someone who hasn’t met him, or has only met him once or twice but does not really know him.  It’s tough to truly explain the marrow of one Bob Hurlbut to someone else, but it usually ends with a great story, like how Bob kept out of trouble at the Burlington Northern by always carrying a clipboard and a pen or a tape measure around with him so that he could look busy when one of his superiors crossed his path; and by then pretending to measure some part of a building or a box car or a dying bush, and then furiously scribbling indecipherable notes on his clipboard.  Or even better, like when Bob would take the offensive and start peppering said superior with questions about what he was doing, rocking him back on his heels and putting him on the defensive.  As they say, the best defense is a good offense.  The Oracle has spoken. 

Or Shamu.  How do you explain to someone who is not part of our HSL Baker’s Dozen just how endearing and lovable is our dear Brother Shamu, or convey the essence of this Character’s Character to someone else?  Well, you could  start with one of the scores of tales of Sir Charles’ misadventures in law school, most of which have been recounted in this organ and/or on every HSL Trip; or you could relay some of the myriad stories that have emerged about our beloved Shamu during his 33-year tenure in the Hot Stove League, such as our man Snickler nearly breaking into tears in Milwaukee on Seat Cushion Night when Itchie snatched and flipped his prized piece of free merch into the public domain; or the time on our Florida Spring Training trip many years ago when Shamu forced us to wait at baggage claim in Miami for the better part of an hour because he packed a “steamer trunk” full of mesh apparel and Brut products for the three-day trip, while the rest of us packed one extra pair of shorts and one extra shirt in our carry-on luggage; or the time that we almost lost our beloved Brother Shamu to a heart attack at Angels Stadium, when a rash Sir Charles threw out the 25-to-1 odds against a home run by the light-hitting Greg Gagne, he of the Senators’ roster.  What a thoroughly upright and interesting person.  One of a kind.

Or the life of any party, Big Johnny.  How does one convey to the total stranger or the casual observer the central essence of this brash, big-talking, free-wheeling, cocksure, Credit Card Huckster with the special affinity for Captain and Coke?  You might start by calling him One-Way Tony Lite, but that would be a slight to our beloved Foster, who is every bit as fun and every bit the character as is One-Way, but without all of the legal and marital gaffes.  Perhaps the best way to explain Big Johnny to anyone who doesn’t know him would be to have him tag along on one of our Hot Stove League trips when Big Johnny heads up to the bar looking for a wait unit to bring us all our shots and then to lustily hail him, “Big Johnny!” for our entertainment.  He is the man. 

Or Stretch, our elongated league curmudgeon with the heart of gold, who seemingly loves to whine and moan about things like exploding scoreboards, loud music at ballgames, mascots of any size, shape, ilk or team affiliation [Fa], judges, clients, and just people in general, and yet in truth and reality he is a gentle giant who does in fact love mankind and is a bleeding-heart liberal in the mold of Bernie Sanders.  And when he is knocking them back, going toe-to-toe with Foster on our HSL junkets, is there anyone having more fun and who is more entertaining than McJester?  And how does one make a total stranger understand this whole McJester chapter of his life?

While I’m at it, how does anyone define my beloved brother-in-law BT to the unintroduced and uninformed?  Personally, I like to start by explaining that he is an outstanding and incomparable father, son, friend and person; and as well, that he is an individual with more idiosyncrasies, anxieties, irregularities and compulsions than just about anyone else I know, but that he has learned how to neutralize if not conquer these demons and to go on to live an enormously satisfying, productive and benevolent life.  And if someone should ask, “What do you mean? Can you give me an example?”, I would say, “I’m glad you asked.”  And then I would tell the story about how he and Beth and Matthew and Anna were all heading from Lincoln to Eppley Airfield about two summers ago for their long-awaited and anticipated family vacation to Martha’s Vineyard off the coast of Cape Cod, and as they neared the airport, like, a literal block away, Scott turns to Beth and said, “I can’t go,” to which she responded, “What do you mean, ‘you can’t go’?”, to which he responded, “I can’t go.”  And of course, all of you know the rest of the story: Scott drops off Beth and the kids at the terminal, parks his vehicle, saunters over to a rental car counter at 5:30 in the morning, and tells the still half-asleep rental car agent that he needs a one-way rental from Eppley to Martha’s Vineyard--which absolutely had to adduce a doubletake--and then proceeds to make the two-day drive from Omaha to Martha’s Vineyard to enjoy a fantastic fortnight (less the 2-day drive) with his family.  Problem encountered, problem solved.  That’s our man BT. 

And if I wasn’t almost out of recording space on my Dictaphone tape, I could go on at length about the rest of you and what makes each of you such an enjoyable and interesting character:  For Big Guy, it would be all about his Total Recall Memory, his Tale Topper tendencies, and perhaps with a French Beer and/or Attic Walker anecdote mixed in; for Slopay, it would certainly have to do with his razor-sharp wit, his quiet Muttley chuckle, and his unabashed Blue Collar pride; with Mouse, it would clearly involve a tale or two from his premarital Casanova lifestyle, followed by his miracle conversion to upstanding Family Man and Goodwill Ambassador, not to mention his fervent love of the New York baseball nine; in re: Magpie, there would likely be talk about a certain trip on the mean streets of L.A., his lifelong crush on Shelley Smith, and his smashingly successful professional career which has resulted in opportunities to hobnob with the likes of Walter Scott on his yacht; and I can’t forget Jim Ed, the tenacious Tirebiter who was born in the Hawkeye State with a Nebraska cow chip on his shoulder, and who remains eternally optimistic that he will have his name eventually etched on The Cup--in spite of more bridesmaid finishes than the Brooklyn Dodgers--even if it means having to outlive his twelve older competitors; and then last, but certainly not least, the inscrutable PAwesome, who’s not just a “character,” but a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, locked inside an enigma, but whose ardor for the competition of this league and generosity know no bounds. 

As said before hereinabove, I’m truly blessed and eternally grateful to be associated with a dozen such characters as all of you, in the very best sense of the word.

[F8] You know who you are.  And remember, Stretch is keeping track.

[F9] Guilty as charged--don’t ask.

[F10] See Itchie for an odds sheet on your individual chances for redemption--his Salvation Pool.

[F11] Or in your case, Itchie, eighth grade.

[F12] Because, upon proof of completion, I will pay you $5.

[Fa] It just now occurred to me that Stretch’s long-ago, ill-fated attempt to bring the San Diego Chicken to justice and financial ruin while lining his own pocketbook may be the root of his lifetime of ill feelings about sports mascots.  Duh.  Now I get it.