FOR THE LOVE OF BASEBALL & MORE, PART 4

The one I’m sure Big Daddy really wants to interview.

The era of orange seats and being able to sit just about anywhere. That’s what my early Angel memories are.

It definitely brings back memories of my dad bringing my brother and I to Anaheim Sadium for the first 3-4 years of its existence (I can’t remember what they did with my sister, but she didn’t come with us). Like your family, my dad had two jobs, but his second job was at the stadium where he worked most home games — they would just deposit us with ushers who were frineds of theirs. Though we went to 25-40 games a year, I cannot paying to get in once.

My mom worked concessions on the club deck, but she couldn’t take time off to check on us. We almost always sat in the right field seats. He would come out during the middle innings and sit with us. He didn’t allow us to mess around too much. “You’re here to watch a game, not run around!” (and to save babysitting money). Fun times. I do remember a couple of “Bat Nights” when they would hand out full size bats to the kids. Could you imagine them doing that now? The racket caused by all the bats being banged again and again on the concrete outdid the rally sticks.

I’ve enjoyed reading this story. We share the experience of having grown up at some distance from the Big A, although I never got to see the Angels play at home in Chavez Ravine.

I’m curious: did you know of many Angels fans in your neighborhood? The few I recall way back in the Chavez Ravine days abandoned the team when they moved, and so I spent the next decade or so as a fan in complete isolation from other fans (except my Mom, and she didn’t make a big thing of it so as not to infringe on Dad’s turf). Most of the time, it was just me and Dick Enberg in my room, as I listened to the games on my old Trans-Oceanic with the superheterodyne whine at night.

I didn’t get to see many games at the Big A until I was in college, and had a car. But I do recall one game Mom took me to, probably from 1973. Nolan Ryan was pitching, and there was the then-yearly softball game between the KMPC personalities and the players’ wives. Jim Hicklin (RIP), then KMPC’s Air Watch helicopter traffic reporter, landed his copter on the outfield grass, got out, threw out the first pitch of the softball game, then flew off. The wives won.

The game was the usual Nolan Ryan game from the era, all Ryan and no offense on the Angels’ side. It was a long game, and they started at 8 back then, so when 11 rolled around it was the top of the Ninth, the Angels appeared headed for defeat 1 or 2 to nothing, and Mom insisted we leave because it was a school night. Just as we got to the car, a loud cheer came from the stands (the sound carried better back when the outfield was still open); when we got in the car and turned on the radio, the Angels had won on a walkoff home run—and I had missed it.

I resolved right there and then that never again would I leave a game early—and I never have since, except for the 17-inning game against the Brewers on June 8, 2004. It was past midnight, we’d been away from home for 8 hours, and we had hungry pets and Mom at home, so we left after the end of the 16th, another childhood resolution having run aground on the rocky shoals of adulthood.

Sadly, there was no walk-off joy in Anaheim that night; Ortiz walked Counsell, and Podsenik doubled him home. If I recall correctly, Mondesi came up lame after the game, and never played as an Angel again. And it was all my fault.

Explaining to the young ones about the Angels of the late 1980’s and all of the 1990’s. Striking certain similarities in the lack of success to the 60’s and 70’s Angels. And then the crowning moment, where I was when the ball dropped in Darin Erstad’s glove in 2002.

Children will ask, what about Disney, I heard they owned the Angels. I will then make no mention of 2002, and tell them Disney is evil, those were dark times, tell them to pour me another glass of Jack and kill me if I ever so mutter the words periwinkle blue again. Moreno will be revered like Autry, Scioscia like none other before him, and three specific names will always make me smile, Guerrero, Salmon and Wally.

I inherited my dad’s old radio. It’s a piece of crap that has no value, and, in fact, if my dad knew I turn it on to listen to the games (it’s on even when I’m watching the games on t.v.), he would tell me I’m an idiot! But the sound of the game playing on the radio creates a certain feel that makes a game a game, and that was HIS radio- it’s all sentimental.
Waiting for Part 5!