42: A tale of two men

Let us never diminish what Jackie Robinson did.

Branch Rickey

Becoming the first black man in the majors took a toll. His body received abuse upon abuse from purposely errant baseballs and cleats because he had a bit more melanin than the average Jackie. Not only did his body receive abuse, so too did his soul and mind. As a human being, he was treated like an animal, but throughout his ordeal, Jackie Robinson ever remained a man.

That's one reason I am excited about Warner Brothers upcoming movie "42." The other reason is other
man in this saga. Baseball junkies will know who the other man is. Most of America does not. You see, Jackie Robinson would never have gotten his shot without the courage of Branch Rickey.

Ford as Rickey

Branch Rickey was the owner of the Dodgers, the thorn in the backside of the remainder of the major league owners. Rickey saw the talent in the Negro Leagues and thought it a travesty that such men could not play in the Majors because of their skin color. What informed Rickey? His passionate and fervent relationship with Jesus Christ.

In "42," Harrison Ford has been transformed into an amazing likeness of Rickey. Watching the clip, he'd created the same gravelly, cigar-scarred voice. My only question: how will Hollywood treat Rickey's devotion to his God?

The story of Robinson cannot be untethered from Rickey and vice versa, despite the fact that Rickey did many more extraordinary things for baseball outside of bringing it into the then twentieth century regarding civil rights.

Said Robinson about Rickey, "I realized how much our relationship had deepened after I left baseball. It was that later relationship that made me feel almost as if I had lost my own father. Branch Rickey, especially after I was no longer in the sports spotlight, treated me like a son." He also said, "The thing about him was that he was always doing something for someone else. I know, because he did so much for me."

So this April, I'll be dropping some cash at the multiplex hoping to see a great story about two great men.

Amazing rehab. Amazing man.



Buster Posey / AP photo by Morry Gash from ESPN.com

 A few years ago I took a German friend of mine to an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball game. He left that experience stating without reservation, "Zat vas ze most boring sing I have ever done in my life."

Well, Theo, I love baseball. I could give you more reasons than there are days in a year and most defy logic. The man above is one of the reasons.

Buster Posey is the near-pubescent phenom catcher for the San Francisco Giants. By opening day, he will have turned twenty-six years old. He has amassed two World Series' rings, a batting title, and an MVP. Three of those came after what to most appeared to be a career-ending injury defending home plate.

For those of you who cannot wait until opening day, here are two great articles, one is about Posey's prodigious talent and the other was about what it took for him to get back on the field after the nightmarish injury. Enjoy.

"The quiet confidence of Buster Posey," by Jerry Crasnick, ESPN

"How the Giants put Posey back together", by Andrew Baggarly

For love of the game

Time for a deep breath deep in the heart of baseball season.

I have developed what some may consider an unhealthy fondness for baseball.  Odd since I never played the game after the first year after t-ball when the kids pitched. Though the ball had nary enough momentum to make it to the plate, the thought of getting beaned turned me to a four-foot-nothin' molehill of cowardice. I played some softball as an adult; no worries getting hit by a pitch with an eight-foot arc unless it's a Barry Zito curve ball.

I used to play catch with my sons, too. All of them did some pitching, and when they were younger, I would play catcher for them. Until I could hear the pitch coming. A crazy whine that ball makes as the laces cut through the air. Like a mini-buzz saw. We were past our days having kids, but I still thought better of crouching there, all unprotected and such, just waiting for a wild pitch to catch me in the teeth. Or worse.

I love to watch the game. I love to keep score when I attend. I have loved the Twins well, and I now love the Rangers having lived in Texas now for half my adult life. No, don't ask me to be a Cowboys fan. Some lines I will not cross. While on a temporary assignment at Luke AFB on the west side of the Phoenix, Arizona mass of humanity, some friends and I went to a Diamondbacks' game. One of the friends was German, and he had never been. He hated it, much like I expect I would loathe a professional soccer game. I contend, though, that he doesn't understand it.  How can you not love baseball?

So I offer up some just-past-mid-season ballpark fare for your August enjoyment. The first is a video about the science of the most amazing catch of the year. The second is a great article about Mike Trout, the man who made the catch and who will be the Rookie of the Year and may be the AL MVP. The third is an article by Tim Kurkjian, a baseball analyst for ESPN whose insights into the game I could listen to for hours every day of the week and twice on Sunday. His nasal delivery and wide-eyed, little-boy excitement (he does make our Olympic gymnasts look tall) could make cross-stitching captivating. He talks at length, through interviews and anecdotes, about what it's like to get hit by a 90-mile per hour baseball.

Here's the video...




...the Trout article is here...

...and the beanball article is here. By the way, there's an interesting companion video from the sports science guys alongside Kurkjian's article about getting beaned.

Hope your week is richly blessed.