Chatting with Speaker

It was old-timers day at the ballpark, so I picked up my second favorite old-timer (the first being my dad) at the bus stop and took him to the game. His name is Tris Speaker, one the greatest center fielders of all time. His Hall-of-Fame career spanned 22-years as a member of the Indians, Redsox, Senators, and Philadelphia A’s.
He was born in 1888 and he died in 1958. Even though he’s been gone for 52 years, on this day he looked like he was straight out of an Iowa cornfield, able to rap out five hits while playing both ends of a doubleheader. He still holds several batting records and his .345 average ranks sixth-best of all time. Incredibly, he only struck out 220 times in his career. A feat some players achieve in a season.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“California,” I said. “Anaheim to be exact.”
“I remember talk of teams maybe heading west,” he said. “I guess it couldn't be stopped.”
“The Dodgers left Brooklyn for Los Angeles in 1958 and now there are four other teams in California. Plus Seattle, Arizona, Colorado, Texas, Florida, and even Canada have teams.”
“How many teams are there?
“30 in all,” I replied.
“Isn’t that a lot of time on a train? I mean to get to all those towns.”
“Well, all the teams use airplanes now. The teams can play a day game in California, fly all night, and play in New York the next day. It’s quite common.”
He looked like he didn't believe me, but I let it go.
"Who's playin?"
"Angels and Twins ... They're from Minnesota, actually are one of your old teams, the Senators. They moved after the 1960 season."
As we entered the stadium, I watched his awestruck eyes consume the grandeur of the stadium and the size of the crowd. Then he quickly covered his ears with his hands.
“Tris, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“That noise! What is it?”
“Huh?” Oh, I quickly understood. “That’s music,” I said referring to the blaring rock-n-roll that filled the stadium. “It doesn’t really belong at the ballpark,” I told him.
We approached the hotdog stand and Speaker, looking at the prices, was speechless. He couldn’t get over the $25.00 cost of two beers and two dogs. He looked confused when I paid with my debit card but he didn’t ask. “We have to pay the salaries,” I said.
“Same as in my day. Are the owners still so stingy?"

"I wouldn't say that."

“The owners were crooks in my day. Mine tried to cut my salary in half back in '16. That's what'll happen if you only hit .322. What are the boys making these days?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Try me.”
“Well, I think the league minimum is close to 4. An average player will make about 6, and the superstars bring in about 20.”
“Heck, I thought the salaries would have increased, not decreased. I made 40 grand a year back in my day!”
“Uh, Tris, I’m talking millions.”
Immediately, I had to slap him on the back to stop him from choking on his hotdog. He spent the next few minutes hunched over in his seat, with his face in his hands. Probably wishing he had born 100 years later.
He seemed to relax when the national anthem started.
But when the two fireworks blasted into the sky following the words “Rockets’ Red Glare,” he hit the deck faster than a marine on Iwo Jima.
“I’m still not used to that,” I said.
Finally we settled into the game. He enjoyed watching the Angels’ center fielder Torii Hunter roam the outfield.
“He takes good angles,” Speaker said. “But I played much shallower.” I couldn’t argue with the man who set the career record for putouts, assists, and double-plays as an outfielder.
He told me that he loved the well-manicured field and that the players pitched and fielded with just as much ability as they did in his day, maybe better.
I told him that the Minnesota catcher, Joe Mauer has won three of the last four American League batting titles.
"Not bad for a catcher," He said, "I only managed one title. Had to hit .386 to beat out Cobb."
I could tell the bright lights, never-ending music, and constant electronic bombardment was overwhelming him.
“What’s will all the noise?”
“It’s the American way right now. People can’t sit still and relax. The team officials think that the fans need constant stimulation. They think we’ll get bored without it.”
His consternation was beginning to show. “But no one’s watching the game. We’ve had kids playing games on the field between innings, cartoon characters racing on the scoreboard, people kissing in public, girls shooting t-shirts into the crowd. The vendors don’t stop blocking my view, and people are always moving in the aisles.”
“And …” he seemed at a loss for words.
“And what?”
“Everything is so distracting. Isn’t the game enough? It’s a gorgeous game. It’s a simple and yet so complex game. It’s perfectly designed. Almost divinely inspired.”
Of course I agreed with him. It’s what I’ve thought all along. The pastime has become entertainment. It’s a date event, a business meeting. Dinner and a movie. In some respects, I like it. You can go with a buddy or a loved one and converse, chat, verbally playing catch over the course of a game. Something that can’t be done in a movie theater. But he was right. A lot of people really don’t watch the game. They eat, drink, play with beach balls, and take pictures like they’re at a tourist attraction. A night at the ballpark has become at day at the Grand Canyon. Or Six Flags.
We sat in silence through the fifth pitching change of the night.
“And yet ..,” he said, his voice trailing off.
I looked at him and we both said the same thing, “Everybody’s having fun.”
“Maybe it’s not so bad then,” he said.
"Perhaps you're right," I agreed.
In the ninth inning he asked if anything was the same as when he played.
I thought for a minute. Fenway Park, I said. It’s still being used. As is Wrigley. They’re the only two ballparks left from your day. A wave of contentment washed over his face.
“I used to love playing at Fenway. Hitting doubles off the monster. Running down triples in those centerfield corners.”
I explained that many of the newer stadiums are being built to look old-fashioned.
“Why?”
“I think it’s a way to connect the history of the past to the present-day glamour. The Yankees built a new stadium last year. It’s monstrous. The most expensive one ever. It’s like a normal stadium on steroids.”
He looked confused. “What are steroids?” he asked.
I wasn't sure where to start with that one. I guess it was my time to be speechless.