My weekly column in the Holmes County Journal shares the same title as this entry, but I wanted to explain why I use that header to describe what I do.
I am a sports writer. I get paid to go out and watch kids play ball. It's a pretty amazing thing that I get paid to do something I love to do. I don't get paid much, but it is what's called a labor of love, a lot like teaching. Many teachers teach because they love reaching young minds and sharing knowledge and experience with youngsters. It doesn't hurt that teachers get June, July and August off to recharge their batteries.
As a sports writer, I'm supposed to go watch a game, take some pictures and re-tell what happened in a few, well-structured paragraphs. After more than 20 years of tackling this task, I still get a thrill out of the fact that I'm paid to be sitting on the hillside at West Holmes High School on a sunny 70-degree day watching a baseball game or having to rough it at a basketball game at Hiland, where the athletic booster club provides a sumptuous meal for the media and officials before every game.
Not every game is held on a 70-degree day, and I've frozen my canoles off a few time, but it's my own fault if I go to a game and don't have proper attire stashed in the van. I've got a couple hoodies, and two raincoats for days when it less than perfect outside.
Thursday afternoon was one of those days where it wasn't exactly balmy outside; but after about a week straight of rain, the high 50s and sunshine felt like a trip to the dessert. And I was 'forced' to watch a baseball game and a tennis match. Darn.
My son plays on the tennis team, so having to watch him play really bumbs me out.
So, not only am I paid to watch strangers play, I'm paid to watch my own kids play. That is why I refer to my column as a tough day at the office.
There are days when I'm stuck in the office, staring at my computer for hours on end. Those days are easily erased from memory when I have to end my day by taking in a baseball game, or tennis match or whatever other game is on the calendar that particular day. Some days, I can get photos of a tennis match, baseball, softball and track meet all going on at one locale, giving the appearance that I worked really hard that day. I guess to someone who doesn't like sports, a day like that would be hard to take. For me, on the other hand, it's another tough day at the office.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
baseball cards
It's been a few weeks since I've written anything new, but now that we're into my favorite season of the year, I will be more diligent in my writing.
Reading a friend’s blog where he shared a baseball card story reminded me of my first trip to Cooperstown with a group of guys from my previous fantasy baseball league.
We did it right when we went to Cooperstown. We went to a game in Pittsburgh first, then Philadelphia before heading to upstate New York, where we spent two glorious days.
Getting upstairs at the Hall of Fame and seeing that room full of baseball cards... it felt like my old bedroom. As a kid in the late 1960s and early ‘70s, collecting cards was an awesome experience, and I had thousands of them.
I remember going up to Willard’s Grocery Store at the corner of Wyandotte and Madison in Lakewood. My friends and I would collect pop bottles in the neighborhood, then turn in the eight-pack of pop bottles we collected, and we’d each get a pack of cards in exchange. I can still smell the gum!
And, I can still see all those greats of the ‘60s: Frank and Brooks Robinson, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente, Pete Rose, Mickey Mantle, Denny McClain, Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Indians aces Luis Tiant and Sam McDowell, as well as many lesser stars, like Larry Brown and Chuck Hinton of the Indians.
Most of the cards I had from 1966-69 were bent and ruined from using them as clickers in our bike spokes and from trading them with the kids up and down the street.
By the 1970s, cards went up from a nickle a pack to a dime, and then to a quarter, but it was the best money I ever spent. I think I recouped most of that money when I sold my cards to various collectors when I was in college.
My collection was mostly baseball cards, but there were some memorable NFL cards and NBA cards (the long, tall ones from the early ‘70s were really cool).
My dad moonlighted as a cab driver, and on every other Thursday night when he got his paycheck, he’d take my brother and I to Spartan Atlantic, the old dime store by the cab company on Brookpark Road in Cleveland, neither of which are there any more.
For 99 cents I’d get a package of about 100 cards and a small plastic football. I’ll never forget when I got a Jim Brown. He graced my bulletin board for years. Unfortunately, the pin hole that held the card in place ruined any cash value the card may have had.
That Brown card resided right next to the autographed Paul Warfield card I had, two of the greatest players to ever wear Cleveland Browns uniforms.
By 1975 at 14, I was too cool to collect cards anymore and found other things to waste my money on.
Today, you can get a pack of 10 cards for about $5. It’s almost as big a rip-off as buying tickets to a professional sporting event.
And few, if any of the players of today can carry the equipment of the players of the past.
Reading a friend’s blog where he shared a baseball card story reminded me of my first trip to Cooperstown with a group of guys from my previous fantasy baseball league.
We did it right when we went to Cooperstown. We went to a game in Pittsburgh first, then Philadelphia before heading to upstate New York, where we spent two glorious days.
Getting upstairs at the Hall of Fame and seeing that room full of baseball cards... it felt like my old bedroom. As a kid in the late 1960s and early ‘70s, collecting cards was an awesome experience, and I had thousands of them.
I remember going up to Willard’s Grocery Store at the corner of Wyandotte and Madison in Lakewood. My friends and I would collect pop bottles in the neighborhood, then turn in the eight-pack of pop bottles we collected, and we’d each get a pack of cards in exchange. I can still smell the gum!
And, I can still see all those greats of the ‘60s: Frank and Brooks Robinson, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente, Pete Rose, Mickey Mantle, Denny McClain, Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Indians aces Luis Tiant and Sam McDowell, as well as many lesser stars, like Larry Brown and Chuck Hinton of the Indians.
Most of the cards I had from 1966-69 were bent and ruined from using them as clickers in our bike spokes and from trading them with the kids up and down the street.
By the 1970s, cards went up from a nickle a pack to a dime, and then to a quarter, but it was the best money I ever spent. I think I recouped most of that money when I sold my cards to various collectors when I was in college.
My collection was mostly baseball cards, but there were some memorable NFL cards and NBA cards (the long, tall ones from the early ‘70s were really cool).
My dad moonlighted as a cab driver, and on every other Thursday night when he got his paycheck, he’d take my brother and I to Spartan Atlantic, the old dime store by the cab company on Brookpark Road in Cleveland, neither of which are there any more.
For 99 cents I’d get a package of about 100 cards and a small plastic football. I’ll never forget when I got a Jim Brown. He graced my bulletin board for years. Unfortunately, the pin hole that held the card in place ruined any cash value the card may have had.
That Brown card resided right next to the autographed Paul Warfield card I had, two of the greatest players to ever wear Cleveland Browns uniforms.
By 1975 at 14, I was too cool to collect cards anymore and found other things to waste my money on.
Today, you can get a pack of 10 cards for about $5. It’s almost as big a rip-off as buying tickets to a professional sporting event.
And few, if any of the players of today can carry the equipment of the players of the past.
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