SO, after Miguel Cabrera was struck out by Sergio Romo ending the 2012 Fall Classic in favour of the San Francisco Giants over the Detroit Tigers last October, the 2013 Major League Baseball season is set to begin tonight over in the Lone Star State of Texas.
Most of you who know yours truly will be acutely aware that of all the sports I follow, baseball is king of the hill for me.
And for that, I have my Dad to be eternally grateful to.
It was when he was growing up in Liverpool in the late 1940s and early 1950s that he became hooked on America's National Pastime. US servicemen stationed in this part of the world after the Second World War often played the game against local sides. Baseball had been popular in the city during the 1930s and I think I'm right in saying Everton FC legend Dixie Dean once played in a game.
Well, my Dad enjoyed watching the contests locally and began tuning into the Armed Forces Radio network which regularly broadcast games from the United States of an evening from April to October. In those days, before the real advent of floodlight evening encounters, games were in the afternoon on the East Coast so would start around 5pm/6pm and be done and dusted by 10pm UK time at the latest.
Baseball, like cricket, is almost tailor-made for radio and during the 1950s he first began to follow the fortunes of the Brooklyn Dodgers before becoming a fan of the Boston Red Sox.
As a very small child I always knew my Dad loved baseball. Where most children had a cricket set (of course, I did) I was also aware of a strange, tanned over-large glove. There was only one that was way too big for my left hand, and for some reason I couldn't quite understand, it seemed to be without a pair. There was also a very heavy wooden stick that I had difficulty picking up and a hard, white, leather ball with a wonderfully-intricate stitched red seam.
In addition, my Dad's Father was a superbly-talented artist in his own right and had created a framed poem of something to to with baseball called Casey At The Bat.
These were strong and dominant images of my childhood so when I became a little older I began to appreciate why my Dad was an enthusiast for baseball.
It was the mid-1980s when I really began to follow the sport Stateside and became a supporter of the San Diego Padres - a completely unfashionable ballclub then, as they are now. Ask any average sports fan on this side of the Pond to identify some Major League Baseball franchises and they'll doubtless name the usual suspects - Yankees, Red Sox, Cubs, Dodgers, Giants, Cardinals. And then they might start to struggle. There's a very good chance they'd never have heard of my team.
Well, the Padres had a very good outfit in the mid-1980s reaching the 1984 World Series which they lost in five games to the powerful Detroit Tigers. Fourteen years later, they were back in their second-ever Fall Classic but this time lost in four straight games to the Yankees.
And that's it when it comes to the history of the San Diego Padres in World Series appearances. So what you can certainly deduce from my support for the team is I am in no way a 'glory-hunter'.
In many ways, though, baseball is much more than World Series triumphs. The game itself is simply wonderful as it pitches - literally - a confrontation between a man on a mound of earth exactly 60ft 6in from home plate where another man is brandishing a rounded bat with the hope of hitting whatever delivery the pitcher hurls his way. If he makes contact successfully 300 times in every 1000, he'll be regarded as a great batter. And that gives you an idea of how incredibly difficult that particular task is.
When all is said and done, like my Dad I simply love the game of baseball. I cannot think of another sport where the balance of fortune between success and failure is located on a knife-edge as thin as this. One pitch could mean a strikeout or a home run - it's that fine a situation.
I don't expect for one minute I'll convert all of you into baseball followers simply by reading this blog. But maybe, just maybe, you might understand my real enthusiasm for this fabulous sport.
I'm thrilled that my eldest son, Matthew, is continuing the family tradition and has nailed his colours north of the 49th Parallel and is fervently following the fortunes of the Toronto Blue Jays.
So with my Dad's Red Sox, Matthew's Blue Jays and my Padres, we'll all set again for what is sure to be another magical season of Major League Baseball.
Play Ball!!!
Sunday 31 March 2013
Thursday 14 March 2013
You gotta have faith...
THE appointment yesterday of Jorge Mario Bergoglio as the new Bishop of Rome, and, er the new head of 1.2 billion Roman Catholics around the planet as Pope Francis I, seems like a timely moment for me to open up about my faith.
I was baptised into a split Christian family. My Dad was a non-Church-going Protestant while my Mum was Roman Catholic. It was to her side of Christianity that I was brought up.
So, of course, when I became of an age it was Mass every Sunday morning, the Holy Days of Obligation (which in those days meant a day off school) and attending the big events in the Catholic Church's calendar.
I also went to Confession - several times between the ages of about 10 and 13 - until I called it quits entering my early teens.
I regularly attended Mass as a teenager but lessened as I approached my 20s. By the time I had reached my 30s I was attending about a dozen times per year, obviously on Easter Sunday and Christmas Day.
And now I'm into my mid-40s, that pretty much is still the picture with me and Mass. There have been a number of special Church services I have attended outside Sunday Mass, notably when Matthew made his First Holy Communion and was Confirmed. Both were joyous occasions.
What you must not deduce from my slackening off from attending Mass over all those years is any hint that my faith is waning. Far from it.
One of the things that both irks and intrigues me about people who profess to be atheists is their complete knowledge that there DEFINITELY is no God. Presumably, all have undeniable proof that this is the case, an open and shut case that requires no further investigation. I'd love to know HOW they know that.
It would hardly have been a 'Road To Damascus' moment for them, but I'd still like to know from them their undeniable evidence that shows they are 100% right and EVERYONE else who has faith in a God of whatever religion they follow is 100% wrong.
The fact is, atheists DON'T know for certain; and likewise, believers like myself DON'T know for certain either.
But this is where faith comes into play. Some 2000 or so years ago, a man who I believe was someone extraordinarily special, once said: "Happy are those who have not seen, and yet believe."
In the madness that my life often is juggling all the daily worries and woes, having that safety net of faith is something I could never do without.
There's a marvellous simple story called Footprints that I'm sure many of you know. I carry that round with me every day as its words are of a tremendous comfort. Its conclusion bears repeating:
"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."
The Lord replied: "My precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."
The election of the new Pontiff, in conclusion, won't change me at all when it comes to my faith. That will remain intact and won't be affected by whoever is in charge at the Vatican. Because even he, like me, will have to answer to someone higher one day... I hope and pray...
I was baptised into a split Christian family. My Dad was a non-Church-going Protestant while my Mum was Roman Catholic. It was to her side of Christianity that I was brought up.
So, of course, when I became of an age it was Mass every Sunday morning, the Holy Days of Obligation (which in those days meant a day off school) and attending the big events in the Catholic Church's calendar.
I also went to Confession - several times between the ages of about 10 and 13 - until I called it quits entering my early teens.
I regularly attended Mass as a teenager but lessened as I approached my 20s. By the time I had reached my 30s I was attending about a dozen times per year, obviously on Easter Sunday and Christmas Day.
And now I'm into my mid-40s, that pretty much is still the picture with me and Mass. There have been a number of special Church services I have attended outside Sunday Mass, notably when Matthew made his First Holy Communion and was Confirmed. Both were joyous occasions.
What you must not deduce from my slackening off from attending Mass over all those years is any hint that my faith is waning. Far from it.
One of the things that both irks and intrigues me about people who profess to be atheists is their complete knowledge that there DEFINITELY is no God. Presumably, all have undeniable proof that this is the case, an open and shut case that requires no further investigation. I'd love to know HOW they know that.
It would hardly have been a 'Road To Damascus' moment for them, but I'd still like to know from them their undeniable evidence that shows they are 100% right and EVERYONE else who has faith in a God of whatever religion they follow is 100% wrong.
The fact is, atheists DON'T know for certain; and likewise, believers like myself DON'T know for certain either.
But this is where faith comes into play. Some 2000 or so years ago, a man who I believe was someone extraordinarily special, once said: "Happy are those who have not seen, and yet believe."
In the madness that my life often is juggling all the daily worries and woes, having that safety net of faith is something I could never do without.
There's a marvellous simple story called Footprints that I'm sure many of you know. I carry that round with me every day as its words are of a tremendous comfort. Its conclusion bears repeating:
"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."
The Lord replied: "My precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."
The election of the new Pontiff, in conclusion, won't change me at all when it comes to my faith. That will remain intact and won't be affected by whoever is in charge at the Vatican. Because even he, like me, will have to answer to someone higher one day... I hope and pray...
Tuesday 5 March 2013
Time to recall that quiet man from the North East...
REMEMBER Bob Paisley? Obviously to football followers of a certain vintage - and particularly fans of Liverpool Football Club - it's a daft question.
He was the man who had the unenviable task of stepping into the role that had been held all the way from the winter of 1959 through to the high summer of 1974 by club legend Bill Shankly.
That celebrated son of Glenbuck helped pull the club up from its lowest ebb as a Second Division side to see it become a domestic and European powerhouse.
Shankly won many things as Liverpool boss - not least leading the team to its first FA Cup triumph in 1965 and breaking its European trophy duck when the UEFA Cup was won in 1973. In my view, he is the single most important man in the entire history of Liverpool Football Club.
It was some act for Paisley to follow - and boy, did he do it in style, all with a quiet professionalism that, given today's histrionics from some managers in particular, should be viewed as a breath of fresh air.
I cannot ever recall Paisley being brought before the football authorities with cases to answer for things he might have said during a game.
On the field, the teams Paisley managed were simply sensational and his record still stands the test of time.
Perhaps Sky Sports might like to take note of the fact he remains the only British football manager to lead a team to three European Cups.
Those trophies were achieved in an incredible spell of nine season at the Anfield helm. Six of those saw the Reds win the First Division title. Of the other three seasons, they finished runners-up by two points in his first campaign to Brian Clough's Derby County and by seven points in 1977-78 to Nottingham Forest, again Old Big 'Ead having the upper hand. His 'worst' league campaign came in 1980-81 when the Reds finished fifth, nine points behind Aston Villa. Remember, all these seasons were in the days when a win was just two points.
Having written all that, those 'barren' league years did reap a European Cup - Paisley's second - in 1977-78 and both a European Cup and the club's first-ever League Cup in season 1980-81.
His six league titles won in those nine remarkable seasons saw the Reds win the crown ahead of QPR, Manchester City, Nottingham Forest, Manchester United, Ipswich Town and Watford.
The last one - 1982-83 - saw the Reds run away with the top flight and they ended up winning it by a massive 11 points. They also added another League Cup for good measure.
All of which leads me to come to the not unreasonable conclusion that given the short amount of time he was in the post and amount of silverware won in that time, Paisley has to be regarded as the most successful manager in Liverpool's history and, indeed, British football history.
Yes, Ferguson's record is tremendous - but then he has been there more than a quarter-of-a-century and you would naturally expect silverware to follow. Otherwise, he would not have remained in the post given the magnitude of the club.
But as things stand, he still trails the man from Hetton-le-Hole in European Cups - and I for one hope that will forever be the case.
I'll leave the final word with the great man himself talking about managing the club:
"I said that when I took over that I would settle for a drop of Bell's once a month, a big bottle at the end of the season and a ride round the city in an open top bus!"
Rest In Peace, Sir Bob. Your record is still secure.
He was the man who had the unenviable task of stepping into the role that had been held all the way from the winter of 1959 through to the high summer of 1974 by club legend Bill Shankly.
That celebrated son of Glenbuck helped pull the club up from its lowest ebb as a Second Division side to see it become a domestic and European powerhouse.
Shankly won many things as Liverpool boss - not least leading the team to its first FA Cup triumph in 1965 and breaking its European trophy duck when the UEFA Cup was won in 1973. In my view, he is the single most important man in the entire history of Liverpool Football Club.
It was some act for Paisley to follow - and boy, did he do it in style, all with a quiet professionalism that, given today's histrionics from some managers in particular, should be viewed as a breath of fresh air.
I cannot ever recall Paisley being brought before the football authorities with cases to answer for things he might have said during a game.
On the field, the teams Paisley managed were simply sensational and his record still stands the test of time.
Perhaps Sky Sports might like to take note of the fact he remains the only British football manager to lead a team to three European Cups.
Those trophies were achieved in an incredible spell of nine season at the Anfield helm. Six of those saw the Reds win the First Division title. Of the other three seasons, they finished runners-up by two points in his first campaign to Brian Clough's Derby County and by seven points in 1977-78 to Nottingham Forest, again Old Big 'Ead having the upper hand. His 'worst' league campaign came in 1980-81 when the Reds finished fifth, nine points behind Aston Villa. Remember, all these seasons were in the days when a win was just two points.
Having written all that, those 'barren' league years did reap a European Cup - Paisley's second - in 1977-78 and both a European Cup and the club's first-ever League Cup in season 1980-81.
His six league titles won in those nine remarkable seasons saw the Reds win the crown ahead of QPR, Manchester City, Nottingham Forest, Manchester United, Ipswich Town and Watford.
The last one - 1982-83 - saw the Reds run away with the top flight and they ended up winning it by a massive 11 points. They also added another League Cup for good measure.
All of which leads me to come to the not unreasonable conclusion that given the short amount of time he was in the post and amount of silverware won in that time, Paisley has to be regarded as the most successful manager in Liverpool's history and, indeed, British football history.
Yes, Ferguson's record is tremendous - but then he has been there more than a quarter-of-a-century and you would naturally expect silverware to follow. Otherwise, he would not have remained in the post given the magnitude of the club.
But as things stand, he still trails the man from Hetton-le-Hole in European Cups - and I for one hope that will forever be the case.
I'll leave the final word with the great man himself talking about managing the club:
"I said that when I took over that I would settle for a drop of Bell's once a month, a big bottle at the end of the season and a ride round the city in an open top bus!"
Rest In Peace, Sir Bob. Your record is still secure.
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