Why Duane Kuiper is my hero
Posted: April 16th, 2008 | Filed under: Cleveland, Essays | 68 Comments »
“I would like to create myself, but I’d put myself in as the second baseman for the Big Red Machine. Take Morgan out and put me in. I had to play in Ohio the years that the Big Red Machine were kings and the Indians were like the Double-A team in Ohio. So I want to go right into the Big Red Machine and take over second.“
– Duane Kuiper in 2003 on putting himself in the EA Sports video game.
* * *
I have three friends who grew up idolizing Tom Seaver and three friends who, perhaps coincidentally, cannot stand him now. It turns out all three had some sort of bad experience with Tom Terrific, an autograph denied or an abrupt refusal to talk or something else that left them crestfallen. I don’t know Tom Seaver and would not presume to make any judgments about him. But it’s hard to overlook that he’s a three-for-three crumb bum* in my circle of friends.
*Crumb bum. Great phrase. Haven’t really seen used it since Catcher in the Rye, but let’s try to bring it back.
I don’t blame Seaver, though. If you choose a player as great as Tom Seaver as your hero, in my view, you are asking to be crushed. You know Updike’s line. Gods don’t answer letters. It has never been my personality to fall for the prettiest girl at school; I was perfectly content to be rejected by the 93rd prettiest girl. That’s just my personality. Limitations. I never had enough of a self image to choose someone like Tom Seaver as my hero. He’s there be admired, appreciated, idolized, fine. But love? No. Give me Rick Waits.
Fortunately, growing up in Cleveland, I was never really faced with the Tom Seaver dilemma. There were no stars (unless you consider the manager, Frank Robinson, or the aging Boog Powell). The Cleveland Indians pitcher with the most victories during my five formative years (1975-79) was, in fact, the aforementioned Rick Waits. With 51. The team was dreadful those five years — not the 100 loss dreadful, which steals your hope, but a team splashed with mediocrity (three of those five years they finished within three games of .500) which gives you false hope.
Still, no matter how bad the team, you need a hero. Everyone who would care knows that my favorite player of that time and all time was Racine’s own Duane Kuiper, Cleveland Indians second baseman from 1974 (22 at-bats, 11 hits, a spectacular debut!) through 1982 (traded for, ugh, Ed Whitson, who lasted only a year in Cleveland but did at least in his future life break Billy Martin’s arm in a hotel fight). Duane Kuiper. Number 18. A .271 lifetime average with one home run, windblown, to right field, off Steve Stone in 1977, when I was 10 years old. I can keep going a while, if you like. Gemini. Five-hit game off Catfish Hunter and Sparky Lyle in ‘76. Was drafted five times before finally signing with Cleveland out of Southern Illinois. Walked almost as many times (248) as he struck out (255) and he hardly ever walked. And so on.
People always seem to think that I love Kuiper ironically, or that I’m somehow being a wise guy about this whole thing, but in the words of that noted philosopher Mike Gundy, that ain’t true. I loved Duane Kuiper when I was 10. And I love him now. He has always represented something important to me, something I did not understand when I was young. Duane Kuiper was the player who brought the game closer. He was the one who said that you don’t have to be supremely gifted and impossibly strong and touched by God in order to get where you want to go. You can also dive for every ground ball. If there’s one lesson I could pass on to my daughters, it would be that lesson. And also that you should not throw your ice cream cone just because you decided today that you don’t like vanilla.
My first memory of Duane Kuiper is not a memory of him at all; it’s a memory of a Little League game. The coach put me at second base for the first time. I was 9 then, I guess, and up to that point I had always played third base, always. I couldn’t really tell you why I always played third — maybe it was my father’s appreciation of Brooks Robinson — but I had gotten used to the position, and my entire view of the field was a third-base view. I WAS a third baseman. I was not prepared to move to second base. It confused me. Then my coach said, “You can be just like Duane Kuiper.†In my memory, this appeased me. Duane Kuiper. I had about 28 of his baseball cards.*
*Funny thing, that was 1976 … I can still picture that Kuiper card. He was batting left-handed, of course, facing the camera, one of those comical mid-70s batting helmets on his head, and he had this rather bemused look on his face, a half smile, like the photo was taken a half second too soon or a half-second too late. He almost looked confused, as if the pitcher had surprised him by actually pitching an orange or a live chicken or something. The funny part is that after 1976 — after Duane Kuiper became my favorite player — I stopped getting his card in packs. I mean, it just stopped. I could imagine kids in Anahem getting hundreds of Duane Kuiper cards while I kept getting their Dave Chalk and Rob Picciolo cards. Those Topps people knew what they were doing.
In any case, I soon became a second baseman — that’s how I viewed myself my whole childhood. I was just a little second baseman wearing canvas sneakers that were always one step behind the trend. I was just a little second baseman listening to Casey Kasem’s weekly Top 40 and believing, somehow, that this was keeping me current. I was just a little second baseman who used a wooden bat for two reasons: (1) That’s what Major Leaguers used; (2) I couldn’t hit anyway so it didn’t really matter, metal or wood.
With that self-image, Kuiper was my only hero option. In Cleveland, you were expressly forbidden from rooting for another city’s players. You were not even allowed to LIKE another city’s player. The most you could offer was grudging respect, and that was frowned upon. The incomparable Joe Morgan played four hours South, but for a Cleveland kid looking for a hero he might as well have been in Moscow.
It was all Kuiper all the time. Looking back now, sure, it’s pretty easy see his limitations. I remember the first time I had an in-depth discussion with Bill James, he asked me my favorite player, I said Duane Kuiper, and he said, “I believe I once figured that Kuiper was the worst base stealer in baseball history (he remembered it wrong; Kuip was second with his 52 steals and 71 caught stealing. My co-starring hero Buddy Bell was actually first. Just shows you how many busted hit-and- runs they ran in Cleveland under Frank Robinson).
You could also make a point of Duane’s lack of power. But it’s worth noting that NOBODY hit during the bulk of my childhood, certainly not with power, not during those five years of my childhood, ages eight through 12, 1975-1979.
Here are the 10 biggest home run hitters over those five years:
1. Mike Schmidt, 180 (36 per year, an absolutely MASSIVE number in those years)
2. Dave Kingman, 175
3. George Foster, 174 (he hit 52 in one season; we were so overwhelmed we thought cities should be named for him)
4. Jim Rice, 171
5. Reggie Jackson, 151
6. Greg Luzinski, 147
7. Graig Nettles, 137
8. Don Baylor, 135
9. Bobby Bonds, 135
10. Ron Cey, 129
OK, there are — what, two Hall of Famers on the list? Rice will make three. Only five players even averaged 30 home runs per season over those years.* It was a down time. The Top 10 home run hitters the previous five years included Stargell, Aaron, Bench, Billy Williams, Reggie, Tony Perez, not to mention Dick Allen (and 11 and 12 were Frank Robinson and Willie McCovey). No kidding, there really was a shortage of great hitters in my childhood years.
*It should be noted the home run hitting would only get worse before it got better. Look at the Top 10 home run hitters from 1985-89:
1. Darryl Strawberry, 163
2. Dale Murphy, 154
3. George Bell, 148
4. Glenn Davis, 142
5. Joe Carter, 138
6. Andre Dawson, 137
7. Don Mattingly, 137
8. Jesse Barfield, 136
9. Darrell Evans, 136
10. Kent Hrbek 134.
Yikes. Two guys averaged 30 homers a year. Dawson better start getting some votes because otherwise NONE from that Top 10 will go to the Hall.
In that context, as a 10-year-old kid, I didn’t worry about Kuip’s lack of offensive production. Nobody hit home runs and certainly not second basemen. Duane Kuiper was out there to lay down some bunts (only Bert Campenaris and Roy Smalley dropped more sacrifice hits from 1976-78 than Kuip — guy was UNSELFISH!) and crack a few hits (it wasn’t hit fault that managers insisted on hitting him first or second in the lineup more than 2,000 times in his career) and, mostly, catch the ball.
People will disagree with me (people in fact HAVE disagreed with me) but I contend that Duane Kuiper was a really excellent defensive second baseman in his prime. Later in his career, after injuries and age wore him down, he became known as step-and-a-dive Kuiper. But in his early years, he had excellent range (certainly in my memory), and he turned the double play, and he was playing on probably the worst Major League infield since the deadball era. It was like playing baseball on the moon. There were craters in that infield big enough to house entire families. I can remember someone — I believe it was Kuiper, but it could have been someone else — who was quoted in the Cleveland Press after he made an error. He said (apparently so straight-faced that the reporter, in my recollection, quoted him straight), “Well, I got fooled by the true hop.â€
Now one thing is true: Kuiper did dive a lot, even then. it was his reputation (I would later find out) that he would dive for balls hit right at him. Well, why not? For one thing, it got him on This Week In Baseball pretty often*. And anyway, I understood. I dove a lot too. It’s fun to dive and make a play.** I appreciate that it doesn’t mean a whole lot in the grand scheme of things, but for a little kid who comes to the ballpark (along with several hundred others), it meant the world to watch Duane Kuiper dive and throw someone out.
*I’m listening right now to the AWESOME This Week in Baseball Theme, which is called “Gathering Crowds†and is available on iTunes. Awesome.
**This has nothing to do with anything, but I’m watching the Royals-Angels game, and just now Billy Butler hit an infield pop-up and did not run it out with a man on first base. Casey Kotchman noticed this and purposely dropped the pop-up, stepped on the bag, and then doubled up the runner on first. Now, it’s easy to just crash down on Billy — and I’m more than willing to do that: FREAKING RUN OUT THE BALL — but I have a question: Is an embarrassing play like that enough to guarantee that Billy Butler will never, ever again loaf on a pop-up.
And beyond all that, by all accounts, Duane Kuiper was a great guy. The announcers said so. The newspaper reporters said so. Pete Franklin doing his talk show said so. He was self-effacing, he was funny, he played hard … I mean, what else could you possibly want as a young baseball fan (besides for, you know, production and victories). The Indians actually had a few of those guys in my childhood, hard-working, blue-collar, run-out-every-ball BASEBALL guys (Buddy Bell, Rick Manning, Toby Harrah, Jack Brohamer, Alan Ashby, Mike Hargrove, Andre Thornton, etc.) and so while they were never especially good, they did always seem to be trying hard. It was noticeable. Duane Kuiper was the leading hard worker.
When I got older and found that there was a whole other world outside of Cleveland, I started to appreciate that perhaps Duane wasn’t a good ballplayer. It’s funny … I had never really thought about it. I guess I felt about Duane the way I felt about nearsightedness, male pattern baldness and my Uncle Lonka who played the accordion at weddings and bar mitzvahs — I inherited him. I had never really thought to evaluate him. That almost seemed beside the point. He was the second baseman I wanted to be. He was the player who represented what life could become if you wanted it enough. He was the guy who ever game made one diving play to send a little kid home with a memory.
Now, of course, I’m well aware that Duane Kuiper — because he hit only one home run in his career, because he was such an unsuccessful baserunner, because he is a funny, gifted and self-effacing announcer — has become a symbol, sort of a Joe Shlabotnik of the disco era, I appreciate that. But that’s not why I love the guy. Read that quote above one more time. When I was a little kid playing baseball in the backyard with my old friend Michael Fainer, we used to pretend to play World Series between the Cleveland Indians and the Cincinnati Reds. We both wanted to the be the Indians, of course, being true Cleveland kids, but someone had to be the other team, someone had to be Pete Rose and Johnny Bench and Tony Perez and Don Gullett and, especially, Joe Morgan.
It always worked out that the Indians won, somehow. And if I had anything to do with it, Duane Kuiper always ended up being the hero. That’s how I’ll always remember it. My friends don’t love Tom Seaver anymore. He let them down somehow. Duane Kuiper has never let me down.
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Is ‘crumb bum’ two words? I’ve been trying desperately to bring it back for quite some time, but it really sounds much better than it looks in print. For some reason, it feels like it should be spelled ‘crumbumb’.
My favorite player was rich gedman, mediocre red sox catcher in the mid-80’s. Many of the same reasons applied; he hit a couple of doubles in the first game i went to, had that sweet “AL all-star backstops” Fleer card with carlton fisk, and was a local guy, the baseball player i hoped to be when i was 9 years old. I even wrote a poem about it (when i was 9, for clarification):
The score was 2 to 1
On a Gedman home run
It drove Rice in
And made the red sox win
Joe, as a lifelong Padre fan just a year or two your junior, I completely understand.
I rooted for Enzo Hernandez and Broderick Perkins, but adored Dave Winfield.
Of course, he signed with the Yankees and broke my heart. I cried nearly as long and as hard when Winfield left as when my WIFE left me last year, and that in no way diminishes the love I had for my former wife. Am I really allowed to choose another team??? Seems preposterous…
Great post, Joe. My hero was also a light hitting middle infielder with little power. Fred Patek may have been listed at 5′4″ in the program, but to me he was ten feet tall. Frank Deford sums up why I loved Freddie (SI, March 27, 1978 – gotta love the SI vault):
“Patek is the ultimate regular. Because of his size he had more to overcome. To many kids, he is not just a hero but also a patron saint. And that goes not only for short kids, but also for fat kids, skinny kids, nearsighted kids. He has shown what you can do. “When I was a kid your age growing up in Texas,” he went on, “I’d listen to all the games I could get on the radio. I was a Yankee fan. I still feel strange about them when we play. But I didn’t have an idol. Every player was my hero. I thought baseball players were some kind of superior beings.”
“When I finally got a chance to come to a camp, I was so grateful. To get ready, I ran five miles every day. I did sprints, I ran up and down the steps at a stadium. I thought everybody with a chance would do that. I thought, that’s the way baseball players are. And then I got there, to the camp, and a lot of these kids with a chance weren’t in shape. I couldn’t believe these people could actually think they were professional baseball players and be like that. I was really disappointed. I was really hurt…for baseball.”
He also had one of the all time great lines:
Fred Patek, 5′4″ Kansas City shortstop, asked how it feels to be the smallest player in the major leagues: “It feels a helluva lot better than being the smallest player in the minor leagues.”
btw, I got a box of Topps baseball cards for my 11th birthday in 1976, and it seems like I got at least 37 Duane Kuiper (I pronounced it Kooey-per – what did I know?) cards, only exceeded by the dozens of Kurt Bevaqua cards celebrating his victory in the Topps bubble blowing contest. I got one Fred Patek card…
Joe!
Growing up in Ashland, OH in the early 80’s I share the same sentimentality about some dreadful Indians squads. Toby Harrah, Andre Thornton, Joe Charbonneau, and later on Joe Carter, Cory Snyder and Julio Franco were among my all-time favorite players.
But it was the Browns that I idolized, and my Duane Kuiper was running back Earnest Byner.
Drafted in the 10th round as a fullback out of East Carolina in 1984, he wasn’t even expected to make the roster – 14 years later he would conclude his career with 8,200 yards rushing, ranked #16 all-time in the NFL.
The day I became aware of the reality that professional sports were a business first and foremost was when GM Ernie Accorsi traded Byner to the Washington Redskins for a tub of poo named Mike Oliphant (who ran for 97 yards in his illustrious Browns career). I’ve never recovered that same love of sports I had as a child again.
I almost NEVER got Jim Rice cards. Those Topps people were sadistic bastards.
And on the subject of reviving words, I’m trying to get my kids to say “flapjacks”. Isn’t that a million times better than “pancakes”?
Another awesome nostalgic post. I completely identify as the team of my youth was the Texas Rangers pre-Nolan Ryan. I especially remember rooting for them from ‘82-’88 when they only had one good season in ‘86. In fact, the Royals this year kind of remind me a bit of that ‘86 Rangers team. I think its neat you mentioned Buddy Bell as a hero. He and Mickey Rivers were my first two favorite players with the Rangers. In fact, Bell even took the time to send my brother and I two signed personalized glossy 8×10 photos after our mom sent the team a letter about how her two boys were dissapointed to not meet Buddy Bell at camera day. I still have that photo framed and on the wall in my den.
Those were bad Rangers teams, but they made me appreciate baseball more I think than if I had grown up with a perenial winner. That’s why the ‘86 season was so magically to me. Suddenly the Rangers were winning and it was the best thing ever and looking in the paper each day at the standings was exciting. Perhaps there are some young Royals fans out there that feel the same way so far this season.
I picked Darrell Porter off of a KC Royals placemat I had when I was little. I think it was because he had glasses like my dad. I found out that he was on the Cardinals now, and I remember watching the ‘82 Series (when Porter was MVP) as the first World Series I ever watched. I also owned and read his autobiography “Snap Me Perfect–The Darrell Porter Story.” It was awful when he died the way he did, because I believed (and still do) that he had cleaned himself up for years. That’s probably why his heart couldn’t take it.
Now my favorite player is Morgan Ensberg. I liked him before, but I met him when he came to our church for an unpaid speaking engagement before the 2005 season. We messed up the schedule and didn’t get him on stage until the time he said he needed to be finished by, but he still spoke with us and answered questions from our men and boys for about 40 minutes. And before he got on stage, he signed autographs and took pictures with everybody, even though he should have already been one stage. (The BBQ meal beforehand ran long). He was just so gracious. And he’s also funnt and self-effacing in interviews.
I heard “crumb bum” on Venture Brothers not two days ago. So if you stay up late and watch Cartoon Network, or just buy the DVDs, you may be able to convince yourself crumb bum has already been brought back.
1976 Topps #508 Duane Kuiper: http://www.beckett.com/images/pgitems/327770101.jpg
Joe, reading you is better than the free cup of Joe at Starbucks on Wednesday’s!
Why did the Royals not wear the powder blue pants with the blue tops over the weekend?
For the love of God don’t do things half way – bring back the full powders like the Blue Jays did for opening day in Toronto.
Does anyone esle miss the multi-color hats like the Expos used to wear/
Joe – another thought on uni’s…..how great were the burnt orange (what was the color?) of the Tribe’s uniforms on opening day when Frank Robinson was the player / manager for the first time and homered!
Beautiful post.
Nice to see this blog get past the self-aggrandizing Pat Jordan horsesh*t and get back to what makes it so great.
I’m sure every guy who reads this blog has a Duane Kuiper. Mine was Willie Stargell. Completely different player, obviously, but same sense of attachment, same memories of imitating Pops and his distinctive swing in the backyard. Like you, I played my favorite player’s position all through youth baseball. Your post really took me back.
“Does anyone esle miss the multi-color hats like the Expos used to wear”
Totally cool hats.
I wish the Jays would bring back their awesome original hats and logo. One of the best logos in baseball history. Their current cap looks ridiculous.
Great, great piece, Joe. I grew up on the other side of Ohio. Sure, you say, the powerful and glamorous Reds. But that’s not how it felt ca. 1965-69. My team played in the smallest city in the majors. They played in a dumpy old ballpark, Crosley Field, in a decaying neighborhood. They’d won only two championships in their long history, in 1919 and 1940, and one of those had been dumped by the Black Sox. (The Indians had won more recently.) They’d blown a pennant on the last day in 1964 (everyone remembers the Phillies choked it away and the Cardinals won it, but had the Reds beaten the Phillies on the last day they’d have tied for the pennant.) In a good year they’d draw 12,000 fans a game, in a bad year 9,000. They were threatening to move to San Diego if the new stadium didn’t get built. We Reds fans had an inferiority complex a mile wide and deep.
Anyway, my favorite player was a guy who signed my scorecard at the first game I attended. I was convinced that nobody in the country knew him or appreciated him, because the Reds and Cincinnati were a laughingstock, country-bumpkin team and town that was totally off the national radar. Yeah, that’s how it felt to be a Pete Rose fan in the late 60s. That did change a little bit in the 70s.
Yeah, I’m a little older than you, Joe, and this was written in 2006, but I know where you’re coming from.
http://www.theclevelandfan.com/article_detail.php?id=224
The term crumb bum was used in an episode of Cartoon Network’s The Venture Brothers not too long ago. The first episode of the second season I think.
Joe, great post, and thanks for the “Gathering Crowds” info. I had no idea what it was called. Such a defining song of my childhood. I downloaded it immediately.
Nothing to add about Kuiper the player, but he has one of my favorite announcer moments when he was the Rockies’ analyst in their early years.
The telecast for a spring training game had a Japanese baseball tie-in for some reason, and the announcers were having fun with “What’s Japanese for …” (slider, hot dog, etc.). During one play the Rockies center fielder, Alex Cole*, ran to the fence while tracking a long fly ball and stood there as the ball barely cleared the fence over his raised glove. Kuiper never missed a beat: “What’s Japanese for ‘jump’”?
* – If you don’t remember his brief career, Alex Cole was a speedster with absolutely zero baseball instincts.
I am so with you on this Joe.
I love the Updike line, it fits so well with what I feel.
I grew up a Red Sox fan. We all have that one wonderful summer as a kid where we wake up to baseball, mine was 1975 when I was nine and Lynn and Rice were everywhere. But my favorite player on those teams was Dwight Evans.
He didn’t have the talent so many of the players on those star ridden Sox teams of the late seventies had, but he played the game right.
He played it hard and smart and I always figured that if you had a team of nine Deweys (what a fitting nickname) you might not win the series every year, but you would sure as heck contend.
As I have gotten older, I still am mesmerized by the talents of the Griffeys, and Arods and such of the world, but the men who really capture my attention are the Buddy Biancalana’s and the Mickey Hatcher’s of the world. The guys who just show up, play the game and after they are done few will remember them outside of their local areas.But they are the heart and soul of baseball.
I live in Baltimore now, where people like John Lowenstein and Gary Reonicke and Paul Blair and Kiki Garcia and a legion of other ex-orioles from those 1970’s heydays are still the subject of barroom discussions.
In the end its less a game of stars and more of the men who simply play the game for the love of it. who hone the craft and day in, day out proivide us with the memories that we love.
Not that Billy Butler shouldn’t have run out the ball, but why didn’t they call the Infield Fly rule?
I think Im in a unique situation because I completely adore the Royals now but when I was younger the A’s were THE team. The Royals are the closest professional team to where I live but not so close that you have to root for them, I honestly started rooting for them cause everyone was dogging them so much, but anyway I didnt have a chance i was reeled in by the bash brothers, but I loved Rickey Henderson, cant tell you why but its almost embarrassing now, when ever I hear Ricky being Rickey in an interview I hang my head a little in shame, yet chuckle to myself at the same time.
No infield fly in that situation because there was only a runner on first. There must be runners on 1st and 2nd or bases loaded and less than two outs to be infield fly…
“Not that Billy Butler shouldn’t have run out the ball, but why didn’t they call the Infield Fly rule?”
There was only one runner on base, the infield fly rule requires two runners on base.
Glad to hear I’m not the only one that loves “Gathering Crowds.” In retrospect, I wish that my entrance to the reception of my wedding had played that. And then we could have showed a clip of Ozzie Smith doing a backflip, Steve Lyons dropping his pants, and that Kingdome employee getting his hand bit by that cat.
Growing up in the Chicago area, I was raised to be a White Sox fan. And as far back as I remember, I loved Harold Baines. I remember crying when they dealt him in to Texas in ‘89 for Scooter Fletcher, and a couple kids, a pitcher named Wilson Alvarez, and a skinny, speedy OF by the name of Sammy Sosa. I rejoiced when we brought him back in ‘97, and was ticked when they traded him AGAIN (to Baltimore). As far as I was concerned, there was no way the Hall could deny him when he came up for election. I was wrong.
On a slightly related note, does anyone else remember having an unnatural hatred for a player on their favorite team? I ask because behind Baines, my favorite player was Carlton Fisk (my mom LOVED Pudge). My 7-year-old brain didn’t understand that a 42-year-old catcher couldn’t catch 162 games a year, and consequently, I LOATHED Ron Karkovice. As far as I was concerned, he was after Pudge’s job, and was thus to be viewed as the enemy. Am I the only person who was like this?
Growing up in Omaha during the 1980’s, my friends all worshipped Bo Jackson or George Brett. My hero was, and still is, Kevin Seitzer.
I too, never pulled a Seitzer card out of a wax pack. I was stuck having to trade for all of them, which I could get rather cheaply from my friends.
Thanks for the trip down memory lane!
Just to be fair, I also have a friend who idolized Tom Seaver growing up, and even named his son after him. A few years ago he met Seaver at an event (a book signing, or something like that), and introduced his son to him. My friend said that Seaver was great, and took several minutes to talk one on one with the son, and seemed genuinely touched that someone had named their child after him. He said that Seaver (the player) was everything he had hoped he would be. Maybe your friends just got him on a bad day?
My mom’s favorite Indian of that era was Joe Lis. She routed for him to stick in the bigs long enough to draw a MLB pension. Amazing compassion! Any information available to find out if he did?
I just want to add my own Tom Seaver story: He was one of my favorite players when he played for the Reds (had his poster on my wall and everything). So when I was about 5, the Reds had a day where if you got to the park about 3 hours early, you could come on the field and have your picture taken with individual Reds players. Of course I went up to Seaver. He was not boorish at all – rather, he picked me up, posed and smiled while my dad took a picture. However, as he was putting me back on the ground, I apparently squirmed or wriggled, he lost his grip, and he dropped me on his foot. He kind of jumped in pain, I / my dad apologized, and we didn’t think much more of it – until he went on the disabled list the next day with a broken foot. The moral of this story – don’t pick up fat kids.
Almost every baseball fan has that guy. I never played Little League, but my guy was Dale Mohorcic. It seemed like whenever he would come into a game for the Rangers, he would do something positive.
Wasn’t “Crumb Bum” used in GoodFellas a lot?
Not only did Joe Lis play in 9 seasons, which ought to be enough to qualify for a pension, he slugged .923 in 1975. Each of his 4 hits that season was for extra-bases. Hard to believe the Tribe didn’t make the playoffs.
Like everyone else said, an excellent post. I, too, found myself drawn to the 93rd prettiest girl, cheering for the underdog, etc. I grew up in Cincinnati in the 70’s, during the height of the Big Red Machine (and I did cheer for them), but my favorite player was Cesar Geronimo, the light-swinging cannon-armed center fielder. Davey Concepcion was a close second.
Great post!
Terrific post Joe. While I was nowhere near as dedicated to one player as you were, I went through a period of a few years in the 70’s when I thought Lee Lacy was the greatest player on the Dodger roster. I just couldn’t understand why he wasn’t playing ahead of Davey Lopes.
Lance Richardson: My dad used to drive me down to San Diego on occasion to see the Dodgers play the Padres. I loved the way the Padre PA announcer introduced Enzo Hernandez. Did he wear #11? In my mind I can still hear the announcer introducing him as Numberelevenenzo Hernaaaaandez…….as if his number and first name were all one word.
My husband had his own childhood baseball idol on the Indians – Ray Fosse. Though as a kid he followed other sports teams with more talented and successful players, it was Ray Fosse who captivated him. And so years ago, for a Christmas gift, I put together a nicely framed collage of Ray Fosse baseball cards (one from every year he played in majors), spending 3 hours in a dusty card shop on Bromfield St. in Boston finding the cards (which, collectively, cost $2.75). I also wrote Mr. Fosse a nice letter explaining that he and the magical game of baseball had somehow beaten out Bobby Orr and Dave Cowens for my husband’s childhood affections, and asking him to autograph a small piece of matting for me to include in the collage. Not only did Mr. Fosse sign the autograph, but he called to thank me personally for the nice letter. Though I could never really understand the mystical connection between a young boy and his baseball hero, it felt good to know that the player who occupied so many of my husband’s childhood daydreams was such a warm and thoughtful person. Plus, my husband was slightly awed because I talked to RAY FOSSE.
Various characters on the Simpsons have used the word “crumbum.” Nelson Muntz has, among others. It’s a great word.
http://www.snpp.com/episodes/4F01.html
I’ve always liked those 1970s Indians teams, with the horrible reddish uniforms and funny hair. One of the great baseball cards is the Oscar Gamble one, with the gigantic afro. Oscar Gamble was a great name too. No crumbum he.
http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y78/ChadFinn/75gamble.jpg
I’m a few years your senior Joe, but I had those same feelings for Johnny Romano. Being 12 years old and living and dying with every out of a baseball season was the “best of times.”
Ed Charles is my little league hero.
I think it was PeeWee league, now that I think about it. But a couple of games of work-up and some self-defensive plays on my part convinced him I was third-base material. I faked being sick so I could watch the Kansas City Althletics’ opener back in nineteen-sixty-mumble. And Ed Charles hit a home run — for the A’s! — on his first big leage at-bat.
My dad had a friend who had season tickets at Municipal Stadium, front row box, as close to third base as you could get. I made eye contact with Ed Charles a couple of times. But it was when Brooks Robinson came to town I realized I would never be a big league third-baseman. Watching Brooks play was like watching Picasso paint.
I was sad when they traded Ed Charles to the Mets, but thrilled he was the NY third-baseman in that magic ‘69 season.
By then, however, I’d given up on baseball cards. Too damned much bubble gum to chew and too damned many Norm Sieborn cards.
“He said that Seaver (the player) was everything he had hoped he would be. Maybe your friends just got him on a bad day?”
Bill Simmons once wrote a story about how he and his buddy got to play catch with Tom Seaver right before Tom made a comeback with the Red Sox.
Brett,
I wasn’t even a Padre fan, but I still remember that PA guy’s ‘Numberelevenenzo…..Hernandez!”
Enzo Hernandez’ real claim to fame: 1971 — 549 ABs, 12 RBI.
Thinking of Enzo Hernandez reminds me of another PA classic — the Montreal Expos’ John Boc-ca-bellll-a.
Don’t forget Kuiper’s even lighter hitting SS partner, Frank Duffy.
Frank Duffy — the guy the Reds traded to get a AAA outfielder named George Foster.
42 posts enthmology of “crumb bum” and no one of you mentions Jackie Gleason as Sheriff Buford T. Justice, a man who did more for the term than any who have gone before or since.
What the hell is the matter with all you crumb bums?!?!
When I got into baseball, the ‘77 Red Sox had Yaz, Rice, Lynn, Pudge Fisk, Boomer Scott, Luis Tiant and Bill Lee.
All stars, but my favorite was Rick Burleson. The Rooster. Still my favorite after all these years.
Joaldo,
Thanks for a great post, followed by a lot of wonderful comments by everybody. A wonderful way to end my day.
As a Giants fan too young to remember Kuiper the player, his understated brilliance as an announcer has made him a beloved figure in the Bay Area. In a technical sense, the Giants’ best announcer is Jon Miller, who (in my mind) is the best radio play-by-play man after Vin Scully. But nobody has a better home run call than Kuiper (ouuttta heere!), ironic for an ex-player made famous for his inability to hit home runs.
(as a side note…these are depressing times to be a Giants fan, obviously, but having a great announcing team and a beautiful ballpark takes some of the pain away)
Jeremy –
Growing up, I couldn’t stand Mike Macfarlane. If I had a reason at the time, I couldn’t tell you now what it was. So rest assured you’re not the only one with an unreasonable hatred for a player on your favorite team.
My favorite player was a guy who played the game the right way, but was also pretty good. At first, I probably liked George Brett because his last name was the same as my first name, but it didn’t take long for me to realize there were a lot of better reasons for me to claim him as my favorite player.
I remember Duane Kuiper well. He was a pretty good ballplayer.
I grew up as a Yankees fan, but at a time when they weren’t all that good, and while I was living in Massachusetts. I always liked Horace Clarke in those days. He wasn’t my favorite player, but he was a good, solid, hustling middle infielder.
Later, people began to write about “the Horace Clarke” years of the Yankees, as if he were the main problem. But he wasn’t. If you look him up, he was actually slightly better than his predecessor, Bobby Richardson, in every phase of the game.
What’s more, nobody thought of Clarke as a terrible player at the time. It was only later, because the team didn’t win anything and he had a funny name. He was much, much better than all sorts of other players on those teams, such as Jerry Kenney.
But Clarke had to play with Kenney, and Gene Michael, and Jim Lyttle, and Jake Gibbs, while Richardson got Mantle, Maris, Howard, and Ford. Such is life.
Freddie Patek was my Kuiper.
“On a slightly related note, does anyone else remember having an unnatural hatred for a player on their favorite team? I ask because behind Baines, my favorite player was Carlton Fisk (my mom LOVED Pudge). My 7-year-old brain didn’t understand that a 42-year-old catcher couldn’t catch 162 games a year, and consequently, I LOATHED Ron Karkovice. As far as I was concerned, he was after Pudge’s job, and was thus to be viewed as the enemy. Am I the only person who was like this?”
It’s not exactly the same thing, but after 1995, I loathed Carlos Baerga.
The story we got here in Cleveland was that the Indians went to Baerga, after 1995, and asked him to move back to third base so they could sign Robbie Alomar. It would have been a great move. It would have brought the Indians one of the best players in the game and reunited the Alomar. And Robbie was my favorite player. Baerga, however, decided that being asked to move back to third was an insult that could not be borne and refused.
Alomar signed with the Orioles instead and, of course, hit the game-winning home run when the Orioles beat the Indians in the divisional playoff series that year.
I’ve never forgiven Baerga for that. In fact, a couple days ago he was in town for some reason or other and was brought into the TV broadcasting booth during the game. I got so angry listening to him that I left the room.
****
Joe, maybe it was a thing about living IN Cleveland rather than living in the suburbs, but in the SW suburbs where I grew up, at pretty much the same time, we had all sorts of favorite players.
Mine was Joe Morgan. I had a Reds cap I wore so much, for so long that it actually wore through in the back. My best friend from across the street was a Giants fan, for reasons I no longer remember. On my Little League team players would race, argue, barter, whatever… to get the numbers of Johnny Bench and Pete Rose.
Joe, there wasn’t a lack of great hitters from your childhood. Different times, different numbers. It’s the way it’s always been in the game. You just had the luck (or unluck) to watch baseball during a period that depressed HRs. Just as we must adjust our perception of hitters today (500 HRs is no longer an invitation to Valhalla), we must adjust our appreciation of the players from the 70s/80s when determining who was great. Oh, no! I am warming to Jim Rice. No, no, no. He still was lousy away from Fenway!
Thanks Joe! I grew up watching “This Week In Baseball” on cable and never dreamed that the theme would be available online. I went to Amazon yesterday and grabbed it immediately.
Great memories, although the “extra” melody in the middle throws me off…
Duane Kuiper was my favorite player too when I was a kid, and I wasn’t even from Ohio. I didn’t really know why either, but that exactly one HR was pretty special. If I remember the stat correctly, I think Duane has the highest ratio of triples to HR in all of baseball history (minimum 1 HR).
When Bo Jackson came along, he became my favorite player, and I don’t think any one has passed him for me. (I’m not from Kansas either.)
I’ve always thought that Ewing Kauffman might have found the perfect marketing ploy with George Brett.
As often as people conjure up what about baseball would be different if Ted Williams had been a Yankee and DiMagio had played half his games in Fenway… and given the history that the Kansas City A’s pretty much served as a minor league team to the Yankees until the mid-60s.
Part of why the Roylz/Yankees rivalry took place is that NY fans came in their jeans at the fantasy of George Brett in pinstripes.
One of the fun things about me visiting NYC is how many locals I come across who hate the Roylz almost as much as we Kansas City fans hate the Yankees.
It’s a bigger deal, in some ways, when Kansas City beats the Yankees. Boston is another big east coast city. To have a bunch of guys from the middle of the country one-up them, was a travesty!
Scot Thompson holds a special place in childhood based on a Wiffle Ball home run 25 years ago. I would tell the story here, but I’d rather give it justice in a blog post sometime soon.
Years later I learned that while gods don’t answer letters, Scot Thompson does.
I’m a little younger than you but I can relate. Growing up, my favorite player was Brook Jacoby. Growing up in Cleveland ain’t easy.
That’s weird, because my first ever ballgame was at Cleveland Stadium and featured a grand-slam by Ron Karkovice. Looking back, it must have been this game:
http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/CLE/CLE198908270.shtml
Joe: Duane Kuiper can be heard at http://www.knbr.com (click on 680 on the upper left) on Tuesdays & Thursdays for 10 minutes beginning at around 9:40am Kansas City time. It’s his regular segment on the station’s morning show.
My personal favorite baseball announcers are Vin Scully and Hank Greenwald. When working with a partner, they overshadow the other person somewhat, though. Absolutely the finest announcing TEAM is Mike Krukow and Duane Kuiper doing the Giants games. They complement each others’ abilities behind the mike, and are a great way to take in a ballgame. Krukow often refers to Duane as Smooooth and that describes his on-air personality very well.
I’m going to chime in also about the greatness of Duane Kuiper as an announcer for the Giants. I listened to many a Giants game between 2000-2004 when I lived in the Bay Area, and I came to appreciate his brilliance. It really is no exaggeration to say that he is arguably the best play-by-play/color commentator in the game.
I used to commute home from work in those days in the 7pm hour, and it was a joy to know that I’d be spending the next hour or so listening to Jon Miller or Duane Kuiper call the game. Then again, that was in what now feels like the Giants heyday, but still. Kuiper is just so easy to listen to, and his enthusiasm for the game is earnest and infectious.
My Kuiper was the Expos’ John Boccabella. He didn’t hit for average, and didn’t have much more power than Duane did, but I remember he hit two home runs in one inning against the Astros on 7-6-73. I loved how the Jarry Park PA man would announce his name (as mentioned above): “John Bocc-a-BELL-a!†And those early Expos pinwheel hats were great.
I would open packs and packs of Topps cards, only to find Reggie Jackson, Johnny Bench, Hank Aaron, Pete Rose, and Carl Yastrzemski. No Boccabella.
Later my hero was Carlton Fisk, and like Jeremy L., I couldn’t stand Ron Karkovice either, even though I was much older and understood why Pudge couldn’t play every day.
By the way, “crumb bum†was used in a M*A*S*H episode, by the paranoid, conspiracy-seeking Colonel Flagg. The quote was, “You saved that commie crumb bum – why?â€
It’s ironic that one paragraph of the Kuiper article mentions the terrible field condition of the old Municipal Stadium, and two paragraphs later veers into a seeming non sequitur about an intentionally dropped pop-up. Ironic, because Kuiper has told a story of once letting a pop-up drop in front of him (so he could start a DP) and seeing it bounce over his head and down the line for an extra-base hit.
oh man. I remember sitting through double headers at the old Stadium in the 80’s and being so bored during the second game everyone would just be trying to see we could make a paper airplane fly down from the second deck onto the field.
Frank Duffy was my man. Someone always had a banner that said “Do your stuff Duff!”.
Moneyhawk couldn’t be more wrong. Brett is the most hated opposing player by Yankee fans of the last 50 years. I happened to be sitting behind the Royals on-deck circle while George was waiting to hit, his last at bat at Yankee Stadium. He lingered to go to the plate, waiting for his applause. It wasn’t gonna happen. I clearly remember some fan yelling, “Get your hemorrhoid filled ass up to the plate, Brett. You ain’t gettin’ no ovation” with a few curse words to pepper the conversation. That fan was a jerk, but he was right. Brett didn’t get any acknowledgement from the crowd (it had thinned by that time with the Royals up 7-0 in the 9th), but he hit a single through the middle
There is no way in hell that ANY Yankee fan would want George Brett to wear the pinstripes.
Your blog is tops.
Great piece, Joe.
The summer of ‘75 is etched in my consciousness for two reasons. My parents split up and, thanks to the new Sundays with Dad program, I was granted my first trip to the stadium, a doubleheader with the A’s. One glimpse of “The Fro” and my fate was sealed. I was hooked on Oscar Gamble. He put up good numbers in ‘74, less so in ‘75, but I think my fascination was more about the anxiety that at any moment his helmet was going to explode off his head like a giant champagne cork. I was heartbroken when he was traded that November to the Yanks for Pat Dobson…and Steinbrenner made him cut his hair.
http://weblogs.newsday.com/sports/columnists/jimbaumbach/blog/hair_3.jpg
Hello! I just wanted to let you know that I showed this to my dad and he couldn’t stop grinning. HE WAS COMPLETELY HONORED. Thank you for this. It’s awesome.
I read this as a “random post” (love that feature by the way), I have never heard of Duane Kuiper before this outside of this blog, but I don’t remember ever smiling so much while reading an article. This was truly enjoyable.
Played ball against Kuip when he attended Centerville C.C…………he was a keeper then and was always played a good clean game of baseball. A true Pro. Listen to him every chance i can. A good old country boy. Such a breath of fresh air. Thanks Kuip.
I’m so glad to find you. Duane Kuiper is also my all-time favorite player.
It all started when my husband took me to my first Giants game eons ago. Kuiper came up to bat with runners on, and my husband groaned, saying something about how Kuiper was a no good SOB. Well, naturally being the good wife that I am, I decided to disagree with my husband, so I said, “Just watch. He’s going to get a hit.”
“No way,” said The Husband.
Of course, Kuiper got a hit and drove in a runner.
The next time he came up to bat, my husband said, “Now watch, this time he’ll choke.”
I said, “I don’t think so, Hon.” And of course Kuiper got another hit.
I think he even had another hit later in that game, but I don’t remember for sure anymore.
And then when I found out that he’d only hit one home run in his whole career, well, that sealed my adoration.
(But I do believe he once hit another home run, but it doesn’t count because it was in some sort of an exhibition game at a college field somewhere. Does anyone know for sure?)
One of the highlights of my time as a Giants fan was the day I got to get my picture taken with Duane Kuiper. He put his arm around me, and I put mine around him, but I was so excited that I grabbed him real hard and probably left him with a bruise, if not a broken rib. Poor guy! But I’ll treasure the picture always.
Kuiper forever!