Joe Posnanski

Curiously Long Posts

• Home
• About Joe
• Archives
• Books
• Contact
• Glossary
• Halls of Fame
• JoeWords

83 Comments on “Autographs and Mays”

1. 
   1: Steve said at 10:13 am on July 17th, 2008:

   Do you think part of your indifference to autographs could be a result of your job and the experiences you’ve had as a part of it? I would think a person in your position would sort of be numb to the sports world — you meet athletes and celebrities all the time, so why would you need their name scribbled on a baseball or a scrap of paper?

   Of course, I understand your aversion toward paid autograph shows. One of my goals in life is to have a memorabilia-filled sports bar-like area in my house. But I refuse to pay for autographs. Sure, I could go on eBay and buy a signed George Brett 8X10, but that’s no fun. I’d rather keep my ticket stub from when I visited Fenway or when I attended Bret Saberhagen’s no-hitter in 1991. And I’d much rather attend Chiefs’ minicamp and fight for a few autographs than pay 50 bucks to stand in line for one.

   Maybe it’s just me, but I’d rather have a story to go along with my memorabilia than a receipt.

2. 
   2: Andy said at 10:16 am on July 17th, 2008:

   I’m in tears. Amazing.

3. 
   3: Johnny said at 10:31 am on July 17th, 2008:

   Cruise “pulling away” with an 11-vote lead as we hit the 2,000 mark.

   Loved the No. 1 pencil comment. I’m sure I’ve seen one, but I can’t remember when.

4. 
   4: Steve said at 10:42 am on July 17th, 2008:

   Looking back to when I was a sophomore in college, when I wrote to you when I had to write to someone in journalism who does the job I’d like to (eventually) have, I REALLY hope I didn’t come across like the punk kid you portrayed in this post.

5. 
   5: Perry said at 10:45 am on July 17th, 2008:

   I can’t imagine a circumstance under which I’d want an autograph, as an adult. Maybe if I caught a home-run ball from Albert Pujols or something. Other than that, adults soliciting autographs just seem kind of pathetic. I once met one of my cycling heroes at a remote rural store where we had both stopped to refill water bottles in the midst of long rides — while I was wearing his team’s jersey, no less — and while I literally had chills while talking to him, asking for an autograph never even occurred to me. What would be the point?

   For kids — completely different story. Pete Rose signed my scorecard at the first game I ever attended, in the middle of his first .300 season, and it was one of the biggest thrills of my entire childhood.

6. 
   6: Shelby said at 10:49 am on July 17th, 2008:

   No. 1 pencil has to be a stand-up comedian routine somewhere….Seinfeld or something. If it’s not, it should be.

7. 
   7: Ed said at 10:52 am on July 17th, 2008:

   When my father was 14, he went to the ‘61 All Star game in Fenway Park (good luck being 14 and trying to get your own tickets to this year’s game, ey?). Like many other kids, he hung around outside of the park waiting for autographs from his sports heroes. He got a lot of them from guys as they walked past, mostly just on pieces of paper (in PEN!) that he still has. Willie Mays walked out of the park and a bunch of kids, including my father, flocked over to him. They were all asking for his autograph and he didn’t sign a thing, he kept walking. Some kids turned around and left, my father and some others stayed with him and kept trying to get him to sign. He kept walking and eventually, many blocks later, my father was the only kid left trying to get his autograph. He still wouldn’t sign.

   I’ve always disliked Mays because of that story.

8. 
   8: Rich said at 11:00 am on July 17th, 2008:

   More important than whether Willie Mays snubbed Hamilton in the video is the size of Tony Gwynn. Wow! As a fellow fat guy, I somehow feel better to know that I can be in a room with a bunch of hall of famers and not be close to the fattest guy there.

   As for Mays, I always admired him, but in my basement is a frame with the autographs for DiMaggio, Satchel Paige, Mantle, Stan Musiel, Luke Appling, and a couple of other I received in the summer of 1978 as a 12 year old from writing letters to these men from a list of addresses I bought from an ad on the back a comic book. Many letters, no Willie Mays. (I had others, but made some tragic choices in my younger days. I remember trading a Yogi Berra autograph for a Freddie Patek baseball card. There were others, but I’m still too traumatized to talk about them.)

9. 
   9: Charles said at 11:06 am on July 17th, 2008:

   Reading your suggestion about making all kids write letters asking for autographs made me think. I’m a recent college graduate — so I’m not really much of a kid anymore — but I always wanted to write a letter to Buck O’Neil (this was before I started reading this blog, even) and ask for an autograph. Never did do it, and maybe it’s because I never did that kind of thing as a child. I think I’ll always regret the fact I didn’t try to contact him, even just to say thanks. Maybe it really is a good idea to make kids write those letters.

10. 
    10: Brian said at 11:07 am on July 17th, 2008:

    This has nothing to do with the post, but I’m wondering –

    Is that some weird pitching grip Banny has in the Banny Log picture, or is he intentionally throwing The Shocker?

    I just noticed that, and it’s bothering me.

11. 
    11: B.E. Earl said at 11:07 am on July 17th, 2008:

    I have no baseball autographs, but I have an autograph story.

    I have been to Yankee Stadium a hundreds and hundreds of times over the years. Never met any players, never really tried. I was going to Opening Day several years ago and I had an extra ticket. I called a buddy who worked in NYC and asked him if he would like to go. He had never been to a Yankee game.

    He was running late so I left the ticket at the Yankee offices with the receptionist for him. He joins us at our seats around the 3rd inning of the game with a big smile on his face. He tells us that he met Reggie Jackson (my favorite player growing up even before he became a Yankee) when he was picking up his ticket. Talked with him for about five minutes and he said Reggie was the nicest guy. He even signed my friend’s ticket stub for him.

    So his very first Yankee game he meets Reggie Jackson, talks with him and gets a great autograph. Wonderful.

    I spent the rest of the game not talking to my friend.

12. 
    12: Aaron M. said at 11:08 am on July 17th, 2008:

    Perry,

    Just because you’ve grown up doesn’t mean all the magic has to go. I proudly display all the autographs I’ve gotten. And while it was much easier to get them as a child, it’s still fun now. Plus, you get to meet the player and maybe even talk a little. In fact, the fun autographs are usually not the superstars because they might talk to you. Last year Joe Nelson won some kind of pitcher award for the minors even though he was in KC a lot. So at Future’s night where all these players were signing, I said something to the effect of what are you doing here, and he replied that he hoped he never was again (for winning a minor league award). So we talked for a few minutes after that.

    All my Royals autographs are proudly displayed. Even the baseball Mark Quinn signed, more importantly Johnny Damon’s name is right underneath his on that ball. I’m 28 and the day I stop chasing autographs will probably be the day my kids want the autograph more than me.

13. 
    13: Monkeyhawk said at 11:08 am on July 17th, 2008:

    Somewhere in a box somewhere in the basement or attic or shed somewhere I have a 30-something-year-old copy of Esquire magazine’s profile of Muhammad Ali. It was written by somebody — Vidal or Plimpton or Updike or Dr. Seuss or somebody; somebody important — who followed Ali on some routine business trips and promotion trips. It’s odd that Ali later developed Parkinson’s Disease, because the Esquire piece addressed the question “Is the Champ Punch-Drunk?” But whoever* wrote it observed the same phenomenon.

    * Damn! I wish I could remember! Maybe it was Tama Janowitz.**

    ** Remember when she thought she could write?

    At the time, it was plausible and maybe probably that Muhammad Ali could have knocked on any door in the World! and be recognized and invited in. (And asked for an autograph, probably.)

    When I was living in the Hollywood Hills I got used to realizing if you see someone in Ralph’s who looks like someone, it’s them. You just get used to it. You stand in line at the cashier and ignore the National Perspirer’s doctored photos of the someone in line with you and reference instead the World News Weekly expose’ that Elvis and Marilyn Monroe*** are alive and living in a trailer park on the outskirts of Muncie.

    ***That’s why the rest of us missed it. He’s living as “Elvis Monroe.”****

    **** In an Airstream.

    My last autograph moment was when I boarded a Southwest Airlines flight from Kansas City to LAX and found Wilt Chamberlain sitting in the front row (for the legroom, I assume). He’d just come back to Allen Field House that weekend and I said, “Cashed in the First Class ticket, right?” He just smiled.

    Later, in mid-flight, I leaned forward and said, “I’d probably have my official fan license revoked if I didn’t ask for an autograph.”

    He looked me in the eye and said, “Please don’t.”

14. 
    14: Shelby said at 11:22 am on July 17th, 2008:

    What years did you write for Beckett? My years of collecting went from 1990 -1992 or 3 and I’m sure I read some of your stuff! Any URLs you could throw our way?

15. 
    15: Justin said at 11:24 am on July 17th, 2008:

    Back when I was a kid, I managed to get a baseball that Mike Devereaux tossed into the stands during pre-game warmups at a Blue Jays-Orioles game.

    A few minutes later, my friend and I noticed Frank Robinson sitting not far from where we were seated. I managed to track down a pen, went over and asked if he would please sign the baseball.

    There was a brief pause, after which Frank looked at one of the two assistants sitting with him and the assistant said “Mr. Robinson doesn’t sign autographs.”

    I was completely flabbergasted. If he had declined to sign the ball, that would have been one thing, but to not even acknowledge a young fan, to not even offer someone a refusal yourself, opting instead to have someone else do it…well, it was clear that Robinson didn’t think much of fans (or kids, or Torontonians, or something).

    Great player but man, what a jerk.

16. 
    16: Mikey said at 11:27 am on July 17th, 2008:

    Tuesday afternoon MLB staged a parade on Sixth Avenue in Manhattan. If the ASG ever comes to your town, go to this event and take your kids. If you don’t have kids, take someone else’s kids. It’s a lot of fun.

    Anyway, Willie Mays was in the last truck. He was stopped to do an interview. While he was stopped he slowly took all the money out of his left pants pocket and started handing it out to people in the crowd.

    Then he took all the money out of his RIGHT pocket and started handing that out too.

    It was unclear why he was doing this, other than the fact that 77 year old men sometimes do things that don’t seem to make any sense.

    So I didn’t think he was snubbing Hamilton at all. He may be a living legend, but he’s also just an old dude living in his own world.

17. 
    17: Paul White said at 11:39 am on July 17th, 2008:

    On a broiling hot day in the summer of 2005, I stood in line with my son outside The K to get Buck O’Neil’s autograph on Negro Leagues Appreciation Day. We got there extra early because we knew they wouldn’t be signing for long. In fact, we missed out on his autograph at the same event the year before because they cut the line off after 30 minutes. This year, we were going to be sure.

    So we stood there and sweated bullets for an hour or so, just waiting for the guys to show up. Some dude was selling bottles of water nearby and must have made a fortune that day, from me alone.

    The players finally arrived, and Buck’s line, naturally, was quite a bit longer than the others who came out that day. I felt bad for them until I realized that they likely wouldn’t have been there at all if not for Buck’s efforts to keep the Negro Leagues alive in our memories so many years after they folded. The entire time we were waiting, I told my son Buck O’Neil’s story, and he was genuinely eager to meet this guy that he’d never heard of before.

    So we get to the front of the line, and my son hands him his baseball. Buck, who had been signing away without comment for several minutes, head down, probably exhausted in the stifling heat, saw that it was a child’s hand giving him the ball. He looked up, and gave him the classic Buck O’Neil smile.

    “How you doin’, Home Run?”, he asked my son.

    “Fine Mr. O’Neil.”

    “Are you a ballplayer? You look like one to me.”

    “Yes, I play baseball.”

    “Well tell you what,” Buck replied, as he handed the signed ball back to my son. “Your next game, you hit one out for old Buck.” Then he winked.

    Needless to say, my son was pretty much floating when he walked away. Buck then signed a ball for me, and my son and I walked back to the car to lock them up so we wouldn’t ruin them during the game. Later, when the Negro Leagues players were introduced before the game, the video board ran a clip of the autograph signing. What did they show? My son getting his ball signed by Buck O’Neil, right down to the wink at the end.

    The next year, when I told my son that Buck had passed away, he cried like he’d lost someone in the family.

    So now, as a 40-year old man with a signed Buck O’Neil ball proudly displayed in his rec room, do I feel a bit silly for having stood in line for an autograph as a grown man?

    Not in he least.

18. 
    18: Daniel said at 11:42 am on July 17th, 2008:

    Yes, I’m an adult who wears a baseball jersey to games. I also bring my glove sometimes, if I’m sitting in foul ball territory. But I have no desire to get autographs, other than if I could get one for my kids (who are still too young to care). I also still like the movie Top Gun, for what that’s worth.

19. 
    19: Warren said at 11:44 am on July 17th, 2008:

    I grew up a Dodger fan in Giant country. It was the hey-day of great pitching. My neighbor, a committed Giant fan, took me, along with his boys, to the local British Motors Dealership to see Sandy Koufax and Doug Camilli. I grabbed one of our baseballs; a well-used piece of “still” stitched leather and brought it with me. (What kid had an unused baseball back then?)

    Both players signed the ball. I memorized the signatures, put the ball away in a “safe” place and pulled out my baseball cards. I devoured the statistics on the backs of the cards. Then went to bed thinking only of baseball.

    Sometime a few months later, I looked in my “safe” place for the autographed baseball. It was gone! My younger brother needed a baseball so that he and his friends could play. It was the only autographed item I ever had. It’s the only one I’d want back.

    This same brother many years later (~25 years ago), still living in the SF Bay area, was getting gas for his truck. As he was filling it up he looked around the station and saw a personalized license plate bearing “SAY HEY”! He looked at the man at the car and realized he was Willie Mays.

    Although my brother was not a Giant fan, he did understand the significance of Willie Mays and went over to say “hi” and that he appreciated being able to watch grace and greatness, whenever Willie Mays played. As he approached Willie Mays and spoke, he was rather unceremoniously (and not in so many words) told to go away. No one else was in the vicinity; there was no harassment of the former player by anyone.

    I lost a great deal of respect for this man, who was allowed to make a very good living and receive a great deal of fame and adoration for playing a child’s game! His actions/reactions at the All-Star game were of no surprise to me.

20. 
    20: Jim Haas said at 12:02 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Wally the beer man.

    That’s my one sports autograph as an adult. Wally, a fixture at the old Metropolitan Stadium and throughout the 20+ years of the Metrodome, was hawking beer at the very first night game to be played at the tiny Miesville Mudhens park, in Meisville, MN. Amatuer baseball at its best, with the classic cornfield beyond the wall in left and a cemetery out past the right field wall. There’s Wally, selling beer and autographing his own baseball cards. How ya gonna turn that down?

21. 
    21: Bellweather Johnson said at 12:07 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I LOVE the mention of writing letters for autographs!!

    I believe that this is the best blog around because EVERYBODY (baseball fan and non-baseball fan alike) can find something in every entry that they can relate to. I remember pixiefood and old trips to the ballpark, and I live and die with every Banny start. Point is, with everything that I relate to in this blog, and it is a lot, nothing has hit me like writing teams for autographs. Maybe there are deeper reasons for this, and maybe they would come out better if I were laying on a couch, but I would not have remembered ever doing that if you hadn’t mentioned it; I had, for one reason or another, completely blocked that out of my memory banks…and, wow…you couldn’t be more right on about it’s importance.

    I remember Sports Illustrated for Kids printing the addresses for every single Major League team in the back of one of their issues. My brother and I both sent not only hand-written letters to our favorite players on each team, but their baseball cards as well; hoping to recieve it back with a signature included. As far as I remember, we got two responses:

    1.) A stock head shot from the Baltimore Orioles of Cal Ripken with an autograph that my friend swore was printed on, and not actually signed (I think he was jealous).

    2.) A baseball card with an in-pen autograph from none other than Tim Raines. I remember being an Expos fan for a good two months after that one.

    The best autograph that I ever got, though, was a football one. When I first moved to KC, I joined a football team with a kid whose dad worked for the Chiefs. Because of this, we got to practice one night in the indoor practice facility, and were treated with a surprise appearance, speech, photo opp and autograph from Derrick Thomas. Awesome…except the only thing that we had for him to sign was a small kid-sized University of Illinois football that my little brother had brought along to amuse himself with. So I had an Illini (hey, at least it wasn’t Auburn, right??) football that, over the next few years, we played with in the backyard and promptly smugged off the signature of the defensive player of his generation.

22. 
    22: Jeremy said at 12:19 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    In 2000 or 2001, before the dot-com bust had finished busting, I was invited to be a guest in Macromedia’s luxury box at Pacific Bell Park. As it happened, that box was right next to Willie Mays’ box, and I repeatedly looked over to see if I could catch a glimpse of the Giant legend. He didn’t seem to be there, though.

    After a few innings and a few free beers nature called, and as I was leaving the bathroom I held the door for a man I suddenly realized was Mays himself. I was about to speak when I realized that this guy has probably been stopped by every baseball fan who ever passed him on the street, every time, every day of his life, for the last fifty years. I figured I’d let him use the facilities in peace.

    Also on autographs… when my father was recovering from the knee injury (and subsequent primitive surgery) that would ensure he would never play Division I basketball, he wrote a letter to his childhood hero, Stan Musial. He received a personalized response, along with the signed photo that I still display in my living room. They say that the Man has never refused an autograph request, and I’m inclined to believe.

23. 
    23: Mike said at 12:21 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Might be easier to say if you haven’t been refused an autograph, but every time someone refuses to sign for you, they’re teaching you at least one lesson. And you get to choose which.

24. 
    24: Buchholz Surfer said at 12:23 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    More than just not understanding autographs, in my opinion they are a big symptom of what’s wrong with sports.

    Autographs are all about idolizing people, every one of whom is human and flawed, just like the rest of us. They’re about holding humans up as heroes– idealizing the person, not the person’s achievements.

    Idealizing a person is never about reality, it’s just creating a myth, and that myth will be shattered sooner or later. And then the idealized person will be the one blamed for the shattering of that myth, when they were not the ones who had anything to do with it in the first place.

    Why does someone want an autograph? To prove that they had an interaction with a famous person. Why do you need proof of such a thing? Do your friends and family think you’re a liar? Or would you forget this interaction if you didn’t have a signature on a piece of paper to remind you of it? If so, then maybe the interaction didn’t have that much meaning to you in the first place.

    I realize that people are going to want autographs, because that’s how people are. They impress each other with autographs, or sell the autographs to idiots who spend money on them. But is anyone really impressed when a friend shows them an autograph? Or put it this way, are you more impressed than you would be if they just told the story of meeting a famous person but they didn’t have an autograph to back it up and “prove” it to you? I guess the answer is yes, people are apparently more impressed if there is an autograph to back up the story of someone’s brief interaction with a relatively famous person. I don’t get it, and I don’t want to get it.

    But since people are this way and probably going to stay this way, the best response to the autograph thing I ever heard of is Steve Martin’s. He apparently used to carry around business cards that say something along the lines of “This is to certify that you have had a personal interaction with myself. You found me to be handsome, courteous, and incredibly amusing. Have a nice day. Steve Martin.” And he’d hand them out rather than sign autographs. That at least is funny and easier on him, and more interesting than a scribble on a paper.

25. 
    25: Eric said at 12:27 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    When I was between about 8 and14 (late 60s early 70s) I wrote to every team in all 4 pro sports (including the AFL, the ABA, the World Football League, and the World Hockey Association):

    Dear [Team]:
    I am a fan of your team. (sort of a white lie). I would appreciate it very much if you could please send me stickers, decals, photographs or any other souvenirs.
    Thank you,

    Me.

    Over the years, I received a pile–a large pile–of stuff. I still have a lot of it, including such oddities as a team photo from the 1974 Memphis Southmen (WFL–Kiick, Csonka, Warfield), or a fake-autographed picture of Bob Netolicky and Louis Dampier.

    My mother always said they responded because i said “thank you” & “please.”

26. 
    26: Marshall said at 12:51 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    When I was 10 or so I was Sparky Anderson’s paperboy. At the time, Mr. Anderson was the coach of the Detroit Tigers, and Cecil Fielder was a star.

    My friend told me that his grandpa was friends with Mr. Anderson, and we felt that collectively we had a connection, and we decided to leverage that connection.

    We bought a couple Cecil Fielder cards, went to Sparky’s house, and knocked on the door. Sparky’s daughter answered, and informed us that Sparky was in Detroit (it was midseason, and we were in Southern California). She politely took our cards, and gave us paper to write out our request.

    We never saw those cards again. Strangely, I don’t harbor any of the same resentment that was mentioned by others who have been spurned for an autograph.

27. 
    27: K Smith said at 1:04 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Joe – I would be worried about that vodka bottle outlasting you once your kids get to high school or college. If you never drink it, they can replace it with water and you would never know.

28. 28: Writing To Reach You « The Brannan Blog said at 1:25 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    [...] To Reach You Interesting that these two pieces hit the Internets today. First, Joe Posnanski writes about autographs, mentioning how he sent letters to players and teams as a kid. Then, former player Doug Glanville [...]

29. 
    29: Craig said at 1:34 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    If an athlete signs 1,000 autographs for 6 hours straight and refuses the 1,001st request, he is instantaneously labeled a bad guy and that fan has a sour taste for the rest of his life.

    I don’t get it. We don’t KNOW these people. I hate Barry Bonds with all my heart, but I don’t know anything about his personal life (though I imagine that he has a stable of puppies he likes to kick). I worship Tom Brady but I guarantee there are hundreds of people that he’s pissed off at chance encounters away from the spotlight.

    So for everyone to say “I asked for Player X’s autograph and he said no so he’s obviously the biggest jerk in the history of mankind”, take it easy. For your bad experience, I bet there are hundreds of great experiences where the same Player X made someone else’s day.

30. 
    30: gogiggs said at 1:37 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    My autograph story: Back in the late ’70s my brother and I used to go spend summers with our father in Oklahoma City. We went to lots of OKC ‘89ers games because my father loves baseball and because there was precious little to do in OKC (although the Cowboy Hall of Fame was actually pretty cool).

    The stands in the OKC ballpark didn’t go much past the bases on either side. On the right field side were the dressing rooms, which were cinderblock buildings that resembled larger versions of public park restrooms. On the left field side was a hill, with picnic tables at the top, where kids would spend the game sliding down on flattened cardboard boxes. I discovered that there was a space between the outfield wall and the chain link fence that surrounded the park that was only blocked by a gate that was maybe 4 feet high and, if you hopped that gate, you could go across the field, behind the outfield wall, and emerge in the dressing room area.

    This knowledge paid off at the annual exhibition against the parent club, at that time the Philadelphia Phillies. I took a foul ball that my brother and I had recovered at a game earlier that year, waited until about the 5th inning (i think), then hopped the fence and headed to the dressing rooms.

    The first player I encountered was Tug McGraw, who was headed to the showers. He came back out of the dressing room (I had the guts to hop the fence, I didn’t have the guts to go into the dressing room) to sign the ball for me. Then I headed over to the area along the baseline where most of the Phillies stars were. They had mostly played 3-4 innings then come out of the game and were standing along the fence to watch the rest.

    It was awesome. There were all sorts of people crowded up to the fence at the end of the stands, leaning over, holding out pieces of paper and asking for autographs and there I was, standing in the middle of all the players.

    I spotted Mike Schmidt, finishing up a postgame snack and asked him to sign. He said he’d be happy to, but his hands were full so I was going to have to finish his dessert for him. He drove a tough bargain! Before I was done I had Garry Maddox, Larry Bowa, Dave Cash and a few other guys (Lonnie Smith and Keith Moreland signed, but I’m pretty sure they were still actually playing for OKC and signed another time). The only guy I asked who wouldn’t sign was Pete Rose (but I can’t really feel too bitter, I had no business being where I was).

    Of course, later that summer my brother took the ball out and played with it, so it got all scuffed up and dirty, but I still have it and I can still make out some of the signatures.

31. 
    31: JOSH said at 1:44 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    When I was six, my dad and I played hooky (the last time I can remember my father deliberately missing an day of work to have fun with one of his kids) and drove an hour east to Milwaukee to catch a Brewers-Tigers game. I was plenty excited about it. Old County Stadium was the eyesore of eyesores, the herpetic blister of ballparks, an ugly, cavernous, outmoded, smelly hulk of a park…but I loved it nonetheless, loved it in the way I loved my 1989 maroon Mercury sable station wagon, with its burgundy interior and mystery stains on the back seats, before my parents made me donate it to charity for a tax writeoff.

    Anyway, the park was great, and on top of that, two of my all-time favorite players were participating: Robin Yount and Cecil Fielder. Yount, of course, was deep into his HOF career, only 500 hits from the magic 3k mark, and he could still rake. For his part, Fielder was still merely rotund, and was infamous in Milliwaukay for a prodigious blast the year before which flew 525 feet and left the ballpark to the left of dead center.

    Yount, if I remember correctly, went 1-3. Fielder had no hits but walked twice. The Crew won, though I can’t recall the score. The only thing about the day that really stands out in my mind took place after the game, when my father and I walked down to the home dugout to try and get autographs. Every player was walking off the field, save one, who was surrounded by a clutch of other kids with their parents. This excited me beyond comprehension. There was only ONE Brewer willing to sign autographs; ipso facto, this was the MOST IMPORTANT player on the team, and not getting his signature on a piece of my clothing would have been a terrible mistake. At that moment, I needed this man’s autograph more than anything in the world. I scampered over to the lone ballplayer, waited impatiently until it was my turn, and then–without knowing who he was–thrust the bottom of my white tee-shirt in his face. He smiled, signed it, and moved on to the next kid.

    I was barely literate at the time, and reading the signature upside-down at the bottom of my shirt was proving difficult, so I asked my father to read it for me. He stared at it for a moment, then mouthed the words silently. He smiled. “What, what?” I cried. “Tell me who it is!” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it,” he said. And to this day, I still recall hearing my father saying the words, and staring down at the bottom of my shirt, and matching the inky squiggles to the name they represented. Paul. Molitor.

    Just kidding. It was Dale Sveum. And he was terrible.

32. 
    32: Jason said at 1:46 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I remember clearly the thrill I received when I had written Jim Abbott and got an autographed picture back. I think I still have it. That was quite a feeling that I don’t know you can recapture as an adult (would that make it a pixifeeling?)

33. 
    33: Joe M. said at 1:52 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    One time after a Dodger game in the mid-1990’s, my friend and I hung out outside the players’ parking lot to see who drove what and to let traffic thin out. Some Dodger employee came jogging out to the chain-link fence, pointed at me and yelled “The line for Reggie Smith autographs starts here. I was in my early 20’s and didn’t care about autographs, so I just stepped two feet to the side and let everybody else line up. I ended up talking to him for about 10 minutes, which was cooler than an autograph would have been.

34. 
    34: Char said at 2:01 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    For a time in October 2004, I felt like I was the only Mark Bellhorn supporter in the world. While it seemed every other Red Sox fan was screaming for his head, I kept saying “He’s going to be a hero. You just watch.”

    In November 2004, Bellhorn did an autograph signing nearby. I had never in my life paid for an autograph (nor asked for one, for that matter), but I HAD to go. Not so much to get the autograph, but to shake his hand, say thank you, and tell him I believed in him.

    And I did. And the smile on his face, the touch of his hand, the sparkle in his eyes were priceless. I cherish the photo he signed for me, but even more, I cherish the fact that for a moment, I was able to reciprocate some of the joy he’d given to a longtime Red Sox fan.

35. 
    35: Craig said at 2:08 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Mark Bellhorn was one of the more underrated players in baseball in 2004 but also made me want to strangle him 90% of the time.

    Then he hit the opposite-field HR in Game 6 of the ALCS, the late HR in Game 7 (I still remember that the sideline reporter interviewed some donkey named Ed Hillel who swore it was foul despite video evidence proving the exact opposite with no second thought), the tie-breaking HR off of Julian Tavarez in Game 1 of the Series, and the two-run double in Game 2, and all was forgiven.

    Although he really sucked the next year as well.

36. 
    36: Matt in NC said at 2:11 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I wrote to hundreds of players when I was around the ages of 8-12, which would be the early ’90’s. Although probably 90% never responded, I was able to forget them and instead I became a big fan of the ones who did. I purposely chose non-stars to increase my chances, but I know Doug Drabek and David Cone did sign. I didn’t have a Don Mattingly card, so I just sent a piece of paper. Donnie sent me back 2 signed photos in an envelope with a return address of his house in Evansville, Indiana. I’ll never forget that.
    I haven’t added to my collection since about ‘95, but I still look at it once in a while and return to those magical pre-pubescent days.

37. 
    37: Darren said at 2:13 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    What Buchholz Surfer said. The pursuit of autographs makes me sad – sad for the kids who chase them (although being disappointed by someone you built into a myth is certainly a rite of passage), sadder for the adults who chase them (they really should be beyond building people into myths, and they damn sure shouldn’t be trying to make money off of a few strokes of a pen), saddest most of all for the high-profile professional athletes who have no choice but to sign every last piece of paper, ball, etc. for EVERYONE or risk crushing some poor kid and busting the myth he’s created out of you. And I know it goes with the territory, and high-paid athletes earn their large salaries in large part because kids and adults make myths out of them…but do you think Mickey Mantle was a happy guy in the years described by the portrait Joe has just painted? Or Willie Mays? And what does it say about us that a scribble on a piece of paper – a scribble that testifies to nothing more than the fact that you were in the same place at the same time as another flesh-and-blood human being just like you – comes to mean so much to us? Are our lives really that bereft of meaning?

38. 
    38: john m t said at 2:25 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Hey Joe and the gang
    I was watching the All Star pregame with my eight year old son. I told him about meeting some of the HOFers when I was a boy in St. Louis. I met Bob Gibson and Lou Brock and have their autographs on baseballs. I also met Willie Mays. It was 1981, just before I started college. I worked at Six Flags outside of St. Louis. Willie was there (happily) signing autographs. I showed my autograph to a girl that I wanted to date and ended up giving it to her as she couldn’t leave her work station (she never dated me). I went back for another autograph and Willie was gone. I RAN through the park and caught him at the exit. I told my story. He had a good laugh and signed again. My impression was, and is, that he is a great man.

39. 
    39: Matt in NC said at 2:26 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Wow, Darren. Can I ask what immensely meaningful tasks you are involved in which will doubtless lead to a world of harmony and prosperity and perpetual bliss?
    I guess what I was trying to show in my post above was that kids aren’t always disappointed, sometimes going to a ballpark and getting a few autographs can be exhilarating in a way that only a kid can experience.
    Even if a signature itself is only a “scribble that testifies to nothing more than the fact that you were in the same place at the same time as another flesh-and-blood human being” the deeper meaning is that you can hold and look at something that this other human being also held. I felt the same way as a child when I saw Abraham Lincoln’s desk in a museum, now it probably wouldn’t strike me in quite the same way. It’s a connection with someone you look up to as a child, which admittedly loses that meaning when the child grows up.

40. 
    40: Rick Bender said at 2:34 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I’ve never been much for autographs, but one summer I did buy three at a team auction to help raise money for a college summer league team, and it was an odd assortment — Frank White, Frank Thomas and Lou Piniella. Even stranger was the fact that Piniella’s autograph cost the most because I was in central Ohio and he was the manager of the Reds then, the summer after the Red won the World Series.

    When I was a kid, I was too shy to ask for autographs. I remember one game at Old Comiskey, an old-timers game was going on, and afterwards, my sister was the one who went to get some autographs. The notebook she got the autographs in has long since disappeared, but I remember three distinctly, and it was another odd assortment — Lou Brock, Manny Sanguillen and Chris Short.

    I do have a couple other autographs on baseballs, one being Derek Jeter (Mark Newman, the Yankees director of player development, has a step-daughter who is the wife of one of my college teammates and she got the autograph for me once when Jeter was having dinner at their house), the other being Javy Lopez, which I got for my wife and it reads, “To Mitze, my most adoring fan – Javy Lopez.” I asked him to include “and most adorable,” but he wouldn’t go for it!

41. 
    41: Joe said at 2:34 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    On the one hand, the general public needs to recognize that players get asked all the time and not to take it personally when they are rebuffed for an autograph.

    At the same time, I wish more athletes would remember this: it might be the millionth time they’ve had to talk to a fan. But to the fan, it’s the first – and probably only – time they get to talk to their idol.

42. 
    42: Jake said at 2:40 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Hey, if it was my wedding every day, at least I’d get laid…

43. 
    43: The Murph said at 2:41 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    There’s a pic on the Baltimore Sun website of Josh Hamilton speaking to Willie Mays during the introductions, so perhaps the FOX camera didn’t stay on the scene long enough to show the 2 of them interacting. See photo here:

    http://www.baltimoresun.com/topic/ny-0k440pys20080716111724,0,4007571.photo

44. 
    44: Ricky said at 2:49 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    2,066 votes as of 3:50 CST on Thursday. And it’s TIED.

45. 
    45: Damon Rutheford said at 2:51 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Close the poll right now! A perfect and fitting tie.

46. 
    46: Justin said at 2:55 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with a kid asking for an autograph. If you’re a kid and you meet someone famous, I don’t see the harm in wanting to have a memento of the meeting (or proof that you had that meeting, since celebrities have a sort of sheen about them that makes it seem so improbable that an everyday kid could EVER meet them, at least when you’re young and relatively unjaded.)

    As an adult, I certainly wouldn’t ask for one, though if someone else wants to do so, I’m not going to look down on them (unless they’re just looking to turn around and sell it). There are worse hobbies someone could have.

    I will say that I hope to instill in my kids the idea that celebrities are just normal people. I don’t want to remove any of the sense of awe that kids should have when it comes to certain things, but I also don’t want them to get into hero worship and I don’t want them to wind up overly upset when their favourite player jumps at a big-money contract elsewhere, gets busted for PEDs or otherwise winds up being tarnished in my kids’ minds.

    Oh, and I still think Frank Robinson’s a jerk. As I mentioned, it’s not because he wouldn’t sign my baseball; it’s because he wouldn’t so much as make eye contact and had one of his aides reply when I asked for an autograph. Maybe I’m overly naive or optimistic, but don’t I think it’s ridiculous to expect someone to acknowledge a kid’s existence when they address you. I certainly hope I never become too embittered to act like a decent human being toward children.

47. 
    47: Scott de B. said at 3:19 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    “Why does someone want an autograph? To prove that they had an interaction with a famous person. Why do you need proof of such a thing? Do your friends and family think you’re a liar? Or would you forget this interaction if you didn’t have a signature on a piece of paper to remind you of it?”

    Because objects have powerful symbolic meaning, especially if they are associated with a memorable event. They help recreate the experience, and provide a tangible connection to times past. I’m surprised that someone wouldn’t understand this, at least at an intellectual level, since it’s a basic human instinct. That’s why people take souvenirs home (consider the etymology of that word!), travel thousands of miles to touch holy relics, and keep mementos of their younger days. Objects can have a hugely important symbolic meaning.

48. 
    48: Kyle K said at 3:55 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I’m baffled by that people who responded to this post, just to judge other people for wanting an autograph. I’m not an autograph hound by any means, but I can’t believe that someone would begrudge anyone a moment of childlike happiness. It doesn’t have to be hero-worship, or deifying the autographee…and it certainly isn’t the downfall of society.

    It’s a lark, and if it can brighten someone’s day…and there is nothing wrong with that.

49. 
    49: Joe said at 3:58 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    When I was a kid, I wrote letters for autographs. My goals were more directed, as I wrote to players named Joe since we shared a name. IF I remember correctly, it was my grandfather who put the idea in my head, though my parents certainly encouraged it.

    I wrote to Joe Ferguson (I’m a Dodger fan), Joe Morgan, and Joe DiMaggio. Sent them all off (not even sure how we figured out where to send DiMaggio’s).

    I remember the thrill of opening the mail and seeing a 8 x 10 action photo of Joe Ferguson with his signature on it. As Joe mentioned, it is a great feeling to see your effort rewarded in that way.

    I even got a DiMaggio signed picture, and supposedly he rarely signed autographs. If that’s true, it will make you all sad to know that I lost it somewhere along the line, probably in a move. I do remember it was a shot of him in what I think was the clubhouse. In his uniform, but in my memory clearly looking like it was after a game and he was drenched in sweat.

    I never got anything from Joe Morgan. Joe – I don’t know what current projects you’re working on, since you are usually so secretive about them. But if, for any reason, one of those projects give you occasion to talk to Joe Morgan, maybe you could hook me up with an autograph. You know, if you happen to be talking to Joe Morgan about anything you’re working on.

50. 
    50: McKingford said at 4:33 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I can remember getting packets of stickers from teams like the Blue Jays

    A buddy of mine organizes a charity golf tournament every year; not very big, just 2 or 3 dozen guys. It’s an excuse to get out of town for the weekend. He works pretty hard at it, and does a fantastic job of getting together some great donations for door prizes.

    Well, one year he wrote the Blue Jays asking for stuff (tickets hopefully) to be donated. They sent a 5×7 inch photo of Billy Koch (non-autographed), as well as a letter asking for an “in-kind” tax receipt for $75.

    My buddy was never sure what to be more offended at: the fact that all they sent was a picture of Billy Koch, that they asked for a receipt, or that they valued the picture at $75…

51. 
    51: Johnny said at 4:38 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    “Close the poll right now! A perfect and fitting tie.”

    Bud Selig says there is no provision for a tie.

52. 
    52: Craig said at 4:41 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I mistakenly referenced the famous Ed Hillel in an earlier comment by equating him to a Mark Bellhorn home run. A fellow blog reader informed me that Mr. Hillel made his brilliant remarks in the 2003 ALCS off of a Todd Walker home run. I hereby ban myself from commenting for 24 hours.

53. 
    53: Micah said at 4:48 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I’ve never cared too much for autographs, nor have I tried particularly hard to get them. The closest I ever got to getting a star’s autograph is when I was working as a camp counselor at Camp Chewonki in southern Maine a few years ago. I’m a die-hard Red Sox fan, and so’s my friend Steve (a fellow counselor), so we went and caught a couple of Portland Sea Dogs games that summer (Portland being Boston’s AA affiliate). This was before the Josh Beckett trade, and the biggest star on that team was Hanley Ramirez. He came out to sign autographs before the game, and Josh and I joined a decent-sized crowd at the fence, but a team meeting was called and he had to go, with the two of us a few rows back. Now that he’s gone onto superstardom, I rather wish he’d stuck around for a bit, but so it goes.

    That actually isn’t my closest brush with a great athlete, though. I went to college at Harvey Mudd in Claremont, CA, which meant I took a lot of cross-country flights back and forth from my home in MA, and most of these involved a stopover. One time, I was stuck in the Dallas airport for an hour and a half. I was bored out of my skull, couldn’t find anything good to eat, and out of reading material, so I wandered into an airport bookstore to browse the shelves. I was standing there, flipping through Steven King’s book on the 2004 Red Sox season, when I happened to glance to my left. Standing right next to me, browsing the shelves, were Nomar Garciaparra and Mia Hamm.

    I almost dropped the book, I was so surprised. I mean, of all the completely random places to run into one of your childhood heroes, an airport bookstore in Dallas is pretty high up on the list. Surprisingly, I didn’t really think too much about asking for an autograph. For one, I didn’t have anything on me to autograph – I was flying back to Massachusetts with a bunch of crap from college, and none of it was baseball related. Two, if I had something, it was probably going to be 2004-related – like the book in my hands – and it felt kind of cruel to ask Nomar to sign anything related to that given the fact that his midseason trade was a key part of the eventual championship team.

    So instead, after working up the courage, I got his attention with a soft “hey, Nomar?” in order not to draw larger amounts of attention to a couple that was clearly just waiting for their next plane. When he responded, I thanked him for all the great years he gave us in Boston, told him his walk-off HR in Fenway was still the best baseball moment I’d ever seen in person, and shook his hand. He was extremely nice and polite about everything. I wished Mia good luck with her retirement, wished Nomar good luck with everything, and left them alone.

    I probably could have gotten him to sign something, but I have no regrets at all – and every time I see Nomar on TV, even though he’s long removed from the days when he was a young man spraying line drives all over Fenway, I smile.

54. 
    54: Steve said at 6:17 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I only have one autograph displayed prominently in my room; I got it at Game 4 of the 1997 World Series from Jim Eisenreich. As a kid with Tourette’s who played little league, I obviously knew who Eisenreich was and was excited to meet him. After my father told him my story, he was more than happy to chat with us for a good 5 minutes, even though I told him rather frankly (in the way children will) that I wasn’t going to be rooting for him during the game.

    The ball says “To Steve,

    Even if you aren’t rooting for me, I’ll always be rooting for you.

    Your friend,

    Jim Eisenreich”

    That’s the only autograph I treasure, and I’m pretty sure I always will.

55. 
    55: John K said at 6:41 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    My letter writing story. In 1981, I was in 4th grade living in a suburb of Detroit and I wrote to all my favorite players on the Tigers. Nobody responded. Months later, I was in the local mall and I saw Alan Trammell, one of my idols, and, I think, Richie Hebner answering questions from a crowd near the food court. I dragged my Mom to the players and frantically waved my arm to ask a question. The emcee of the event said, “OK, one last question. How about this little guy?” I ran up to the microphone and stammered, “I wrote you a letter months ago. Why haven’t you answered yet?” Alan Trammell looked genuinely flustered – I still remember the look on his face, probably because I had never thought of Alan Trammell as an actual human. Some lady who was with them stepped up to the microphone and said, “You should contact the front office. They will help you out.” Then a rush of activity, applause, and they were gone. And still no reply for me.

56. 
    56: jwb said at 6:49 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    “What years did you write for Beckett? My years of collecting went from 1990 -1992 or 3 and I’m sure I read some of your stuff! Any URLs you could throw our way?”

    My guess would be right before Beckett’s death in 1989. Joe was probably working on a sequel to the poem “What is the Word” with a working title “What is the Asterisk.”

    “Mr. Robinson doesn’t sign autographs.”

    Frank Robinson was well-known for not signing autographs when he was with the Reds. I read somewhere that when he was traded to the Orioles they made a big deal of telling him, “We sign autographs here. You will too.” I’ve got one; I got it when I was about 10. But it’s probably just because you’re Canadian.

    “’Your next game, you hit one out for old Buck.’ Then he winked.”

    And other people are really good at being heroes to kids. Seems like Jim Eisenreich’s another.

57. 
    57: Bill C. said at 7:31 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    I have never gotten an autograph, nor tried. I just don’t see the appeal. I get the appeal of memorabilia. The actual ball that rolled through Buckner’s legs or that cleared the fence for #715. Those are cultural artifacts. But I don’t see why anyone would care if someone signed their name on a ball or a piece of paper? Really, who gives a bleep? Is it just because it’s proof that you were in the same room as someone famous?

    The only autographs I have ever had, were on the same baseball, which the woman with the season ticket next to mine at Shea Stadium in the late 80s gave to me. Randy Myers and Dave Magadan had signed it. And I was a polite 14-year old kid so I said thank you and I put in one of those plastic ball holders.

    And the next time my friends and I were playing ball and hit one where we couldn’t find it and I needed a ball, I ran home and got that one out of the plastic case. And eventually we hit that one where we couldn’t find it and that was the end of my one and only autographed baseball.

58. 
    58: Zach said at 9:31 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Hey, another Mudder!

    If you’d been at Mudd a few years earlier, and worked over the summer, you could have seen Mia. They practiced at the Claremont colleges when the Women’s World Cup was being held in the US.

59. 
    59: John said at 9:45 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Reading this post made me think of the a blog post I read from last year written by the “non-prospect” Dirk Hayhurst — if you haven’t read it previously I suggest it is worth a read:

    http://www.baseballamerica.com/today/minors/features/264668.html

60. 
    60: John said at 9:56 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    And a very timely piece on fan mail from Doug Glanville:

    http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/17/opinion/17glanvillefans.html?pagewanted=1

61. 
    61: Andy said at 10:16 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    What is this group’s view on adults collecting baseball cards. I collected them in my youth (late 60s, early-mid 70s) and still have thousands and thousands of them (now neatly organized). But I stopped when other things started to interest me more (girls, music), resumed a number of years later (late 80s) but got turned off by the multiple number of brands (Donruss, Score).

    My brother was the autograph guy. He would send those small yellow and brown HOF plaques with personalized letters to the home addresses of the retired players and just about all of them responded, from the best know (Feller, Koufax, Dickey, Ford) to the unknown (George Kelly, Stan Coveleski, Jesse Haines). Of course, this was before it became a big business.

    Brings make memories.

62. 
    62: Micah said at 10:21 pm on July 17th, 2008:

    Zach: Did they? Neat! I worked there over the summer in 2006, but that’s the only year (I’m working in LA now). I always liked her, and so did my sister (no surprise there).

63. 
    63: Sal Paradise said at 12:31 am on July 18th, 2008:

    More than just not understanding autographs, in my opinion they are a big symptom of what’s wrong with sports.

    Autographs are all about idolizing people, every one of whom is human and flawed, just like the rest of us. They’re about holding humans up as heroes– idealizing the person, not the person’s achievements.

    Idealizing a person is never about reality, it’s just creating a myth, and that myth will be shattered sooner or later. And then the idealized person will be the one blamed for the shattering of that myth, when they were not the ones who had anything to do with it in the first place.

    Nobody is saying that they aren’t flawed. It’s about meeting someone who represents something to you, for right or for wrong.

    When I came to Japan in 2003, I couldn’t speak the language, I didn’t know anyone, and I was alone, with a new job, a new apartment, a new country, a new language, and it was hard. My job ended really early in the day, so I didn’t have much to do, I didn’t have internet set up, and I couldn’t understand TV. Baseball started from 6pm (which is also when bars opened) so I had to entertain myself after exhausting my supply of reading materials.

    I came in August, and found sumo on TV in September. I found myself watching because, even if I couldn’t understand the complex rules or the announcers, it was easy to tell who won (most of the time), and I started watching.

    The person who really caught my attention was the yet unknown Kotooshuu, a 6′8 Bulgarian wrestler in the lower ranks. He could hardly speak the language either, and he had come only a half year before me (though I didn’t learn that until later), and I felt some sort of a connection to him just through circumstance and my work schedule.

    Compared to other athletes, sumo wrestlers are very very easy to see up close. In some tournaments (like Osaka) they enter through the front door and get mobbed by fans, photo-takers and supporters. The lower ranked wrestlers in particular are easy to see, as they don’t get a chauffeured car and end up taking the train to the venue during tournaments.

    Kotooshuu was one of a kind. Standing in at a svelte 130 kg (286 pounds or so) when he first came into the top division, he was popular with the women. His sumo was absolutely dominant due to his long reach, and he had yet to lose a tournament when he first came up. Eventually he challenged the record to quickest championship with the chance to become the quickest by over a year (an incredible feat).

    To say the least, he became horribly popular, and while I had been watching him for over a year when he was almost unknown by normal fans (only because large white guys are easy to pick out in sumo), he was overwhelmed by fans wherever he went.

    In 2005, I got to meet him when I went to see his morning practice. He told me he’d never met a foreigner who was so humble (literal translation: low lower back, probably has to do with bowing) as I was awestruck. After all, he’s a huge guy who I’d been following for years talking to me and giving me advice on where to find shoes my size.

    In 2006, I ended up in a hot spring bath with him, a single Japanese guy, and 5 French exchange students. We communicated in Japanese (our only shared language) and just chatted for a bit.

    It’s now 2008, he won his first tournament in May, he’s started a blog, I’ve discovered his Japanese is now worse than mine, and he may make the highest rank in sumo.

    But to me, he’s the young guy bumbling about in Japanese on the TV when I didn’t understand anything other than that he was someone going through much what I was. Hero worship? Not quite. The power of sports to signify something so much bigger than what it is.

64. 
    64: GRAPHITE said at 5:39 am on July 18th, 2008:

    Luckily, in the context of this discussion, I never became a sports star. Had I done so, I too would have been an autograph refuser.

    I say this because my signature has its genesis in the days when I first learned joined-up writing, back in the 1950s; in that pre-ballpoint time when pens were wooden sticks with steel nibs attached. Adding to the discomfort, these were dipped into a brackish blackish concoction obviously prepared from an abattoir outflow pipe.

    In that era teachers had the bearing and authority of drill sergeants and subsequently there was only one way to render capital Gs and Ds — each letter looking like a map of the Watkins Glen race track, with a few extra curves thrown in.

    All in all, getting your name on paper was a daunting task. It was to me anyway.

    Fifty-plus years later it still takes me something like a minute and a half to get the thing down; forty seconds of that taken up by pre-planning the surname’s D.

    Maybe, just maybe, those old-timers aren’t rude at all. Perhaps they’re just embarrassed . . . as I know I would be.

65. 
    65: Matt said at 6:35 am on July 18th, 2008:

    Joe, and everyone, you might be interested: there are 20 varieties of pencils: 1b thru 9b, and 1h thru 9h. “H” stands for “hard,” and 9h is the hardest (commonly known as “mechanical pencils”). “B,” naturally, stands for “soft.” (maybe it’s from another language?) In between the Hs and Bs, there are 2 other varieties, the HB (the neutral of pencils) and the F (I have no idea).

    The number 2 is roughly equivalent to the HB, in the same way I where a 40 shoe in England. It is not an improvement over the number 1–the #1 pencil is just too hard to quickly fill in those little circles quickly, but the #3 would smudge too easy.

    The variety of pencils are for artists, of course, and they all have their purpose.

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Number_2_pencil#Grading_.26_classification

66. 
    66: Matt said at 6:37 am on July 18th, 2008:

    OK, so I used “their” and “too” properly, but screwed up “wear” and “easily.” I spent too much time doodling with the 6Bs in English class.

67. 
    67: Buchholz Surfer said at 9:13 am on July 18th, 2008:

    Sal Paradise,

    That’s a great story.

    But I don’t see what it’s got to do with autographs. You took a bath with that guy! That’s so much more meaningful and memorable (talk about intimate encounters) than getting his signature on a scrap of paper, and a better story than any autograph story.

68. 
    68: Glen said at 9:20 am on July 18th, 2008:

    I caught a foul ball hit by Hal McRae at Royals Stadium on the night when they lost the game, but clinched their first division title (due to an A’s loss) in 1976. I was six years old and vaguely remember a streaker during the late innings and players (my dad says Rojas and Patek) swimming in the water spectacular in celebration. I got the ball signed the following winter at the little bank in my hometown when McRae and others were there for those promotional trips they used to make out into the middle of nowhere. That’s still my favorite autograph…because, as you all have mentioned, the story matters.

    As an adult, I had the good fortune to sit with my dad directly behind home plate for a Royals game on a night when Planet Appier was truly unhittable. In the midst of this performance, I recognized Buck sitting in what I came to find out was his customary seat a couple rows back. About the third time I walked past him in between innings I stopped just to shake his hand and thank him for representing KC so well. I didn’t ask for an autograph. He invited me to sit with him (it was then, as now, a very empty stadium) and watch a half-inning. I sat, talked very little, listened intently, and enjoyed a summer night of baseball for a few minutes with him. Better than an autograph.

69. 
    69: Creston said at 12:04 pm on July 18th, 2008:

    “Imagine that — having it be your wedding day. Forever.”

    Is there cake? If so, sign me up!

70. 
    70: Creston said at 12:16 pm on July 18th, 2008:

    “Numerous people have wondered if Mays snubbed Hamilton, and maybe he did, I obviously don’t know.”

    I’ve heard several people report that Willie just didn’t notice someone was tapping him on the shoulder, and that once the camera was moved away, he turned around and talked with Josh for a little bit.

    Their guess is as good as yours, but I don’t think he snubbed him.

71. 
    71: Sparky said at 4:02 pm on July 18th, 2008:

    I got hit in the face by a foulball off Aramis Ramirez’ bat last year, and by sheer luck, instead of bouncing off elsewhere into the stands it fell right into my lap. I’ve been trying to get his autograph on it but maybe he’d consider it an admission of liability. Still has my blood on it.

72. 
    72: Mark H said at 5:59 pm on July 18th, 2008:

    Couple of thoughts….

    Shared the “wedding day” bit with the Mrs., as proof of why I spend so much time reading this Blog.

    Got to see the Royals in Baltimore a few weeks ago. Billy Butler was signing autographs, not drawing much of a crowd, and I wlked over, borrowed a sharpie, and had him sign my New Era cap. I thought about not wearing the cap, but I now wear it with pride… I’m not only a fan, but I’ve got a signed cap. How cool is THAT. It made my night (along with Olivo’s 9th inning HR) At the same time, my son (the Yankee fan) got a BP ball, and got Ron Mahay to sign it, and he turned out to be the winning pitcher! So we both got a good memory to take home.

    One last signature story… My son send a brand new ball to Derek Jeter for his signature. Just like my “hero”growing up was Brett, his is Jeter. We packed the ball up nice, included a nice letter (which I helped him with to make sure it sounded good) and we even included a return label and postage to send the ball back with. That was 2 seasons ago, and we still haven’t seen the ball. The least they could do is send the darn thing back so we could play catch with it

73. 
    73: McKingford said at 8:37 pm on July 18th, 2008:

    You know, I really love reading this blog. I also love the comments. Reading the blog is like the best steak dinner you ever had, and the comments are like a fine ice cream.

74. 
    74: Minda said at 1:10 am on July 19th, 2008:

    I like all the comments too, especially the ones about Buck!

    I never understand what motivates all the guys I see at work, who come to games 2 hours early every day to get autographs from all the AAA players, nor do I understand the people who buy those ‘graphs and create such a market for it. That’s got to be annoying to players – knowing someone’s going to make a quick buck from your own name and reputation.

    But I L-O-V-E watching certain players sign for little kids. There are a few guys who always have a smile or a bit of conversation to share (along with their autograph), and I can see the kids beaming afterward as they return to their parents.

    There was a little Q&A with Terry Francona in Sports Illustrated last winter, and he mentioned that a lot of his favorite players as a kid were not the most talented ones, but the ones that were nicest to him and other kids. I definitely get that, and I see that sentiment reflected every day when I ask various kids in the crowd at O-Royals games who their favorite players are. Most of the time when I ask why they like a particular player, the kid will show me a signed ball or hat, and keep rooting with a great fervor no matter how that player performs, because of the time the player took JUST FOR THEM.

75. 
    75: Jared said at 1:59 am on July 19th, 2008:

    great article and i loved reading everyone’s posts. i’m a huge autograph collector and as a 23 year old i think i should’ve grown out of the hobby by now, but of course i haven’t yet.

    i’ve been fortunate enough to meet many sports legends and get alot of autographs. i look at the autographs as something i can give to my grandkids someday and tell them some great stories; much like my grandpa did for me.

    if autographs aren’t your thing, that’s great, but don’t knock others who love doing it. trust me, there’s far worse things people could be doing with their time than asking willie mays for an autograph

    “If the #2 pencil is the most popular, why is it still #2?”
    - George Carlin

76. 
    76: Richard Aronson said at 3:48 pm on July 19th, 2008:

    My only baseball autographs (as a kid) were kind of forced on me by my late dad, who insisted that I get my scorecards signed by Maury Wills, Don Drysdale, and Don Branca (the latter at an Old Timers game). But even though all three were in the bowels of Dodger Stadium, where there is probably some expectation of being recognized and approached, I didn’t want to bother them. I grew up in a neighborhood with some celebrities (Paul Winchell, of Winchell Mahoney ventriloquist’s show fame had the best possible entertainments on Halloween, and Clu Gulagher, across the street, brought kids in to make their own candied apples) and I figured that they had their own lives and rights to privacy. The only autograph I ever wanted was Sandy Koufax, and I never felt worthy to take his time to mail him or approach him, even though a long time ago he was married to somebody who had a cousin who was married to a cousin of mine. But I felt that somebody you treasured so much deserved being left alone.

    A couple of years ago, my mom found the official program and our two season ticket stubs from Koufax’s perfect game, filed in one of the many boxes that have taken years and years to clean out after my dad’s death. She asked me what I should do with them. They are probably worth a nice dinner or two sold on e-bay. But I started thinking, maybe Koufax would want them, maybe I should just mail them to him, even if he doesn’t want them himself he’s sure to know folks who would appreciate them. He gave us so much pleasure and pride, really helped the city’s healing process following the Watts riots, and he certainly wasn’t in the seats that night. And then I thought, maybe his house is already full of all the mementos from a lifetime around baseball and having a couple of more things would be an inconvenience. And who am I to disturb him? I still haven’t decided, and probably won’t. We also saw Vin Scully (my other big sports hero) and his family a couple of times in Woodland Hills, and I felt the same way: I’d love to chat, I’d love to have a reminder, but he’s just having dinner, and I knew he doesn’t get that much family time because of all the travel of his profession.

    I’m sorry for everybody who ever got snubbed in an autograph search. I’ve responded positively and appropriately to everybody who ever contacted me about my tiny bits of fame (designing computer games, mostly), and every kid who’s ever contacted me about a school assignment about a job they wanted got every question answered. But that’s me. my choice for myself, something that comes up maybe once a year. If I had dozens or hundreds of people needing that gratification every day, and the time I spent with them was time that I couldn’t spend with my own wife and kid, or doing the things I wanted to do or was paid to do, I’d probably stop signing altogether except at scheduled events.

77. 
    77: BeesGal said at 5:44 pm on July 19th, 2008:

    You Shouldda Seen the One the Got Away: Joe Black

    Sometime during my maiden-summer plunge into the world of baseball, I discovered The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn. And that’s how I “met” Joe Black.

    As I read about Black’s high-school days in Plainfield, NJ, memories came flooding back of my own childhood. I was one of a handful of minority kids in a conservative, predominantly blue-collar, historically anti-Jap neighborhood. I actually got a bit nauseous reading about the time Black first felt the shock of cold, hard reality being shoved right into his face.
    - – - – -
    “How come you sign up all these guys and don’t sign me?”
    The scout blinked. “Colored guys don’t play baseball.”
    “What? You crazy? You’ve seen me playing for three years.”
    “I mean Organized Baseball.”
    “This is organized. We got a coach and uniforms.”
    “I mean there’s no colored in the Big Leagues.”
    That night he took his scrapbook from a drawer and studied it. Every face, Gehrig, Ott, Waner, Derringer, the others, all were white. Without tears, Joe began to shred the book in his big hands. But before his did, he carefully clipped a picture of Hank Greenberg, crashing out a home run. He could not bear both, to have the dream dead and to have nothing, nothing at all to show from the scrapbook of his boyhood.
    (“Black is What You Make It,” The Boys of Summer, Roger Kahn, 1971)
    - – - – -
    Black was a fascinating man. And it was what he did after baseball that made him unforgettable for yours truly. Thoughtful and easygoing, he spoke about race relations with the same measured confidence he had as elite athlete. He was an usher at the funeral of Martin Luther King, Jr. He was Vice President of Special Markets (a.k.a. ethnic and cultural minorities) for the Greyhound Corporation at a time when African-Americans were still struggling to find their voices in society as a whole, much less acceptance in the ruling class of white, corporate executives. Jackie Robinson’s teammate handled executive life like he handled Game #1 of the 1952 World Series, with incredible grace under the pressure of being the “lone raisin in a pan of milk.”

    A few years after reading the book many, many times over, I took a chance. I looked up the corporate address of Greyhound. I knew Joe had long since retired; perhaps if the gods were smiling upon me, someone might know where he went. The proverbial note in a bottle sent, I promptly chalked up the experience to having at least tried.

    Several months later, a letter showed up in my mailbox with a return address I didn’t recognize. I opened it up and read the following handwritten note:

    Dear **************:
    As you know you purchased a mailing address from a collector. Greyhound Towers was demolished in 1989. A bundle of mail was forwarded to me recently and yours was included. My uniform number for the Baltimore Elite Giants was #. Thanks for the interest.

    It was unsigned. A sad reminder of how a signature will be valued more than an act of kindness. I quickly penned an enthusiastic “thank you” note and sent it to the address on the envelope. Just a couple years later, I learned of Joe Black’s death from cancer.

    Thanks Joe. Because of you, I’ll keeping trying to make the best of it. Bye for now!

78. 
    78: buckweaver said at 5:51 am on July 20th, 2008:

    >>>That’s so much more meaningful and memorable (talk about intimate encounters) than getting his signature on a scrap of paper, and a better story than any autograph story.

    Oh, I thought the Jim Eisenreich story was pretty poignant. I’m sad anybody would be so jaded that they wouldn’t feel the same way.

79. 
    79: Black Francis said at 10:42 pm on July 20th, 2008:

    Two autograph stories:

    1. Two years ago, I was in Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport with my wife and (then) 6-year old son, who I had (even then) successfully converted into a hard-core baseball fan…he knows (knew) the names of more half-of-famers than most adult men, due to his penchant for brousing the HOF website in his spare time. Anyway, I ran into Hank Aaron in the airport. He was surprisingly alone and unmolested (by crowds). I pointed him out to my son and KNEW I had to talk to him…I HAD to take a moment to approach him. So, I went to him and said something like “Mr. Aaron, I just wanted to say thank you for all you’ve done and all you’ve meant to me.” As we were already shaking hands, he took his left arm and warmly put it on my left sholder and said something like, “Thank you young man, that means a lot to hear that.” I then brought my son over and introduced him and let him shake Mr. Aaron’s hand. Then, kinda not thinking in the momemt, I grabbed my son’s Braves cap off his head and asked Mr. Aaron if he would mind signing it. He said, “I can’t do that.”

    My immediate thought was that it had something to do with some licensing agreement he had with some autograph company or something and was taken a little aback (at this point I must reiterate that NOONE it seems in the busiest airport in the world–literally (outside of O’Hare, depending on the year)–noticed him standing outside a well-marked bathroom on Concourse B, or at least noticed him to the point of wanting or needing (as I did) to stop and talk to him). Quickly, however, his real motivation for that answer dawned on me: if he fulfilled my one autograph request for my son, then the whole damn Concourse B of Hartsfield would turn into an autograph session for him. I sensed it had happened before and he refused my simple request not because he he didn’t want to, but because he’d been there before. Great, great gentleman.

    2. In the summer of 1989, I was a rising senior in high school and serving as a U.S. congressional page in D.C. (insert homosexual/pedophile joke here). On one of those oppressively hot early August D.C days, in my waning tenure of page-duties, I realized that I needed to return to the Capitol to pick up something-or-other I left (or something…I don’t even remember why I had to return after I was off work, without my Kenneth-the-page-uni). On my way there, I ran into then MLB-Commissioner Bart Giamatti, kinda standing around by himself, like he was waiting for a car to come pick him up or something…to this day, I have no idea. I aproached him with a Congressional page-appropriate greeting of something like “Mr. Giamatti, is there anything I can assist you with?” (I must acknowledge that I was 17, in shorts and a t-shirt, looking in NO way page-worthy to assist in anything, but dorky enough that MAYBE I was some wayward eagle scout looking to score the ever-elusive “Assist the Commish” merit badge).

    ANYWAY…I don’t remember how he responded, something pleasant and inviting. I almost immediately asked him what was going to happen with Pete Rose, as his “issues” were huge news…and picking up steam…(as an aside, word on the street is that there a book coming out soon about the ‘75 Reds, including one Mr. Charlie Hustle…keep an eye out for it, Joe)… at the time and Mr. Giamatti said something like “If I had any idea, I’d tell you.” We proceeded to strike up a conversation, and sat down on a nearby bench and talked baseball and such for 15-20 minutes, about baseball and whatnot. At some point–I thought he might just stay there and talk to me all night if I kept talking–I decided to take my leave, but, before I did, I asked for his autograph, but all I had was a $5-bill…Mr. Giamatti wouldn’t sign it (something about defacing federal property…especially egregious as we were next to to U.S. Capitol, I imagine…maybe he thought it was all a Dept. of Treasury set-up). I eventualy found a torn business card from an auto-repair shop in my wallet and he signed it. I left to go about whatever task I needed to perform that led me back to the Capitol after work hours, and he just stayed there on the bench…like he has nowhere to go and nothing better to do than sit there with me. It was an INCREDIBLE experience for a baseball fan, as he couldn’t be a more passionate, gracious, kind, knowledgable ambassador for baseball. It was awesome.

    Almost before I could return home after my page term was over and share my awesome experience with the Commissioner of MLB, Mr. Giamatti died…literally within a couple of weeks of that little evening he spent talking to a 17-year old baseball fan on a bench by the U.S. Capitol.

    He was an all-too-brief baseball commissioner, but he helped ensure one young fan (and I imagine many others) was a fan for life…one that would pass his love for the game down to his kinds….etc., etc.

    I truly wonder if some 17 year-old somewhere has had a similar experience with Bud Selig.

80. 
    80: Brent said at 10:32 am on July 21st, 2008:

    I think autographs have more value when they result from an unexpected encounter, than from actually trying to get one.

    The only autograph I have ever kept, I got when drinking in a seedy bar in downtown St. Louis in the late 90s (it’s a long story what I was doing there). Anyway, I was sitting next to a large man who looked somewhat familiar and eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I asked him who he was. His answer was completely unintelligible, but the woman sitting next to him introduced herself as his wife and informed me I was sitting next to Leon Spinks. I don’t normally ask for an autograph, but how many people out there are Olympic gold medalists and The Heavyweight Champion of the World so I asked for one and received one on a cocktail napkin.

    I suspect it was a combination of too many blows to the head and alcohol consumed by him that night, but he really could not be understood when he talked. It was kind of sad.

81. 
    81: Steve M said at 12:45 pm on July 22nd, 2008:

    I never was much for autographs, and the only one I can remember getting was of the absolute bottom of the barrel variety. 1981, Allstar game, just after the strike, old Municipal Stadium in Cleveland, OH. Remember Rockin’ Rollen, that idiot that wore the rainbow wigs with the Jesus Saves t-shirt who is now rotting away in a California prison for taking hostages at gunpoint somehting like 10-12 years ago? I got his autograph. I lost it shortly thereafter, and I am sure I am better for doing so.

82. 
    82: ghb5 said at 2:22 pm on July 22nd, 2008:

    I find this post highly ironic coming from a man who used this site to tell everyone which ballparks he’d be appearing at last summer (oh, and copies of his new book will also be available), and offering to send personalized autographed nameplates to anyone who bought his book.
    Don’t get me wrong. I love this blog and have immensely enjoyed my (signed) copy of The Soul of Baseball. But I guess it all depends who’s paying and who’s receiving, eh?

83. 
    83: Chuck Hundley said at 6:01 pm on April 26th, 2009:

    Jim Kern, That name really rings a bell lol. I grew up with him in Gladwin Michigan we played a lot of sandlot baseball, football and swam in the cedar river together in Gladwin he also caught a lot of trout in the cedar river, Chuck!!!!

Leave a Reply