...On the page, Roger created—he threw—a voice that was utterly joyful, as buoyant as a lottery winner. He hated the poetical and the hard-bitten. The Roger Angell of the baseball pieces was a man at liberty, delighted to be in the stands on a long-shadowed afternoon, part of a vast community of fans. The sentences were ebullient but never decorous. An ur-Wasp, he was tickled to learn the Yiddish word for “over the top”: ungapatchka. He took it as an immense compliment when a friend told him that he admired the “un-ungapatchka-ness” of his work. Roger’s best baseball prose—his early piece on the struggles of the fledgling Mets, “The Old Folks Behind Home”; his profiles of the fearsome Bob Gibson, the vanquished Steve Blass, the submariner Dan Quisenberry; his chronicle of the epochal Boston-Cincinnati World Series of 1975, “Agincourt and After”—radiated a sense of wonder at the complexities of the game and those who play it. His enthusiasm for baseball was so immense that it could not be confined to a singular loyalty. In a given season, he was capable of giving his heart to anyone. He was a Mets fan, a Yankees fan, and a Red Sox fan. In anyone else, this would have been unforgivable.
I had the privilege of witnessing Roger’s joy in the game more than once, but never more so than in October, 2000, when we went together to Shea Stadium to watch the fifth and final game of the World Series, a Subway Series dominated by Torre’s Yankees. Sitting in the left-field stands, Roger held forth on everything from Torre’s understated generalship to the “premature decrepitude” of Shea to the best kind of notebook. (Mead notebooks: “They take ink perfectly.”) He recited a Homeric catalogue of his favorite baseball names: Hack Wilson, Napoleon Lajoie, Mookie Wilson. They spanned the age—the age of Angell. I could have sat in the stands listening to Roger (and, incidentally, watching the Yanks and the Mets) forever. But there would be no extra innings that night. Mike Piazza’s towering attempt to tie things in the ninth fell short and into the glove of Bernie Williams.
“That’s it,” Roger said, and led the way to the Yankees clubhouse. The Bombers were winners again. Roger entered the room under great arcs of foamy champagne. Happily soaked, he made his way to Torre, and listened in on yet another soliloquy to the young scribes. On some point of historical interest, Torre paused, and looked Roger’s way for confirmation. Roger, sagely, nodded assent.
After a while, Roger said, “We should check in on the losers. The story’s in there, too.” We hustled over to the home-team clubhouse, where the Mets picked gloomily at a sad array of snacks and made the customary remarks about next year. Roger wrote that down, as well.
His Mead notebook now sufficiently inked, he led the way past the revellers and the mourners along the ramps and made it out to the parking lot. We found his Volvo station wagon and climbed in. Another gaudy night in Queens. Roger got behind the wheel and, driving alarmingly fast on the Grand Central Parkway, he talked about next year. Spring training was four months off.
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that first baseball card I saw myself
in a triage of rookies
atop the bodies
that made the hill
we played king of
I am the older one
the one on the right
game-face sincere
long red hair unkempt
a symbol of the ’70s
somehow a sign of manhood
you don’t see
how my knees shook on my debut
or my desperation to make it
the second one I look boyish with a gap-toothed smile
the smile of a guy who has it his way
expects it
I rode the wave’s crest
of pennant and trophies
I sat relaxed with one thought
“I can do this”
you don’t see
me stay up till two
reining in nerves
or post-game hands that shook involuntarily
glory years catch action shots
arm whips and body contortions
a human catapult
the backs of those cards
cite numbers
that tell stories of saves, wins, flags, records
handshakes, butt slaps, celebration mobs
you can’t see
the cost of winning
lines on my forehead under the hat
trench line between my eyes
you don’t see my wife, daughter and son
left behind
the last few cards
I do not smile
I grim-face the camera
tight lipped
no more forced poses to win fans
eyes squint
scanning distance
crow’s-feet turn into eagle’s claws
you don’t see
the quiver in my heart
knowledge that it is over
just playing out the end
I look back
at who I thought I was
or used to be
now, trying to be funny
I tell folks
I used to be famous
I used to be good
they say
we thought you were bigger
I say
I was
—Dan Quisenberry, 1953-1998
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Weirdest MLB Pitching Stances Of All Time.
1. Dontrelle Willis (Florida, Detroit, Arizona, Cincinnati/2003-11)
2. Bronson Arroyo (Pittsburgh, Boston, Cincinnati, Arizona, Cincinnati/2000-14, 2017)
3. Luis Tiant (Cleveland, Minnesota, Boston, New York Yankees, California/1964-82)
4. Huston Street (Oakland, Colorado, San Diego, Los Angeles Angels/2005-17)
5. Dan Quisenberry (Kansas City, St. Louis, San Francisco/1979-90)
6. Iwakuma Hisashi (Seattle/2012-17)
7. Johnny Cueto (Cincinnati, Kansas City, San Francisco/2008-present)
8. Orlando Hernandez (New York Yankees, Chicago White Sox, San Diego, New York Mets/1998-2002, 2004-07)
9. Robert Wood (Atlanta, Los Angeles Dodgers, Cincinnati/2013-present)
10. Leroy Paige (Cleveland, St. Louis Browns, Kansas City Athletics/1948-49, 1951-53, 1965)
11. Matsuzaka Daisuke (Boston, New York Mets/2007-14)
12. Marc Rzepczynski (Toronto, St. Louis, Cleveland, San Diego, Oakland, Washington, Seattle, Cleveland/2009-18)
13. Francisco Rodriguez (Los Angeles Angels, New York Mets, Milwaukee, Baltimore, Milwaukee, Detroit/2002-17)
14. Pedro Feliciano (New York Mets/2002-04, 2006-10, 2013)
15. Nomo Hideo (Los Angeles Dodgers, New York Mets, Milwaukee, Detroit, Boston, Los Angeles Dodgers, Tampa Bay, Kansas City/1995-2005, 2008)
16. Greg Harris (New York Mets, Cincinnati, Montreal, San Diego, Texas, Philadelphia, Boston, New York Yankees, Montreal/1981-95)
17. Steve Hamilton (Cleveland, Washington Senators, New York Yankees, Chicago White Sox, San Francisco, Chicago Cubs/1961-72)
18. Jordan Walden (Los Angeles Angels, Atlanta, St. Louis/2010-15)
19. Juan Marichal (San Francisco, Boston, Los Angeles Dodgers/1960-75).
20. Kent Tekulve (Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Cincinnati/1974-89).
21. Joe Smith (New York Mets, Cleveland, Los Angeles Angels, Chicago Cubs, Toronto, Cleveland, Houston/2007-present)
22. Pat Neshek (Minnesota, San Diego, Oakland, St. Louis, Houston, Philadelphia, Colorado, Philadelphia/2006-08, 2010-present)
23. Ubaldo Jimenez (Colorado, Cleveland, Baltimore/2006-17)
24. Tim Lincecum (San Francisco, Los Angeles Angels/2007-16)
25. Carter Capps (Seattle, Miami, San Diego/2012-15, 2017)
26. Randy Choate (New York Yankees, Arizona, Tampa Bay, Florida, Miami, Los Angeles Dodgers, St. Louis/2000-07, 2009-15)
27. Craig Kimbrel (Atlanta, San Diego, Boston, Chicago Cubs/2010-present)
28. Alex Cobb (Tampa Bay, Baltimore/2011-14, 2016-present)
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