Storyline: In a world that favors bigger and better, baseball takes a different stance. It’s not just about Boston, New York, Chicago, or LA. It’s also about smaller cities all over America–where “minor is major.”
June brings back memories–of seasons long past and places far away–of how and when I became a baseball fan … watching baseball in the minor leagues.
My story is about Batavia, a city in Western New York.
Batavia has a Class A team. Each summer–from junior high through high school–my friends and I would go to games. It was baseball close up. You could hear a fastball hit the mitt, watch relievers warm up, and talk with the bullpen guys. And, every once in a while, a player would ask you to shag a ball, sometimes calling you by name.
We have Branch Rickey to thank for the minor leagues. In 1919 he came up with the idea of a farm system. Rickey wanted to replenish the Cardinals’ major league line-up and he wanted to do it with proven players. He knew fans enjoyed watching barnstorming teams play, so why not give them a hometown team? To sweeten the pot, local teams would affiliate with nearby Big League teams. How could it miss? It didn’t. And it changed the game.
Courtesy: Minor League Baseball Parks.com
But even Rickey couldn’t have imagined how the concept would evolve. There are hundreds and hundreds of minor league teams around the U.S., all with local roots, and many with unforgettable nicknames: Akron RubberDucks, Jupiter Hammerheads, Greensboro Grasshoppers, and (my favorite), the Savanah Sand Gnats. Each is local. And each is doing for thousands of kids what my team did for me.
My team, called “Clippers” at the start, began in 1939, a founding member of The PONY League (Pennsylvania-Ontario-New York). When Ontario dropped out the league became the NY-P, the New York-Pennsylvania League (1957). The change gave way to new franchises, like the Wellsville Braves and Erie Sailors. Today, the NY-P is more than a two-state league: the Vermont Lake Monsters, among others, makes it so.
My Batavia team has had many nicknames over the years—Clippers, Indians, Pirates, Trojans—before becoming what it is today, The Muckdogs (“muck”= black, very fertile soil drawn from drained swampland). Major League affiliates have rotated, too: Cardinals, Pirates, Indians, Tigers, Mets, Phillies, and now, Marlins.
For years the team was overseen by a local shoe store owner (the stadium carries his name, Dwyer). Today, the franchise is managed by a nearby AAA club.
The NY-P plays a short-season, beginning in late June-ending in early September, perfect for school kids. It’s affordable entertainment, too: $150 buys an adult season’s pass. It’s intimate baseball.
Those attending watch uneven play: these are entry-level guys—players and coaches alike. It’s pretty much “come and go”—one season here and, then, it’s off to the next place … or be cut. Not many players return for a second go-round.
Courtesy: gameinformer.com
You forget most names after season’s end because you’ll never hear of them again. Well … most of the time. Steve Roadcap managed the team one year, but so did Tom Trebelhorn, who went on to manage the Brewers and Cubs.
While many good players never make it to the Majors—slugging Gary Burham comes to mind (he hit .325 in 1997)—some do. Infielder Nick Punto of Twins fame played for Batavia.
Then, there was “that guy.”
I was about twelve when my Uncle Ray asked if I’d like to go to a game. I jumped at the chance. Ray knew a lot about baseball: in earlier years he played semi-pro ball in the Buffalo area. That night we sat in front-row box seats along the 1st baseline. Ray bought a program, something I never bothered with at other games. I brought my glove hoping to snag a foul fly ball, confident that Ray would handle the line drives.
That night Batavia played the Geneva Redlegs, a Cincinnati farm team. It made things really special because I was a big Cincinnati Reds fan. “Maybe one of these guys will make the Majors,” I said to Uncle Ray.
Courtesy: Cincinnati.com
I’m not sure in what inning it happened. A guy from Geneva had just walked. Nothing special about that … except that he didn’t walk to first base. He ran. Ray and I looked at each other, not knowing what to make of it: we had never seen anything like that before.
Then I remembered: I had a program. We turned to the roster page and looked up his name: “Pete Rose” it read. We watched Pete closely the rest of the game. No wonder, we thought later, that Whitey Ford dubbed him “Charlie Hustle.”
I followed Rose the rest of the year, but he didn’t stand out in the stats. I thought he was done. Rose hit well over .300 the following year. He was on his way. It all started in Geneva and passed through Batavia—before my eyes.
Courtesy: redsoxandnascar.com
I had to go to the stadium to see Pete Rose, but I didn’t have to go anywhere to see Steve Blass, Woody Fryman, and (my favorite) Manuel de Jesus Sanguillén Magan … aka Manny Sanguillén, “Sangy” for short. Those guys lived in apartments just down the street from my house. I’d recognize them in street clothes walking by my place. Sangy stood out. Always smiling, he had a big gap-tooth grin.
Blass was the first of the three to play for Batavia. He was special. Fryman and Sanguillén came a few years later. They were battery mates—Fryman on the mound, Sangy behind the plate.
What really sticks out, though, is what happened after Batavia. It took a while for Blass to make the Majors. Fryman moved up to the Pirates quickly, but he was soon gone—traded to the Phillies. Blass and Sangy, on the other hand, remained Pirates.
They made their way to Pittsburgh—to make history together.
I followed the Pirates closely during those years, even seeing the team play in person a few times. I wasn’t a Pittsburgh fan. My interest was local: these guys played ball in my hometown.
Courtesy: Green Weenie
I’d listen to games on KDKA Radio. Bob Prince was the voice of the Pirates in those days, a gravelly-voice veteran, who would spice up every game (e.g., lazy fly balls were “Cans of Corn”). A radio showman without peer, Prince introduced Pittsburgh to “The Green Weenie,” a cucumber-shaped thing that Pirates fans would shake during games, presumably to put a spell on visiting teams. Of course there was subtext: Prince loved to say that thousands of Pirates fans were “Shaking their Weenies.”
Truth be Told, Bob was challenged by his own. Jim “The Possum” Woods—Prince’s longtime broadcasting partner—loved to tell the story of what happened to Bob during one Spring Training season in Fort Myers. Prince, a known admirer of the opposite sex, had to run like hell one day to flee a jealous husband who had fired his gun at Bob during the chase.
Courtesy: home.mindspring.com
The 1971 Pirates were special. With legendary Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell (“Chicken on the Hill with Will”), Doc Ellis, Bob Moose, Dave Giusti, and many others…the team was loaded. The Pirates beat the Orioles in seven games to win The World Series, a fitting end to a terrific year. Blass was great (15-8) and Sangy hit .319. Stargell had an OPS of 1.026. And Clemente, well, he was his usual, extraordinary self (.341 BA).
It all started in the minors.
The impact of minor league ball continues to this day, and it’s not just about baseball, either. Then-mayor David Hollister (Lansing MI) made minor league baseball—and a new stadium—the centerpiece of his downtown redevelopment plan. It worked. The Dayton Dragons (also a Class A team) have helped the city get through tough economic times. The stadium (7200 seats) is filled regularly. And Coca-Cola Field sits prominently— in carved-out fashion—in the midst of downtown Buffalo, NY.
Courtesy: trendingtoplists.com
In a world that favors bigger and better, baseball takes a different stance: minor is major. In baseball, you see, it’s not just about Boston, New York, Chicago, and LA. It’s about places like Batavia, too.
Where else can you find a Muckdog?
NOTE: Earlier versions of this article were published in The Sports Column and The Lansing State Journal.
