Growing up a baseball fan, I always loved it when a home town boy made the big league club. Cal Ripken, Jr. is probably the most famous home grown Oriole, but there have been others. Billy Ripken, and Dave Johnson were peers of mine and even youngster, Bruce Zimmerman, who grew up in Ellicott City, is the current local dude whose dream was to become an Oriole. And who could forget Parkville stand out Neil Beller? The latter was only an unfulfilled dream, but I still have it daily. I had thought many times about making my major league debut in some strange city, where my performance determined whether or not the crowd would boo or cheer. The ultimate debut would include a home run in my first at bat, but that fantasy is hardly original. Every kid throwing a ball against a cement step or swinging a stick at random dandelions has played out the opening day dinger a thousand times over. Some players made their debut on other teams before landing in Baltimore and some players started out as local heroes, but chose to avoid their home town at all costs. I am not going to mention any names, Mark Teixeira, but if I did it would be Mark Teixeira. I will never forget when he said at a press conference that all his life he wanted to be a New York Yankee. I’m certain dollar signs had taken over his mind and body, because no sane person who grew up watching Brooks and Cal would ever utter the “Y” word in good company. My favorite home grown talent, who started out as a White Sox before becoming an Oriole, was Harold Baines.
The only Harold I knew, prior to his acquisition, used a purple crayon. This Harold used a 36-inch bat. His smooth swing looked effortless, but the ball flew like it had been catapulted via nitro glycerine. He hardly ever showed emotion, like everyone should be launching 450 foot home runs, it was no big deal. Before he was the first player inducted into the Hall of Fame as a designated hitter, he was an excellent right fielder. I recently worked with him and had the pleasure to discuss my favorite game with him, bowling. I’m kidding of course, as I threw so many questions at him he thought for a moment he was Jenn Psaki. Harold was quite funny and zinged me twice. I told him I attended Cal Ripken and Eddie Murrays induction in Cooperstown and he immediately said, “but not mine?” I was speechless and he laughed at my awkwardness. As we walked to his car his beautiful wife, Marla, mentioned their children. Harold always wrote the names of his wife and kids on the underside brim of his hat. It made him feel closer to them when he was on long road trips. He complimented his wife on looking as young as their daughter and she mentioned the other children looked like him. I echoed her thoughts and mentioned both my daughters looked like me when young, but closely resembled their mother now. He quickly chirped, “Well that’s a good thing!” His laugh made me think he loved the practical joke as much as low inside fastballs. To make me feel better, he mentioned that my book, The Dish, was on his night stand. It worked.
