A truly golden anniversary

This Sunday, I celebrate a golden anniversary. It will be 50 years ago that I attended my first major league baseball game. it was a twi-night doubleheader between the Milwaukee Braves and the Cincinnati Reds at wonderful old Crosley Field.

Even a hardcore like me can't remember too many of the details. Thanks to a wonderful site called retrosheet.org, I can report I witnessed the first of hard throwing Jim Maloney's 134 major league wins in a 5-3 decision in the opener. I did remember that my distant cousin Wally Post hit a home run and knocked in four runs. (Guess who the Reds' second baseman was? None other than the volatile Billy Martin.)

I remembered Cincinnati won both games. But I confess I didn't call Bob Purkey, who was a pretty good pitcher for a dozen years or so, tossing a rarity -- a 11-hit shutout in a 4-0 second game win.

(I was only seven years old and would like to think I stayed until the end. My suspicion, however, is Aunt Ida convinced Uncle Cletus that we needed to go home before it was all over. But I digress.)

50 years later, however, I do remember some things as if it were yesterday. I remember the excitement when I saw the lights of the ballpark from I-75 (Oldtimers might remember it as the Millcreek Expressway). I remember the sign for the exit for Crosley Field and damn near peeing my pants as we got close to the park.

Uncle Cletus worked for the Dayton Daily News for years. He had wrangled some great seats -- a couple of rows behind third base. As luck would have it, I had a great view for what happened in the seventh inning. Frank Robinson - perhaps the best player I ever personally play - hit a booming shot that bounced off the big scoreboard in center field. Robinson could really run and, seeing the ball bounce away from Hank Aaron in center field (yes, he was a center fielder that night), decided to take a shot at an inside the park home run. As he got around third base, his feet got tangled up with Braves 3B Eddie Matthews and he fell to the ground. The throw came in and Robinson was tagged out.

That was not the end of the action. Robinson must have thought Matthews tripped him because he came up swinging. I remember it being a pretty good fight. I seem to recall Matthews got the better of it. No matter. Both of them got kicked out of the game. For a seven-year old to see something like that in his first big league game was really something.

Until I went to Retrosheet, I didn't remember Purkey pitching the nightcap but I can see Robinson's home run to left field (off Carlton Willey) like it just happened. It was a high, majestic drive that easily cleared the big screen in left field and may have landed in the front window of the old laundry that was just across the freeway. It's still one of the longest home runs I have ever seen. My only other memory is Robinson absolutely glared at Matthews as he rounded third base. This time, however, there were no punches thrown.

It was the start of a love affair at the ballpark that hasn't gone away to this day. Even if I am going to a day game, I still get excited when I see the lights of my destination. That means I am close to going back into another shrine. It doesn't matter if it a truly historic place like Yankee Stadium (I got to see one game there) or a bland place like the late, unlamented Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia. They are all places where a person can put their troubles aside for a few hours and just enjoy baseball.

I recently passed another anniversary. On August 11, 1968, I entered Tiger Stadium at 11:30 a.m. to watch batting practice prior to a key twinbill between the Tigers and the Red Sox. I left nine hours and 35 minutes later, exhausted after seeing Detroit rally for a 14-inning win in the opener and a four-run ninth inning gamewinning rally in the second game. I am not sure I could last that long today but it sure was fun that day.

My wife summarized my feelings about baseball neatly a while back. She says this conversation happened early in our marriage. I don't remember it but I believe it to be true.

She: "How come you can remember baseball games you went to when you were a kid but you can't remember to take out the garbage?"

Me: "Because I don't have a passion for the garbage."

In case she (or anybody else is wondering), here is the answer for how long this has been going. Come Sunday, it will be exactly 50 years. Not every game was a classic. Not every game had a great fight to it or a memorable finish. But I enjoyed seeing all of them ... and am looking forward to what is ahead in the next 50 years.