moving to rochester, or how to escape a bug jar

I'm not going to lie to you. During all of this talk of war, my thoughts and prayers have been directed at one person - Tug McGraw. Tonight, it appears that his brain tumor surgery has been successful, but for the past week, it's been hairy.

Many of you might wonder why in hell I'd be so obsessed with a retired pitcher when we're about to go to war. Maybe it's the innocence he reminded me of. Younger days when winning the world series was all that mattered, especially after the hostage situation in Iran had been resolved. Maybe it was the selfish joy of remembering the one team that won a baseball championship in Philadelphia in my lifetime. Maybe it was just the exuberance with which McGraw always lived his life.

He was an imp. A character. He was the sense of humor on a mostly humorless baseball team. Yet he was a consummate professional when he took the mound. Tug McGraw was renowned for his energy, his desire to have fun every moment. Just a few weeks ago, a friend of mine sat at a bar with Tugger and another friend. Every person who came up to McGraw for an autograph was told the same thing.

"I'll sign it, but you have to buy me a drink."

When that wasn't an issue, he'd stop them.

"There's one problem, I'm here with these people. I'd feel bad if they didn't get a drink, too."

Sure enough, everyone got a drink, and everyone got their autographs.

He dyed his uniform green for St. Patrick's Day. He made up his hair to look just like Elvis when he took the mound on the day of
Elvis' death. He said, "You gotta believe", and everyone did. He performed "Casey At The Bat" with the Philadelphia Philharmonic. He never wrote a book that dissed his teammates. He helped New York win a World Series, but when he was with Philly, he told New York to fuck off on national television. Yet he never burned any bridges. He remains, always, beloved.

They were simpler days. Things made sense then. Tug McGraw and Mike Schmidt lived next door to each other and car-pooled to practice together, stopping for milkshakes on their way. Sports were fun in those days. It wasn't just money and business. It goes back to Pete Rose, standing at first base yelling, "Isn't this fun?"

Today we get David Wells, writing about fictitious moments in his own career, then backpedaling when people get upset. Nobody ever had a bone to pick with McGraw. He never covered his head with a towel so he couldn't watch a teammate pitch, and nobody had to look away when he threw his slider. Before that fateful game six, he and Schmidt were talking, and McGraw told Schmidt, "When I win this for us, it's going to be all about me." When he struck out Willie Wilson, Schmidt ran up and leapt into his arms, and every picture just showed Schmidt's face over McGraw's shoulder. To this day, Schmidt says they practiced it.

Sports were fun once. It gets hard to remember that when you look at teams like the New York Rangers. Teams with starting line-ups that look terrifying on paper from both an athletic and an economic point of view, but fail on the ice because everyone on the team hates everyone else. Teams like last year's San Francisco Giants, where Barry Bonds fought with pretty much everyone else on the team, especially Jeff Kent, the man who was supposed to make sure people couldn't pitch around him.

Tug McGraw had fun every chance he could, and he will again soon. Philly's favorite leprechaun will be out there on April 4th, and I'll be there cheering him on. Hopefully, everyone in Philadelphia will be able to take that moment to remember that, no matter what is going on in the world, once in a while someone comes along who can bring out the joy in competition, and the hilarity in trash talk, and can make you feel great just by being able to watch them. My prayers and the prayers of most of Philadelphia go out to Tug McGraw's speedy recovery.

On a final note, as we do approach war, I have a quick list for everyone. Frankly, I have no patience for hippie-dippy protest songs. I'm sure everyone feels really proud singing "Give Peace a Chance", but I firmly believe that there are other songs which can be infinitely more successful in promoting peace, simply because they make us love life. So here is my list for the top ten Songs for Peace (no Hippie shit):

10. A Beautiful Morning - The Rascals
9. That's the Way of the World - Earth, Wind, and Fire
8. Lovely Day - Bill Withers
7. What's Going On - Marvin Gaye
6. Beauty's Only Skin Deep - the Temptations
5. Harvest for the World - The Isley Brothers
4. You Gotta Have Peace - Curtis Mayfield
3. Wake Up, Everybody - Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes
2. Everyday People - Sly and the Family Stone
1. Love Train - The O'Jays

So next time anyone wants to go to a peace rally and sing something, try singing "Love Train" and see what happens. Then tap your hand along your right thigh for Tugger.

Much love,
Paul.

back to top