During my 30 years or so as a professional journalist and more than 12 years since, there is one way I always judged whether someone’s writing was good.
If I read it and was really impressed, one thought always crossed my mind:
“I wish I had written that.”
One of the first times I felt that way was in 1983 when I was working in North Carolina. My friend, boss and mentor Gary Schwab (who went on to a brilliant career at the Charlotte Observer, showed me a piece someone who was applying for a job had written.
I can’t remember it word for word, but here’s the gist …
“The waiter asked me if I wanted red wine or white with my dinner. I couldn’t remember which one went best with chicken, so I ordered white.
“So did the chicken.”
Wow.
The writer, whose name I don’t recall, had written a feature story in which he profiled Ted Giannoulas, aka the San Diego Chicken.
It may seem hard to believe, but before Giannoulas came along, the army of costumed mascots that now grace baseball fields everywhere simply didn’t exist.
Philly Phanatic?
Nope.
Mr. Met?
No way.
Youppi, later to become Screech?
Not even in your dreams.
Giannoulas was 20 when he first played the Chicken in 1974. Now he’s 66, and while I’m sure a lot of traditional fans my age will disagree, I hope they find a place for him in Cooperstown someday.
My grandfather was a lifelong baseball fan till he died in 1985, and I’m pretty sure he would have had little or no use for the mascots. Heck, he was such a traditionalist that he got annoyed when pitchers didn’t get the first pitch of an at-bat over the plate.
He’s the one who gave me my love for baseball, and I’ll never forget how proud he was that Gates Brown, pinch-hitter extraordinaire, came from his small Ohio town.
Some of the more traditionalist franchises never really went in for the costumed mascots. The Brooklyn Dodgers had clown Emmett Kelly for a few years in the 1950s as “the bum,” but nothing since moving to Los Angeles. The Yankees had Dandy from 1982-86, but nothing since.
The fact is, as time’s carousel turns, even traditional forms of entertainment have evolved in an effort to hold onto fans with shorter attention spans. Baseball still makes at least a little effort to maintain the slower pace of the game and allow fans to converse.
Of course, in 2020 there are no fans in the stands, with the exception of cardboard cutouts in some ballparks.
Not a good year for mascots.
I don’t make it out to ballparks very often anymore, although I have been watching more baseball than ever. Starting about six years back, I took out a season subscription on MLB.TV, and I have been able to watch at least a few innings of a game every night during the season.
I do it to watch the Washington Nationals, but because I live in the Atlanta area, I’m blacked out on any game involving the Braves. Since they’re in the Nats’ division, I lose a number of games that way.
This year, no mascots. No presidents’ races.
No crowds in the stands. No “baby shark.”
I’m sure that bothers some people, but for me if I get to see Max Scherzer pitch seven shutout innings, if I get to see Asdrubal Carrera drive in three runs with an extra-inning triple, that’s pretty much all I need.
One thing I’ve said many times before is that except for family and friends, there isn’t anything I love more than baseball.
With or without mascots.