The soft dryness of the dirt under my
fingertips was exciting; I was actually touching the dirt that felt Luis
Aparicio sliding safely into second base. Linda and I went through the wool White
Sox uniforms that the laundry people dumped just outside of the locker room.
The night had been on the cool side so the players had to use the wool uniforms
instead of the cotton ones which were for warmer weather. We were searching for
loose change the players might have forgotten in their pockets. They used to
have to carry around quarters and nickels for the pop machines because no one
provided Gatorade or other refreshments like the big shot players get today. It
was a big win that day for the Sox so my dad and all the office people were
upstairs at the bar, well, now it’s the stadium club but you know where that
is. We hadn’t won for a few straight games so the victory was something for the
club officials to celebrate even more—and the players too but they probably
went out elsewhere. There would be quite a few toasts tonight which was good
for us. We would have more time to run around the ballpark like we owned the
place. I heard pounding footsteps echoing off the concourse ramps and knew that
Bobby had figured out where we were. We all had been playing hide-and-seek
behind the scoreboard until the time when Linda and I knew that the uniforms
had been piled up. That’s when we snuck off to the locker rooms. It was a kid’s
dream to be able to run around a ballpark and not get yelled at for making
mischief. We were lucky that our dad worked for the Sox. That’s why we could
play hide-and-seek on the lower concourses after the games.
Until 1970, Major
League ball clubs provided their players with cotton and wool uniforms. Between
the mid-19th century and the 1950s, flannel, which was often a blend
of cotton and wool, was the choice fabric for baseball uniforms (Dressed). The Pittsburgh Pirates was the first team to
“feature synthetic double-knit fabric, pull-over buttonless jerseys, and
beltless pants” (Dressed). These uniform innovations quickly became popular;
soon every Major League team, American or National, suited up in synthetic
uniforms. The style blanketed the big leagues until 1993 “when the Cincinnati
Reds became the last team to abandon pullover jerseys and beltless pants” (Dressed).
When I listen to the tape recording of CV I like
to pretend that I knew him. I picture him sitting in the fourth row behind the
net a little left of home plate. He would lean forward in concentration if he
was really interested in a player otherwise his cool Southern composure came
out in a laid back position. I press play and the mini tape recorder crackles
to life sending out the smooth voice of my grandpa. He recounts the important
specifics of a young lefty pitcher he saw throw a few hours earlier. I can hear
him remembering the exact form of the player’s pitch. He says that the pitcher
had a good arm but his control was “so-so”. The pitcher threw a pretty good fastball:
one pitch was 89, maybe 90, miles per hour. CV hardly ever used a radar gun; my
mom said it was because he had watched baseball for so many years that he could
tell the difference between a 90 mile-an-hour and an 89. CV’s recorded voice is
the only true memory I have of him. I imagine him best when I think about
baseball. It is comforting to go to a Sox game and be a part of the same kind
of atmosphere my grandpa loved.
Works Cited
Dressed
to the Nines: A History of the Baseball Uniform. The National Baseball Hall
of Fame and Museum.
2010. Web.
