It's hard to believe the reality, and it is a reality, that something that gives us so much pleasure. that we can still perform, or sometimes still perform, with grace and talent, and, the topper, that includes a group of people whose company we actually or mostly like (a rarity for most men over 25) should, still, someday leave us.
But it turns out it does. One day we're standing on a train platform, leaning on our bat, and the train that brought us is pulling away without us.
But with the luck of a clear mind, memories can help prop us some and add a little fuel to our steps. I was pleased to read your memories of Jim Bouton pitching for the Peppers against your Yanks in May of 2013 when he was 74, and remember too, that you lined his knuckler to far left for bases-clearing slam.
I was the opposing shortstop that day, and I can still see all of the runners speeding around the bases and you chasing them. You beat the throw by a good margin. The air was full of Yanks' cheers, shouting "Run Tim, run!"
For Bouton, the moment was a head-shaking chagrin. Followed by a nod and a rueful smile, a sensation known to every pitcher.
For the record, I was only one-third responsible for getting Jim there. My Peppers teammate, Jim Edelman, now the manager of the over-62 Arachnids, lived in Western Massachusetts, not far from Bouton. They chatted often and one day Jim B. asked Jim E. if Mike H., would let the ex-New York Yankee pitch some innings for the Peppers. Jim E. called me, I called Jim B., and the ball was rolling. (Bouton did that often; for years after he left the big leagues, into his 60s and 70s, he would call managers in leagues like ours [and once John Reel in ours] from New Jersey to northern New England, asking if they needed a pitcher that weekend.)
So, three guys were in on the deal. And though the Peppers were on the losing side, an 18-3 score, if memory, ouch, serves, four of which runs came from Tim's bat, Jim's appearance was a lift for everyone involved.
I was 66 then, and standing at short, looking at Bouton some 50 feet away, I thought, so this is the angle that Tony Kubek had in 1963, when Jim went 21-7 with a 2.53 ERA and was an All-Star. I imagined that if I turned around, I'd see Mickey Mantle in center.
But the better part of standing there was Jim's immediate message: This is what you can do at 74 or whatever "advanced age," if you stay in shape and keep at it. We were playing in an over-55 division then. John Reel's and the board's creation of an over-62 division would be some years off, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that this game, Jim's pitching, and the fact that John was the umpire that day, spurred thoughts of an older division.
Jim's story was all the more remarkable because he'd said to me on the phone when we were setting the date, "You probably read that I'd had a stroke" the previous summer. I said I had. How are you now, I asked. "OK," he replied, "I work out. I came back." What he didn't tell me was that he'd had not one, but two strokes.
Still, he's right. He kept at it. He came back. And, lucky us, we were all the beneficiaries of that. We all saw the same thing.
And for the record, Tim, I think the entire league was the beneficiary of your presence. You not only played a fine shortstop and hit well (btw, I saw a second homer you hit, last August, against my Americans in the playoffs, was a beauty, too. A liner to center that zipped too fast past the centerfielder and rolled to the wall, scoring, if memory's right, three runs. It wasn't a slam, but it was good enough), but every year for a number of years you created the schedules for every division. And there's the one season I pitched for the Yankees, 2011, I always felt good turning around seeing you at short. Few balls were getting by that guy, I thought, so, yippee, I could throw whatever I wanted.
So, former teammate and league-mate, many thanks for good summers and much luck and good health to you and your family in northern Vermont. Keep keeping at it.
-Mike
-- Edited by mikehart on Saturday 5th of July 2025 05:22:22 PM
