With the final OKs being obtained to start building the new home base for the Chattanooga Lookouts (?) the monetary question of how to fill the seats has been brought up by another grouchy graduate of the Joe Engel Knothole Gang.
Although he died in 1994 at the young age of 47 the noted sports writer of 25 successful novels on a variety of topics and hundreds of short articles in 475 syndicated newspapers, Lewis Grizzard (LG) was a man ahead of his time.
In his 1985 release “Shoot Low Boys- They’re Riding Shetland Ponies” (Ballantine Books) he wrote on the topic of attending a spring training baseball game in West Palm Beach, Florida between Atlanta Braves (?) and Toronto Bluejays:
“Three or four thousand of us sat blissfully in the sun and watched.
There was more to watch than just the game, however. For instance, there was the girl, a young blonde thing. She wore high heels and tight white pants that came to a few inches below her knees. Had we been hit by high water, she would have been prepared. Call her "The Walker."
She sat for an inning before she started strutting about the stands. To quote William Price Fox, when she moved, the motion in her high-water britches looked like two bobcats fighting in a croker sack.
When I wasn't watching The Walker, I was watching the old men. What better way to while away a retirement afternoon than to sit and warm yourself over a leisurely baseball game that really doesn't count anyway? If and when I become an old man, I want to come to these games and sit with others my age. I'll probably say in my age a lot of outrageous things. Old men can get away with such as that.
The kids today idolize the current players and go for their autographs like a hound on a good scent. Their heroes still wear the uniform. We middle-agers are losing our heroes in a hurry. Pete Rose and Phil Niekro are still around, but how can I get excited about Dennis Lamp when Sandy Koufax is still fresh in my mind? The old men have their memories, too, and you can hear them in the stands still praising Williams, DiMaggio, Gehrig and even Ruth.
"Now, those were ballplayers," the old men say. "You never saw those guys sitting out a game with a hangnail or a little cold."
There were probably eight of them, the old men, sitting together near me. They sat through the last innings like crows perched on a powerline, silent and staring. When the game was over, they moved slowly out to the aisle. Two needed assistance in walking. They were held on each side by the steadier hands of their companions.
When they reached the walkway out of the stadium, they said their goodbyes. A friend next to me observed "They seem very sincere about saying goodbye. I guess when you get to be that age, you never know how many empty seats will be on your row tomorrow."
At precisely that moment, The Walker came by. The old men looked at the curves she was throwing, and one smiled at his friend and gave him a knowing wink.
Yeah, they're all getting on, I thought to myself. But bless their hearts, with apologies to Charlie Dressen, they ain't dead yet.”
Rather than spending millions of dollars on television ads in competition with endless Giza sheet guy, fruits, and vegetable supplements, lawyer auto wreck specialists, etc. LG’s sage advice given in 1985 would be to employ the modern day version of “The Walker”, clad in up to date finery (or lack there of) to parade in front of the baseball facility overlooking the beautiful and pristine Tennessee River to increase attendance.
(Play ball!)
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You can reach Jerry Summers at jsummers@summersfirm.com
Jerry Summers