Share your memory from Game 1 of the 1988 World Series

Did you attend Game 1 of the 1988 World Series? If so, I’d like for you to share your story.

Leave a comment at the bottom of this blog post to share your story publicly, or email me the details privately at weareoutofink@gmail.com.

Some of the stories will be shared in my upcoming book, “Miracle Men: Hershiser, Gibson and the Improbable 1988 Dodgers.”

-- Josh Suchon 

After the Credits -- Bull Durham

Note to readers: “After the Credits” is a feature in which we take the best sports movies ever made, and giving our opinion on what happened to our favorite fictional characters after the movie ended. Previously, Josh speculated on The Natural, and Matt gave his opinion on Jerry Maguire. In this edition, both will give their opinions on the legendary minor league baseball movie, Bull Durham.

-- by Josh Suchon and Matt Hurst

When the movie ends, Nuke LaLooosh was called up to the major leagues. Crash Davis was released by the Durham Bulls, went to the Asheville Tourists to get his final dinger to set the all-time minor league home run record, then shacked up with Annie, with the possibility that he would manage in Visalia the next year.

Each of us wrote our opinions separately, not knowing what the other person thought. A few are similar. Most are totally different. This is what we think happened “After the Credits” to the characters from Bull Durham. 

Crash Davis

Josh: Crash didn’t get the managing job with Visalia. He was foolish in thinking he would get the job. Visalia was a Twins affiliate at the time, and they didn’t know anything about him. Crash was coming from the Braves organization (Durham), had no previous managing experience, and the California League is High-A ball. The Braves did offer Crash a job as a roving catcher instructor, but he didn’t accept it. “Well, fuck this fucking game,” Crash declared, once again. At first, he quit and was leaving the game entirely. But while in a gym, he randomly bumped into a former teammate. The player-turned-personal trainer offered him the fountain of youth. Crash took it, took a lot of it, and signed a minor league contract with the Astros (the Asheville affiliate). Miraculously, he made the Opening Day roster due to injuries. Crash kept hitting dingers, even more dingers than ever before, and he always knew how to call a fabulous game. Crash made the all-star game as a reserve, and was the feel-good story. At the end of the season, Crash quit once again. He couldn’t handle the guilt, knowing he cheated to reach the majors. Crash retired, again, this time for good. He took a job coaching baseball at a community college, doing private catching lessons, and wrote a best-selling book about life in the minors. Consider him a cross between Dirk Hayhurst and Paul LoDuca.  

Matt: After landing a manager’s job in Visalia, Crash could only last one year in high A ball. He found himself managing the player’s attitudes and teaching them the inside parts of the game rather than actually managing baseball and teaching them skills. It was more of a babysitting job than a baseball job. He got fed up with the young kids who didn’t respect the game and were only in it for themselves and to become famous. After he challenged one of his catchers to a fight on the bus, the organization got wind of it and let him know he wouldn’t be retained. He bounced around a couple of organizations as a good, old-school baseball mind, but Crash could never get over the fact that he was paving a path for young kids to The Show and he probably wasn’t going to make it. He finally caught on with a job he enjoyed – as an advance scout for the Yankees.

Annie

Josh:  Annie wanted the faery-tale ending, where she lived happily ever after with Crash. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t going to happen, and it didn’t. Once Crash didn’t get the managing job in Visalia and returned to playing, Annie knew she’d never see him again. That was partly true. She took a road trip to Houston and watched Crash play in the majors. She never called or tried to contact him. Annie thought it was strange that Crash was so much bigger, but convinced herself that Crash sacrificed their relationship for all that time in the gym. True to her word, Annie was done with boys, but not baseball. She continued teaching English Literature at the local community college, and also wrote about baseball history. Annie started reading Bill James’ famed Baseball Abstract, grew fascinated with the numerology associated with the grand ol’ game, and was one of the original members of the Society of Professional Baseball Research. Her first published work was a series of poems laced with baseball tales. It was well received critically, but a bust with readers. Undeterred, she kept writing and slowly build a rabid following. These days, she’s got a cult following of male and female fans of her work. Her blog is a must-read on all subjects, she frequently contributes to fangraphs.com, has over a million Twitter followers, and hosts her own baseball show on XM Radio. Annie never got married or had any children. She’s had a handful of long-term relationship with men – all around her age, mostly from literary circles -- but none of them compare to Crash. She still has dreams that Crash will show up again one day. But it’s just that, just a dream. Consider her a cross between Alyssa Milano and Sally Jenkins.

Matt: Never one to want or need a man around the house all the time, Annie doesn’t mind that Crash is gone more than half the year as a scout. She still teaches part time at the community college (English and composition!) in Durham – where she and Crash live. Once Crash told her that he wanted to hear every one of her crazy theories, she knew he was hooked. And, of course, a baseball man like Crash loves that his wife is a horny freak who doesn’t mind that an entire jug of milk gets spilled in lieu of some sex. The whole point of the movie was that Crash and Annie stayed together … duh!

Nuke LaLoosh

Josh: Ever think about Nuke’s minor league debut? He walked 18, struck out 18, and threw at least three wild pitches (when he hit the radio announcer, sportswriter and mascot). His pitch count was easily over 200, and probably over 300. And, don’t forget, he spent less than three minutes warming up because he was having sex in the clubhouse. Nuke’s arm was nuked that night. I don’t care what his results were the rest of that season. It wasn’t if he would need Tommy John surgery, it was when he needed it. I say his arm blew out in his first major-league appearance. Considering Nuke’s work ethic, he half-assed his way through the rehab, never recovered, and never pitched again in the majors. Luckily, Nuke’s father negotiated a clause in his contract that paid for Nuke’s college tuition. Out of baseball, Nuke goes back to college, intrigued by what Annie taught him. He starts with Quantum Physics and molecular attraction. He reads Walt Whitman and William Blake, and the other poetry that Annie read him in bed. Then he starts studying bio-mechanical analysis and kinesiology. Nuke loves it. He devours the material. Nuke works with Dr. Frank Jobe and Dr. James Andrews, devoting his life to the proper way to raise young pitchers. He becomes a leading proponent of pitch counts in Little League and high school, long toss, shoulder strengthening exercises, and proper mechanics using cutting-edge technology. A decade later, the Braves hire Nuke as their minor league pitching coordinator. His results are fabulous. They offer him the job as major-league pitching coach, but he turns it down because his passion is making sure young pitchers don’t make the mistakes that he made. Consider him a cross between Brien Taylor and Rick Peterson.

Matt: The only glimpse you needed of Nuke was his on-camera interview with RayAnn at the end of the movie to realize that he didn’t absorb anything Crash had taught him. Nuke had a few tremendous pitching moments in the majors – a no-hitter, an 18-strikeout game – but over a seven-year career was largely mediocre. His walk rate was too high and he finished his career with a losing record and a career ERA near 5.00. He reached out to Crash after he was designated for assignment to try and get some more useful tidbits, but after leaving a message for Crash, the phone rang and it was another team with a contract. When Crash tried to call him back, Nuke was too involved in major league life to ever return the call … or heed the advice. They ran into each other once and reunited over some drinks, but Crash knew that Nuke never learned the inside knowledge of the game and always relied on God-given talent, which obviously wasn’t enough. LaLoosh faded from the public’s eye until a recent Sports Illustrated “Where Are They Now?” issue.

Skip (the Bulls manager)

Josh: After the blowout of Nuke’s arm, the Atlanta Braves owner demanded answers on how the bonus baby flamed out so quickly. Once the word spreads about Nuke’s ridiculous pitch counts that season, the entire minor league system was blown out. The Bulls manager was the first one fired. Skip longs for the good-old days, when you spit tobacco juice on an injury, and didn’t care about pitch counts. Skip never works in organized baseball again, but is hired by an independent minor league team in Texas. Consider him a cross between Billy Martin and John McGraw.

Matt: It’s extremely difficult to make it to The Show as a manager when you’re already fairly old and only in A ball. Skip stayed loyal to the organization but never got the chance to manage in the bigs, reaching AA for a few years until the organization cleaned house from top to bottom. He was infuriated with the move, feeling he was a loyal employee, and left baseball altogether. He owns a hardware store in Durham.

Larry (the Bulls pitching coach)

Josh: This one is incredibly easy. He got fired too, for his handling of Nuke. Larry switches gears and becomes an agent. Larry finds the work more fun and more lucrative. Always eager to draw more attention to his agency, he pitches a reality show to HBO that would follow him around. The station loves it, and the show becomes a huge hit. Multiple new seasons are ordered. Larry is more focused on being a TV star than acquiring new talent, however, and his agency starts to slip. Fortunately, Larry was a notorious cheapskate, and saved his money. Now, he’s retired from the agent business, but he’s constantly trying to buy a major league franchise. Consider him a cross between Dave Stewart and Dennis Gilbert.

Matt: A pitching coach usually only goes as far as his manager. The goofball Larry stayed true to Skip and was with him in AA ball, but was also released during the mass exodus. Larry has bounced around a few organizations and is still a pitching coach in the Texas League because he’s so likable, most people hire him.

Jose (the first baseman)

Josh: Jose needed a live rooster to take a hex off his glove that his girlfriend put on there. You know what? He found it. Later that night, in fact. Jose didn’t make another error the rest of the season. He was a switch-hitting first baseman with some power, and soft hands at first base. Jose made the majors, for sure. He was the second-best prospect on that Bulls team, next to Nuke. Jose wasn’t a Hall of Famer, but he made a couple all-star teams, lasted 10 years in the majors, and was considered a poor man’s Eddie Murray. That’s not bad. He’s now a hitting coach in the majors. Consider him a cross between Tony Clark and Chili Davis.

Matt: He never believed in his raw power, instead focusing on chicken bone crosses, cursed gloves and the like. A headcase of a player if there ever was one, Jose spent three seasons in A ball and was released from his contract. Nobody picked up a 26-year-old Class A first baseman and Jose can now be found playing beer league softball twice a week. He works in a blue collar job and still loves the game, which he has passed along to his three sons.

Jimmy (the religious teammate)

Josh: Jimmy was released at the end of the season, retired, and devoted his full attention to serving the Lord. Once he no longer played baseball, his wife Jackson left him. Distraught, he spent weeks and nights in Church seeking answers. Inspired one day, Jimmy launches a program for Christian athletes in Durham. The program is a huge hit and spreads nation-wide. He’s now the team chaplain for the Atlanta Braves, and a well-sought public speaker within the Christian community.

Matt: We are never told what position Jimmy played, so it’s obvious his baseball skills were not overwhelming. He didn’t make it out of spring training the following season and he became a preacher.

Millie (the groupie who had sex with Nuke before 

his debut and married Jimmy)

Josh: Even though she’d slept with half the Carolina League, it was a cry for help. Millie just wanted to be loved by one man. She just wanted to marry a ballplayer. That’s what she did … until Jimmy was released. Then she realized this wasn’t the man for her. She went back to the ballpark looking for players. Since Annie had “retired” from boys, this left Millie as the alpha female. Jackson did her homework the next time around, taking what she learned from Annie, and adding the scouting reports she read in Baseball America. Millie learned how to play “hard to get” and snagged a power-hitting outfielder with all the right tools. They fell in love, got married, and had a few kids. He made the majors, multiple all-star teams, made millions … and cheated on her. She filed for divorce. She got half his money and child support. Millie enjoyed a brief career as a sideline reporter on TV, and now she’s on the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Consider her a cross between Anna Benson and Michelle Mangan.

Matt: She believed in the power of marriage and the power of God and loved Jimmy … until he stopped playing baseball. With no more daily trips to the ballpark, she yearned for the game and was invited out for some drinks by some players after one of the few games she went to the following summer. Annie, who was with her, warned her not to go, but Millie did and then one thing led to another … and Millie was back to being a baseball groupie. She left Jimmy only nine months after they were married. She has now inherited Annie’s role as the woman who conquers one man a season.

Teddy (the radio announcer)

Josh: Anybody with the ability to call a game live, even though he’s not in attendance, has a long future ahead of him. A few years after the movie was made, Durham made the move from the Single-A Carolina League to the Triple-A International League. Teddy is finally allowed to travel with the team for all road games. Teddy continues to describe the game with enthusiasm, clarity, and honest opinion. Teddy announces his retirement a decade later. When the minor league season ends, the Braves surprise him with the first-ever September call-up for a radio announcer. Teddy gets two innings, every night, for the final month of the season. On the final day of the season, he thanks his radio partners and says, “now I can in peace.” The next day, he does die. Consider him a cross between Dave Niehaus and Jim Kelch (a minor league announcer for 25 years, the final 20 at Triple-A Louisville, before the Reds hired him in 2009).

Matt: No one ever caught on that Teddy was never on road trips because nobody could really understand him anyway. He broadcasted Bulls games for a few more years and then passed away during an offseason.

Coming in March – “Miracle Men: Gibson, Hershiser and the Improbable 1988 Dodgers”

“But the Bulldog in him came out when, after the Athletics were disposed of, he walked down the hallway to the interview room in the Oakland Coliseum and an A's fan yelled, ‘You were lucky, Hershiser.’ A couple of dozen steps later, Hershiser blurted out, ‘Oh yeah – grab a bat.’ He wasn't smiling.”

That was the final paragraph of Peter Gammons' story on Orel Hershiser in the October 31, 1988 edition of Sports Illustrated. The A's fan was a 15-year-old named Josh Suchon, whose eyes were red with tears, and who would cry himself to sleep later that night. Three decades later, Suchon is now 38 years old, the former co-host of “Post Game Dodger Talk” on 790 KABC in Los Angeles, and author of the upcoming book “Miracle Men: Hershiser, Gibson and the Improbable 1988 Dodgers.”

Triumph Books will publish the book in the spring of 2013, in connection with the 25^th anniversary.

That Dodgers team crushed the author's heart as a teen-ager, but now he reflects fondly on an championship that's crazy even by Hollywood standards. Most champions contain a Who's Who of stars. That Dodgers team fielded a World Series lineup that had the audience asking, “Who and Who?”

The year is most remembered for Kirk Gibson's dramatic home run in Game One of the World Series, Orel Hershiser's pitching dominance, and manager Tommy Lasorda's masterful motivation. But there was much more that made the season memorable, bittersweet, and controversial.




There was the trades of fan favorites Bob Welch and Pedro Guerrero; the end of Don Sutton's career, the beginning of Ramon Martinez’s career, and the decline of Fernando Valenzuela; the spring training tantrum by Gibson that set the tone for the season because previous teams weren't serious enough; the suspension of closer Jay Howell for having pine tar in his glove during the playoffs, and his redemption at the ballpark where the home fans once booed him; dramatic playoff home runs by unlikely heroes Mike Scioscia, Mickey Hatcher and Mike Davis; the walk by Davis that made Gibson's home run possible; and most of all, a 46-day stretch of pitching by Hershiser that hasn't been equaled, and never will.

More than a book about the players and games, the author will track down fans who left early and missed Gibson's famed home run, including some future major leaguers. It will be argued this game forever branded Dodgers fans for “arriving late and leaving early.” The history of the baseball that Gibson hit will be detailed by the (many) people who claim to own it.

It's all captured in “Miracle Men” by an unlikely author -- using new interviews with players, coaches, broadcasters and fans; combing through files of old newspapers, magazines and books; and utilizing the perspective of three decades.

JOSH SUCHON is a former reporter at The Oakland Tribune, the former co-host of “Post Game Dodger Talk” on 790 KABC, and currently a free-lance play-by-play announcer with credits on ESPNU. He also authored, “This Gracious Season,” the inside story of Barry Bonds' record-setting, 73-homer season in 2001.

For more updates, sneak peaks, pre-orders, a chance to win a free signed copy, and deleted scenes from this book, follow Josh on Twitter @Josh_Suchon, and check back on this blog frequently.

If you were at Game 1 of the 1988 World Series, and would like to share your memory for possible inclusion in this book, follow this link.

Sharpie Scribbles -- Chapter XI, Alomars vs. Ripkens

-- by Josh Suchon

Note to readers: The feedback on the “You Were Lucky, Hershiser” story was so positive, and triggered so many memories from a childhood where my playground was the Oakland Coliseum, I’ve decided to share more of these stories. I’m blatantly stealing this idea from “Cardboard Gods” author Josh Wilker, who used his baseball card collection to tell the story of his childhood in the 1970s. Wilker gave me his blessing, so I’m going to use my autograph collection to tell the story of my childhood in the 1980s.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, two families competed for the title of best family in baseball -- the Alomars and the Ripkens.

The similarities are impressive: both were led by strong fathers who didn’t have much of a playing career, but were consummate baseball men who stayed in the game as coaches, and taught their sons the right way to play; both of the older sons went on to a Hall of Fame career; both of the younger sons had solid careers; both named one of their son Junior; and most important, both families were huge targets to an autograph-obsessed kid like me.

What follows is a comparison of how the two families grade out, strictly on a Sharpie Scribble scale:

Sheer volume of autographs

The final tally is 16 for the Alomars and n11 for the Ripkens in my collection. It breaks down with eight by Roberto, seven for Sandy Junior, one for Sandy Senior, six for Cal Junior, three for Billy, and two for Cal Senior.

Considering the overwhelming number of my autographs came at the Oakland Coliseum, this is an impressive total for a National League family like the Alomars. It shows how much I took advantage of spring training and how accommodating they were.

Off memory, I want to say that Billy was back in the minor leagues during my peak 1987-89 years of collecting. But that wasn’t the case.


Upon checking baseball-reference.com, Billy was in the majors. For some odd reason, Billy was just a much tougher autograph to obtain than his more in-demand older brother. You'd think it was the other way. 

Edge to the Alomars.

Quality of penmanship

If you looked at any of Alomar autographs on a blank index card, without pictures or names around it, you’d have a difficult time identifying them. The best chance would be with Roberto’s, and I like the style of his autograph (just like I liked his style as a player). It’s interesting how similar Sandy Junior’s scribble compares to his father’s.

The signature of Cal Senior looks like a guy trying to get perfect marks in penmanship class -- legible and clean and professional. I dig the style of Cal Senior’s signature, especially the way he’d put a J at the end of it.

Billy's strikes me as slightly lazy. It's basically B-Rip. Of course, I’m sure most of the autographs Billy was asked to sign were alongside his dad and brother, and he was probably sick of it.  

Edge to the Ripkens.

Personal connection

What I recall about the Alomar autographs is the casual fan didn’t know who they were in 1988 and 1989, and I got the impression all of the family members were impressed that I knew who they were.

Whenever you hand a minor league card to a player, he’s usually impressed with your knowledge of his career and desire to get an unusual items signed. I found that most took a little extra time to make sure they delivered a better scribble. That was definitely the case when I handed the Alomar brothers a card from the Texas League all-star game.

Only one memory stands out about getting any of the Ripken autographs, but it’s a powerful image. It was either in 1987 or 1988, and I was waiting in the players parking lot. A group of Orioles took a hotel shuttle together to the Coliseum.

Cal was dressed the best out of anybody. Cal got out of the shuttle first. He waved his teammates off the shuttle, made sure to tip the driver, and I recall the driver’s smile was a little bigger, so you know the tip was pretty good.

Then Cal patiently stood there and signed everybody’s autograph. He didn’t walk and sign and cause havoc. It was like Cal understood this was part of the job description, that he was not only the face of the Orioles (who were awful at the time), but he was also an ambassador for all of baseball.

Can’t recall which of the six autographs I obtained that day, but I know it wasn’t the smeared one. In fact, I think the smeared one was obtained through the mail, and smears were actually a common drawback for getting autographs in the mail. I got Cal’s autograph on at least three occasions, and I’m guessing it was probably five different times.

Too close to call; no edge.

Peak item to brag about

Getting all three Ripkens signatures from that famous Sports Illustrated issue was a huge goal. Even though it looks ugly, the white scuffs at the bottom of my SI are a sign that I was a subscriber, and the first thing you did when the magazine arrived was try to remove that mailing sticker as gingerly as possible.

I was able to get Cal Junior and Senior on that SI, but not Billy. I can't tell you why I'd get Billy's signature on baseball cards, instead of this magazine. My guess is that I forgot about the SI, and didn't try getting the magazine signatures until after I'd already obtained scribbles on baseball cards. Or maybe I hadn't decided that getting SI covers autographed wasn't cool, until one of my friends did it first.


My memory is not precise, but I recall Billy wasn’t as friendly to us autograph seekers. I always felt empathy toward him, getting compared to his older brother, and never coming close to his accomplishments. 

The 8x10 photo of the Alomars was in wide circulation in 1989. From the gray road uniforms and background, I can tell the picture was taken at Phoenix Municipal Stadium. The picture was probably taken in 1988, when the brothers were both top prospects.

Since they’re not looking directly at the camera, my guess is a whole bunch of photographers got that shot that day. The photo in the Fleer card was taken the same day, and it looks like they delicately told Sandy Senior to get out of the frame.

I’m almost certain I obtained all three signatures on the photo, and the two on the card, in spring training 1989. It might have occurred all on the same day. The spring of 1989, I had most of the A's players that I wanted, so I was usually one of the only people on the visiting side of the field. I'd get the best spot and totally dominate. The number that sticks out in my head was 222 total autographs in a nine-day stretch.

I'm pretty sure, in fact, that every Alomar in my collection was obtained that week.

What I know for sure is that 8x10 photo, and the photo of the Alomar brothers, immediately went inside the best 8x10 frame I had at home. The Ripken item remained in a mere plastic sheet the last 25 years.

Edge to the Alomars.

Post-autograph seeking run-ins

Most of the chapters in this Sharpie Scribbles feature is not just the autographs obtained as a teen-ager, but how I later interviewed the athletes as a journalist. Surprisingly, my interaction with all six was really limited.

I never interviewed any of the Alomars. They were always in the opposite league of whatever league I was covering at the time. Billy’s career ended in 1998, Cal Senior’s life ended in 1999, and I didn’t start covering baseball regularly until 2000.

The only person from either family that I ever interviewed was Cal Junior, and that was part of group interviews during the 2001 all-star game. Cal’s home run is one of my best all-star game memories. The day before the game, one of my sidebars was asking Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez what Ripken meant to the game. Cal’s home run made him the obvious focal point of the game story.

Edge to the Ripkens.

Summary and Conclusion

So it’s tied 2-2-1 in five categories. I really didn’t rig these categories to force a tie. I hate ties. Honestly, I can’t think of any other categories. If you’ve got one, let me know, and I’ll update this.

Overall, my heart gives the edge to the Alomars. Quantity, quality, and unique items make the Alomar autographs some of the proudest in my collection back in the day. I mean, who buys a minor league card of a player in 1988, gets it autographed in 1989, and then the player makes the Hall of Fame two decades later?

Victory to the Alomars.

After the Credits: Jerry Maguire

Note to readers: In honor of Sports Illustrated’s recent “where are they now” issue, we’ve decided to introduce a new feature to the Out of Ink blog. We’re taking the best sports movies ever made, and giving our opinion on what happened to our favorite fictional characters after the movie ended.

-- by Matt Hurst

The movie ends with the belief that all is good. Jerry and Dorothy live happily ever after, Rod Tidwell got his contract and little Ray has a great arm … for a five-year old. But this is sports. Mom and Pop operations never work in sports. Small receivers aren’t stars. Nerdy kids don’t succeed on a field unless they have an instrument in their hands at halftime.

Jerry Maguire: He went through his highs and lows both professionally and personally in the film and seemed to finally figure everything out and how to make it work in perfect harmony by the time the credits rolled. His struggles made him a better man, a better husband and a good father to Ray. But his career suicide still allowed other agents at bigger corporations to undercut him. He didn’t mind because he had Rod Tidwell’s contract and friendship. Word got out and a few athletes began to come Jerry’s way. With the possibility of forming his own big-time agency, Jerry decided to re-read his manifesto and keeps his production small. Just him and Dorothy and a few NFL players. Nothing more than that. He is happy with his life, even if it isn’t as glamorous as it once was.

Dorothy Boyd: She works from home where she can raise her son and isn’t swallowed up in the whole backstabbing sports agent industry. Her heart is too big for that, anyway. She and Jerry made amends (the whole “You complete me” scene) and their love is too strong to break. She doesn’t travel to games with Jerry and only goes to a handful of conventions and events with him since his business is so pared down. Most of her time is spent raising Ray to be a good man and not fall into the pitfalls that once besieged Jerry.

Rod Tidwell: He got his contract – four years and $11 million – to stay in Arizona which is what he wanted all along. His relationship with Jerry calmed down his demeanor from spoiled athlete to sincere athlete and he started becoming a leader in the locker room. The problem was that Tidwell was always too small for receiver but “I go over the middle” and he had decent enough hands. Think Hines Ward here. A solid receiver who won’t overwhelm you but will have five or six catches for 80-90 yards a game. Tidwell signs a one-year deal after his contract is up and retires as a Cardinal. He acts as a buffer for Jerry, making sure to send over only the ones who “get it” to Maguire’s small agency to ensure the player is taken care of by the agent who cares.

Ray: When four-eyed Ray picks up a ball at the end of the movie and throws it over the fence and back onto the field, the idea is that this kid could turn into some kind of athlete. Look, not much is expected from a five-year-old, so of course everyone is amazed that he can even throw. But, really, what kind of athlete would Ray be? This kid has such a thirst for knowledge (“The human head weighs eight pounds!”) and desire to go to the zoo, that he ends up going to veterinary school because his mother encourages him to follow his dreams and is there for him at all times. Jerry had hoped Ray could take over for him, but loves this dorky kid so much, he is just proud of whatever he does. Even if he is a bastard.

Frank Cushman: No. 1 overall draft picks are never a lock in the NFL (see: Russell, JaMarcus and Mandarich, Tony) and Cushman had a lot of growing up to do. He was never told “No” by anyone and made a few missteps in the press and with his teammates. After he is traded, this country boy realizes he’s on his last leg in the league when he is in a training camp competition for the starting quarterback job. His impressive physical skills win out, but he never lives up to his promise and potential. He bounces around to a few teams in his final years but never wins a Super Bowl and ends up with only three more touchdown passes than interceptions.

Bob Sugar: There are far too many stories about sleazyagents and what they do to make a buck to think it was just a few rogue individuals. Bob Sugar was on his way to opening a mega-agency in the movie, doing whatever was needed to work his way up the ladder. From stealing Cushman, to helping sabotage Jerry with all the phone calls, to trying to give a player a hug at the end of the movie, Sugar had no qualms about faking his way to more money and a better agent’s status. He ended up opening his own huge agency, but drinking, drugs, sex parties and the like eventually dragged him down. A DUI finally forced Sugar to declare bankruptcy and close his super-agency. He is trying to get back on his feet but his sordid reputation needs a lot of rebuilding.

Laurel: You want to think that Jerry’s moment with Dorothy in the living room during the anti-male discussion changed the minds of all the women there … even Dorothy’s older sister. But, no. One “You had me at hello” moment is not going to affect Laurel or change her mind, even if everything has turned out well between Jerry and Dorothy. Laurel has turned away many potential suitors because of her strong stance on feminism and still regularly holds and attends living room meetings.

Tidwell family: Spending more than Rod can bring in, they end up living a modest life, not that of someone who made over $15 million in the course of a career. They never really loved Rod (except his wife) they loved the allure of having a famous family member. No one was even at his home games, rather watching Monday Night Football at their own house. Rod eventually becomes a television analyst because he can’t stand the majority of his family and wants to stay away from them as much as possible.

Avery Bishop: After she decks Jerry, her reputation soars. But she has no heart, no soul. She will sleep with anyone to get to the top, and she does. She becomes a CEO of a major company but is never happy. That’s fine with her, because she’s in good shape, has a ton of money and lives a very superficial life. She goes through two marriages but neither work out. She dies alone.

After the credits, part I -- The Natural

Note to readers: In honor of Sports Illustrated’s recent “where are they now” issue, we’ve decided to introduce a new feature to the Out of Ink blog. We’re taking the best sports movies ever made, and giving our opinion on what happened to our favorite fictional characters after the movie ended.

--by Josh Suchon

We start with the movie The Natural. The final scene of the movie shows us Roy Hobbs, back at some farm, playing catch with his son, while his wife looks on with a big smile on her face. We’re led to believe that Hobbs retired after his dramatic home run put the Knights in the playoffs.

What happened in the playoffs? Earlier in the movie, manager Pop Fisher says he just wants to reach the World Series. He doesn’t care if he even wins. This is typical of why Pops wasn’t a very good manager. Who on earth is just happy to be there and doesn’t want to win it all? Hobbs’ home run was so eerily similar to Kirk Gibson’s in 1988, it’s not a stretch to think that Hobbs wasn’t healthy enough to perform in the playoffs, just like Gibson didn’t play again the rest of the 1988 World Series. Hobbs was bleeding, after all. This doesn’t mean the Knights won, just like the Dodgers did. No chance. Not with Pops’ attitude. The Knights didn’t have Orel Hershiser either. Without Hobbs, the Knights had no chance. They were swept in the World Series.

The Pittsburgh manager: Without question, his performance in the one-game playoff was one of the worst in history. Why on earth didn’t he intentionally walk Hobbs? In case you forgot, Hobbs hit a three-run homer in the ninth inning to beat Pittsburgh, 3-2, in the one-game playoff. There was nobody else in the Knights lineup who could beat you. Who cares if Hobbs is the go-ahead run? The Pittsburgh media crucified the manager for this strategy, and management agreed. He was fired, justifiably, two days later.

Pittsburgh starter Youngberry: Yes, he was so good, he didn’t need a first name. Youngberry was furious that he was lifted. Youngberry ripped his manager for taking him out. He’s got a shutout with two outs in the ninth inning, he’s struck out Hobbs twice already in the game, and you take him out because the count is 2-0? Youngberry was livid and demanded a trade. After the manager was fired, Youngberry agreed to return, and won the Cy Young the next season.

Pittsburgh reliever John Rhoades: The play-by-play announcer said he had the best fastball to come into the game in years. As Rhoades learned, you need more than one pitch in the majors though. Rhoades wasn’t affected by giving up the dramatic home run to Hobbs, just like Dennis Eckersley wasn’t affected by Kirk Gibson’s home run. Rhoades learned to trust his slider, developed a changeup, and became the most dominant relief pitcher in baseball the next five years.

Knights owners: Considering the amount of money the owners lost betting against their own team, they were desperate for cash and wanted to make somebody pay. If any mobsters had bet against the Knights, thinking the starting pitcher and Hobbs were on the take, they’d have probably put a hit on somebody’s life. But let’s not kill anybody too soon. Let’s assume the owners were the only ones who lost all their money on the Knights.

Knights pitcher Al Fowler: You might recall, Fowler was weighing the pros and cons of tanking the one-game playoff and accepting the gambling money. Hobbs saw this, and called him out on it after Fowler gave up a two-run homer early in the game. Evidently, Fowler then went back to trying, since he didn’t give up another run the rest of the game. After the season, the owners want to get rid of Fowler. They sell him away -- like the Red Sox selling Babe Ruth to the Yankees -- for straight cash. They need cash just to operate the franchise the next season. In response to irate Knights fans, the owners try to destroy Fowler’s credibility in the press.

Max Mercy, the sportswriter/illustrator: Mercy led the original crusade against poor Fowler, printing every lie the Knights owners told him. But even if Mercy was a slime ball, he was a dogged reporter, and he got to the bottom of the gambling scheme. Mercy’s got the scoop and he’s about to break the story, but Fowler beats him to it. Fowler drops the gambling news at a bombshell press conference.

The commissioner: After the gambling charges come to light, the commissioner investigates what the heck is going on with the Knights ownership -- and let’s hope he reaches his conclusion in a shorter amount of time than it’s taking Bud Selig to rule on the A’s-Giants territorial rights to San Jose. Let’s say the commissioner is somebody like Bart Giamatti, and he hired somebody like John Dowd. The results are made public pretty quickly and the public is outraged. The Knights owners are forced to sell. There’s a silent, not organized, but very clear boycott of the stadium until new owners are brought in.

The new owners: Their first move, naturally, is reaching out to Hobbs. They need him to come out of retirement, to bring the fans back, and for the good of baseball. Hobbs says no. He’s done. He’s retired. After more prodding, Hobbs’ wife and son give their blessing, and Hobbs makes his celebrated return to the Knights in mid-season.

Roy Hobbs: Of course, Hobbs hits a home run in his first at-bat. The scene is incredible. You can’t write a script like this. Actually, you can. I just did. Hobbs’ body can’t handle the day-to-day demands of playing ball though. He does his best and tries to play, but his performance suffers. He’s on the disabled list for most of the year. Fans boo him. Those damn New York fans boo everybody. They speculate that Hobbs is tanking it on purpose because of gamblers. Hobbs struggles through the rest of the season, the Knights don’t make the playoffs, and Hobbs calls it a career. Again.

The Pittsburgh club: After choking away the pennant last year, there’s no stopping them. They run away with the pennant. They’ve got Youngberry. They’ve got Rhoades. They’ve got a manager with a clue. Pittsburgh wins the World Series and dominates baseball the next few years.

Bobby Savoy, the Knights bat boy -- he was besieged with questions about the bat that he picked out for Hobbs to use. Once the story goes public, everybody wants a similar “Wonderboy” bat for themselves. Realizing this is a golden opportunity to make money, the kid quits the team, drops out of school, and opens a bat-making business. Orders fly into his bedroom office. He hires his mom and dad to keep up with the demands. The problem with the business was the bats never cracked, so people only needed one. A few years later, he sells the bat-making business to Rawlings, and goes to junior college to study economics.

Podcast: Kansas City Royals - The Draft

In honor of Kansas City hosting the Major League Baseball All-Star Game, Josh Suchon and Matt Hurst hold their first-ever fantasy draft. Rather than choosing current players from all teams, we took a twist on the typical fantasy draft and made sure to choose only Kansas City Royals players from the franchise's history. We plan on having the teams "play each other" via a computer simulator and posting the results. The Out of Ink team will also be performing more of these drafts soon, so check back often.

The concept is building a team for a best-of-7 playoff series. We limited our rosters to 20 players. Matt Hurst won the coin toss, and elected to draft second and third overall. Josh Suchon selected George Brett (1980) with the first overall pick. Hurst countered with Bret Saberhagen (1989) and Bo Jackson (1990).

After that, the picks alternated. The rest of the picks in the first 10 rounds, in order: Darrell Porter, David Cone, Zack Greinke, Carlos Beltran, Kevin Appier, Frank White, Mark Gubicza, Dan Quisenberry, John Mayberry, Mike Sweeney, Amos Otis, Willie Wilson, Danny Tartabull, Jeff Montgomery, Joakim Soria, Gary Gaetti, Jose Offerman.

This is how the final rosters stack up.

Team Royal Blue

General Manager: Josh Suchon

Manager: Dick Howser

Ballpark: Old Municipal Stadium

Johnny Damon, 2000, LF

Jose Offerman, 1998, 2B

George Brett, 1980, 3B

Hal McRae, 1982, DH

John Mayberry, 1975, 1B

Danny Tartabull, 1991, RF

Darrell Porter, 1979, C

Amos Otis, 1978, CF

Angel Berroa, 2003, SS

Bench: Kevin Seitzer (1987), Bob Hamelin (1994), Tom Goodwin (1995), Cookie Rojas (1971)

Starting rotation: Zack Greinke (2009), Kevin Appier (1993), Mark Gubicza (1988)

Bullpen: Joakim Soria (2010), Flash Gordon (1989), Steve Farr (1988), Charlie Leibrandt (1985)

Team Powder Blue

General Manager: Matt Hurst

Manager: Whitey Herzog

Ballpark: (New) Kauffman Stadium

Willie Wilson, 1980, CF

Bo Jackson, 1990, LF

Carlos Beltran, 2003, RF

Mike Sweeney, 2000, 1B

Jermaine Dye, 2000, DH

Frank White, 1986, 2B

Gary Gaetti, 1995, 3B

Mike Macfarlane, 1993, C

Freddie Patek, 1971, SS

Bench: Gregg Jeffries (1992), Chili Davis (1997), Alex Gordon (2011)

Staring rotation: Bret Saberhagen (1989), David Cone (1994), Bud Black (1984)

Bullpen: Dan Quisenberry (1983), Jeff Montgomery (1989), Al Hrabosky (1978) Roberto Hernandez (2001), Paul Byrd (2002).

In the comments, select which team you think would win this best-of-7 series, and rip us for who was drafted when. We’ll tabulate your votes, post the computer simulations, and solicit the opinion from selected media members.

My review of the Celebrity Softball Game (really)

-- by Josh Suchon

Tuned into the Celebrity Softball Game because the menu on my television incorrectly said it was SportsCenter, and I wanted to see what I didn’t miss in the Home Run Derby. (I used to love the Home Run Derby, but it’s just too damn long. When they shorten it to two rounds, I’ll start watching again.)

Watched the Celebrity Softball Game for a few minutes because I wanted to mock it and figured I’d get a few minutes of material for jokes. Continued watching the game because I got the dumb idea that I’d take a page from the Ken Levine book of blogging and write a ridiculous review of this ridiculous event.

A funny thing happened on the way to me ripping everything. I actually watched the whole thing, and was actually entertained.

I still don’t like the hybrid rosters of baseball legends, celebrities, musicians, athletes from a few other sports, and a few token hot chicks. I’d rather see one of the following rosters:

Host city legends vs. all other legends. It’d be cool to see George Brett, Mike Sweeney, Frank White, Kevin Seitzer, U.L. Washington (only if he put a toothpick in his mouth) and other Royals legends against the non-KC legends like Rollie Fingers, Rickey Henderson, Dave Winfield, etc.

Baseball legends vs. other sports’ stars. Inviting a local star, like Chiefs quarterback Matt Cassel, is a good idea -- unless the local fans hate him. It does give me great pleasure to rip Chiefs fans for booing their own starting quarterback. C’mon, it’s the offseason. Relax. I was impressed with soccer star Carlos Bocanegra’s swing. Maybe if you put a whole team of non-baseball players against baseball legends, you’d get some competitive juices flowing.

The problem with celebrity softball events is the quality of celebrities. The A-listers don’t show up because they’re too cool, they don’t want to embarrass themselves, and they have better things to do. The B-listers don’t show up because they think they’re A-listers, and want to mimic the actions of A-listers. The C-listers are all too willing to show up and take themselves way too serious.

That’s how we end up with James Denton every time there’s a celebrity softball game, in any city, in any state, on any continent. Denton doesn’t need baseball pants. He’s got them. He travels with them. It makes me wonder if he just shows up to every celebrity softball game, paying his own way, and nobody has the heart to tell him he’s not needed.

I guess Denton is still acting after Desperate Housewives, and a check of his IMDB page shows this is correct, but I’m convinced Denton’s occupation is playing at celebrity softball games. Was it shocking that Denton was the “funny” guy who stood beyond the fences, caught a home run, and tried to get an out called?

 

I was proud that Chord Overstreet, from Glee, destroyed some stereotypes by hitting a home run. But it’s not like baseball picked up a couple new fans who watched to see him. We don’t need Chord Overstreet, or American Idol singers David Cook and Haley Reinhart, or country singer David Nail, or Saturday Night Live cast member Horatio Sanz, or Modern Family supporting actor Eric Stonestreet, or Paul DiMeo from Extreme Makeover Home Edition. We do need to see Victoria Secret models like Chrissy Teigen, but not in this context. That’s why the Lingerie Football League exists.

I’m intentionally leaving Jon Hamm out of the above paragraph because even though I don’t want celebrities in the softball game, he’s a legitimate freakin’ star, he’s a legit Missouri sports fan (who my friends have seen in Mizzou gear at Mizzou watch parties in LA), and I’m hoping the footage of Don Draper hitting a home run somehow ends up on next year’s Mad Men.

I’m usually pretty indifferent on Bill Simmons. I’m not a huge fan, yet I don’t hate him. I loved his epic piece on why my beloved Golden State Warriors are so terrible. I respect his popularity, the niche he’s carved for himself, and that the fabulous 30-for-30 project was his idea. Still, when I saw he was doing the “analysis” for the game, I was expecting the worst.

Simmons was actually pretty damn good. He said Bo Jackson was the worst manager since Grady Little. When Rickey Henderson didn’t give much of an effort on a flyball in the outfield, Simmons said it was like the final five years of Rickey’s career. He thought Jennie Finch would be jealous of the supermodel at the plate and try harder to get her out (admit it, you thought the same).

Basically, Simmons talked like it was a 5,000-word column. He wasn’t afraid to rip people. Some jokes bombed, but hey, it’s live TV and there’s no script. I’d bring him back next year.

This has nothing to do with the game, and I’ve seen this commercial a hundred times, but this thought finally occurred to me. Why does Bayer hire Justin Verlander to be a spokesman for its product, then say, “but don’t take his word for it?” The whole point of hiring a celebrity to pitch your product is that us gullible consumers will buy your product simply because Justin Verlander gave us his word.

The most spirited reaction from the crowd was for Kansas men’s basketball coach Bill Self. Kansas City is right smack in the middle of Kansas and Mizzou territory, so the booing was appropriate, and so was the cheering as the two rivals’ fans had some fun. Self claimed he hadn’t swung a bat since 1992. Does anybody really believe that, especially after he homered in his first at-bat and also singled?

The only people who are bigger control freaks than college basketball coaches are college football coaches. I’m convinced this guy was taking batting practice every day the last two weeks. I’m waiting for a Deadspin reader to produce year-by-year stats of the three softball teams that Self has played on each summer for the last 20 years. Even if the stats are fake, I want to see them.

I really don’t want to review how badly out-of-shape our favorite teen-age baseball heroes are looking these days. Instead, I’ll wrap this up with the most important rules for celebrity softball games:

1. Always swing for a home run. Even if you’re Ozzie Smith. It’s alright if you single. You just can’t try to hit a single. Swing for the fences. Every time.

This isn't going to help Steve Garvey's reputation.

2. Never try to hit the ball to the opposite field. This means you Steve Garvey. I can respect that Garvey is trying to pad his career RBI total, or wants to prove to Hall of Fame voters they blew it by not electing him, or just remind fans he was an RBI machine every day in the 1970s and early 1980s. But obviously aiming for right-center? Garvey did it twice. He finished with three RBIs. I’m convinced Garvey knows his career batting average in celebrity softball games.

3. Whatever eccentric thing you were known for doing in your career, you’re contractually obligated to do. This means pre at-bat routines, bat flips, snap catches, and any other “hot dog” moves. Ham it up. Put on a show. And if Rickey Henderson gets on first base, let the man steal second base.

4. Jennie Finch should be the all-time pitcher for both teams. Forget any previous points about not needing beautiful women, or celebrities, or anything that would otherwise disqualify her. She’s great to look at. She knows how to lob pitches into the zone to let the hitters do their thing. She’s the face of Softball on this planet. It never gets old when she rifles a pitch over somebody’s head. She should be allowed to strike out at least one person. Maybe the last out of the game?

Just glad it wasn’t the last out of this game. What made me actually enjoy watching this game, and justify the hour of my life that I’ll never get back, was the final batter. The crowd was chanting for Bo Jackson to bat. Bo was managing because of his hip, and pointed repeatedly to his hip, when saying he wasn’t hitting.

Joe Carter was supposed to bat, but he demanded that Bo step into the batters box. Carter offered to be the designated runner. Bo asked for Carter’s batting gloves, which built the drama and gave the crowd a chance to salute Bo once again. The stage was set for a dramatic final moment, even if it was a 13-run deficit.

It didn’t matter that Bo popped up on the infield. Bo swung for the fences. Bo tried to pull it. Bo knows the rules.

That’s why we watch the legends play softball. Give us more legends and less James Denton, and I’ll keep watching this event every year.