A legendary ball-player and a memorable song

I had worked late and decided to stop for a drink on my way home. I went to my usual hang-out. I sat on the last stool on the short end of the L-shaped bar. I was facing the door from there.

I knew most of the people coming and going. Some stopped and chatted for a few minutes. Others waved as they made their way to a table where they were meeting friends. I was tired. I didn't feel like talking and was happy to keep the encounters short and simple.

One of the people who came in that night was Billy Daley. He was a star baseball player in our baseball-mad town, an outfielder and slugger with our beloved Chatham Ironmen.

(This photo was taken by my friend, Edward O'Reilly.)

I had been watching Billy play ball since we were both young kids — back as far as bantam, through midget and then — skipping juvenile and junior — straight to the Ironmen of the senior league. His throwing arm was legendary but it was at the plate where he excelled. He hit for both power and average and is still remembered for his 58-game hitting streak — two games longer than Joe DiMaggio's streak. He was dependable; when he came to bat, you could almost feel the fans breathe a sigh of relief.

Billy and I knew each other the way you do when you grow up in the same town. We didn't go to the same school, we didn't hang around with the same people — he was a little younger than I — but we were Chatham-ites and we knew each other.

When he came into the bar that night, he smiled and waved as he passed me by. Of course, he knew — and was known by — pretty much everyone there and he made the rounds of the tables, stopping and chatting, occasionally sitting down and joining various conversations.

It got late and I was just about to gather my things and leave when Billy came over and sat on the stool next to me. We chatted easily about nothing; we flirted a bit and enjoyed a few laughs. He ordered another beer and ordered a glass of wine for me.

At a certain point, he swivelled our two bar stools so we were facing each other. He held my two hands, looked into my eyes, and began to sing quietly. He sang Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys. He sang the whole song, from beginning to end, every word. When he had finished, he laughed a little, leaned over and kissed my cheek, and then left.

It was a sweet moment — quite an intimate moment although we were neither friends nor lovers. We were just two people who knew each other because we grew up in the same town.

But it's a sweet memory also and when you have a sweet memory, you should just hold on to it, enjoy it, and not try to explain it. That's what I'm going to do.

Play ball!

We've made two visits to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. William was quite young when we made the first visit but he was already a ballplayer and, what we didn't know then, he would later qualify as an umpire. We had barely got inside the door – I think we were at the second exhibit – when he told me he wasn't feeling well. I felt his forehead and, oh oh, at least 101.

We went back to our motel with a stop on the way for children's Tylenol and we put William to bed. After awhile, we decided that there was no point in both Mum and Dad sitting in the darkened motel room with a sick kid so Dan went off to the Hall of Fame, with my blessing. He had a great time!

When we went back to Cooperstown a few years later, we were all in good health and we did the Hall of Fame properly.

(Don't forget to click on the photos.)

We were taken by surprise to discover that we were in Cooperstown on Induction Weekend and it turned out that some legendary people were also in town. We were walking along the street and saw some of them being transported toward the Hall – a banquet, I think – and I couldn't have been more excited to watch them pass. Of course, if we'd known they were coming we'd have crossed the street and got better photos but I was beyond thrilled anyway.

There was Frank Robinson:

There was Whitey Ford:

And, oh my goodness, there was Hank Aaron:

There were several others but these were the highlights for me.

We went to Mass in Cooperstown and had quite quite a funny priest who let us know that he always ended his homily as soon the bells of the Baptist Church next door began to ring. He was as good as his word.

The highlight though was at the end when he announced, "Our closing hymn, as it always is on Induction weekend – and I encourage all of you to sing along! – is 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game'." I can't express how it felt to be in that lovely church, with the whole congregation belting it out. So exciting! (Here's a great version.)

The two books I bought at the Hall of Fame were a biography of Joe DiMaggio, The Hero's Life, by Pulitzer Prize winner Richard Ben Cramer:

And Voices from the Great Black Baseball Leagues, oral history compiled by John Holway:

The exhibit from Women's Professional Baseball was opened in Cooperstown in 1988 and the movie about women's baseball, A League of Their Own, was released in 1992. I saw it then and I saw it again a couple of months ago, on a plane coming home from England. There's an exchange in it between Coach Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks) and star pitcher Dottie Hinson (Geena Davis) when Dottie is explaining to him why she has to stop playing. She tells him it's just too hard for her to keep playing.

(Jimmy, pleading, with passion:) It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. It’s the hard that makes it great.

I always loved those lines – and the sentiment.

The World Series resumes tomorrow. The Blue Jays came back for a bit after losing two in Kansas City. Can the Mets? Or is it all over?