Big Hair and Plastic Grass

Vida Blue on "What's My Line?"

In what appears to be an episode from late '72 or early '73, the former Cy Young winner faces his toughest opponents yet: Soupy Sales and Arlene Francis. Blue's 'fro is no match for Gene Shalit's, but his shirt is absolutely killer. Sadly, the post-game interview cuts off just when it starts to get interesting...

"He's thanking his teammates! He's thanking the umpire!"

June 28, 1976: Mark Fidrych takes the old Tiger Stadium hill against the Yankees on Monday Night Baseball, and is transformed into a national hero overnight. "The Bird" beats Billy Martin's Yanks 5-1 for his eighth victory of the season (making him 8-1 with a 2.05 ERA) and his eighth complete game; but his oddball mound antics (and unbridled joy at just being there) make an even greater impression on the TV audience than his efficient pitching.

I remember watching this game in the living room of our first-floor apartment on Baldwin in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Revisiting this clip — where he faces Ellie Hendricks, the final batter of the game, and then completely flips out — always makes me weep tears of happiness, nostalgia, and of course sorrow over his undoubtedly painful and frightening death. Bless your sweet spirit, Bird — you made so many people feel so good during that Bicentennial year, me included. You'll never be forgotten.

Ellis, D.

Once again, I'd like to thank all the thoughtful folks who keep forwarding me James Blagden's amazing animated interpretation of Dock Ellis's LSD-assisted no-hitter. While I do wish actual footage of the event still existed — along with the post-game interview, which must have been, er, interesting — this is definitely the proverbial "gift that keeps on giving" for any Ellis fan.

And might I also modestly add — if you dig where this clip is coming from, I've got a book coming out in May that's going to be very much to your liking.

Dock Ellis, 1945-2008

(This post of mine originally ran Jan 2, 2009 on La Vie En Robe.)

Wow.

I know I've been a bit distracted over these past few months, but I'm kinda shocked that I somehow missed the news of Dock Ellis' untimely demise from cirrhosis of the liver until nearly two weeks after the fact. I was at a neighborhood New Year's Eve Party, where the host introduced me to one of his friends and mentioned my book on 1970s baseball; I went into my usual song and dance about the magic of the era, the uniforms, the hi-jinks, the riots, and of course Dock Ellis pitching a no-hitter on acid. "Wait," said the host's friend. "Didn't that guy just die?"

I swear I almost left the party right there.

Dock's career numbers (138 wins against 119 losses, a 3.46 career ERA, 1136 strikeouts over 2127.7 innings) were solid enough, but nowhere near good enough to get him into Cooperstown. He was inducted into my personal Hall of Fame years ago, however — and not just because of the revelation that he'd actually been under the influence of LSD while no-hitting the Padres in June 1970.

No, baby; it was much, much more than that. I loved him because he was a fiery, complex and genuine individual who continually spoke his truth, even when it caused the Lords of Baseball to choke on their steak dinners, and even though his career (both as a baseball player and after his retirement) suffered greatly for it. I loved him because he caused a major PR incident by wearing curlers in the bullpen at Wrigley Field. I loved him because he once tried to bean the entire Big Red Machine in an attempt to light a competitive fire in the hearts of his Pirate teammates. I loved him because he was the starting pitcher for the Pirates on September 1st, 1971, the day the Bucs became the first team in major league history to field an all-black starting nine. I loved him because he wore an earring way before ballplayers (or mainstream American menfolk in general) dared to do so; even though wearing it caused the Yankees to exile his ass to Oakland early in the 1977 season. I loved him because he loved Jimi Hendrix, Black Sabbath and Iron Butterfly. I loved him because he later turned his life around and worked with ballplayers, prisoners and at-risk youth as a drug-counselor. I loved him because he was a badass whose example helped encourage me to live my own life with as much truth and as little bullshit as possible. And, of course, I loved him for being one of the main inspirations behind my book.

Unlike Dick Allen, an equally baaaad dude who just wanted to be left alone to play baseball in peace, Dock was a serious shit-stirrer. He essentially forced Sparky Anderson to start him over Tom Seaver in the 1971 All-Star Game by loudly proclaiming in the press that baseball would never allow two black pitchers to start the mid-summer classic (Vida Blue was starting the contest for the AL). Never mind that Anderson was one of the most color-blind managers of the era; Dock knew that it would be a major event to have two brothers on the mound at the start of the game, and he forced the issue instead of waiting around with his fingers crossed, hoping that it would happen. Of course, he got his karmic payback in the third inning of the contest, when Reggie Jackson hit one of the most mammoth and memorable home runs in All-Star history off of him, and Frank Robinson knocked a subsequent two-run homer that tagged him with the loss. Dock was never particularly careful about what he wished for...

Still, Dock clearly loved the game of baseball, even if he didn't have much time for uptight white guys like Bowie Kuhn who ran the show. As a teammate of the late, great Roberto Clemente on the Pirates' 1971 World Championship squad, Dock spoke openly and admiringly of the example that Clemente set daily for all the Pittsburgh players, even down to the way that they should demonstrate their "Pirate pride" by letting the stripes on their stirrups show. He was, by all accounts — despite many media attempts to paint him as a hostile prima donna or (much worse) an "uppity negro" — a great guy to have on your team; regardless of what color you were, if you were his teammate, Dock always had your back.

I saw Dock pitch only once, on a brutally hot August 1979 afternoon at Shea Stadium. He was pitching for the woeful Mets by then, his second of three stops during the final season of his major league career (he would, poetically enough, end the year and his career as a member of Willie Stargell's "We Are Family" world champion Pirates), and he clearly didn't have too much gas left in the tank by then. The Phillies roughed him up for three hits and two runs before he even recorded an out, and Greg Luzinski crushed one into the right field upper deck in the fourth that almost took my grandmother's head off. "Settle down, Ellis!" I yelled at one point, my adolescent quaver echoing through the mostly-empty stands, and he looked over his shoulder and glared at me. Well, actually, he was glaring at the runner he was trying to hold at first base, but the move caused his head to turn in my general direction. And even at that distance, on a crummy day in an even crummier ballpark, his intense bearing and regal body language seemed to say, "Shut the fuck up, kid; I got this."

Rest in peace, Dock. You were one righteous dude.

"He Wants to Be Cool and Refreshed!"

There's baseball and pop culture... and then there's Pete Rose and Vic Tayback.

Yes, this actually happened. Back in 1976, "Charlie Hustle" and the future "Mel Sharples" teamed up to tout the virtues of Aqua Velva aftershave — and, indeed, the all-important concept of smelling like a man — in this memorably ridiculous TV ad. I was only ten years old at the time, but I seem to remember the very earth quaking from this Godzilla vs. Megdalon-type meeting of baseball and pop culture giants. And now, thanks to YouTube, it quakes again!

Reggie Bar — "The Candy Hit"

 

Was anyone out there actually into Reggie Bars? I remember being pretty stoked to see them in the "impulse candy" rack at my local drugstore; but after eating one of 'em, I can't recall ever feeling compelled to go back for seconds. It was kind of like a bigger, denser and chalkier $100,000 Bar — perfect for whipping onto the field at Yankee Stadium, but not exactly my idea of a tasty treat. They were only the market until the early '80s, although I swear I saw several "past sell-by date" boxes of them at the 99 Cent Store on Wilshire Blvd in the mid-'90s, and was sorely tempted to buy them all just for the novelty factor.

(Reggie wrapper courtesy of the folks at No Mas, who are currently selling some pretty righteous Reggie Bar t-shirts, which you can find HERE.)

Pre-Order Big Hair & Plastic Grass!

 

What better way to throw the first pitch of my new blog than to throw a pitch for my new book, eh? It's called Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride Through Baseball and America in the Swinging '70s. And while it's not actually out yet — May 25 is the official pub date — you can pre-order it NOW from those fine folks at Barnes & Noble, as well as those not-so-fine folks at Amazon, both of whom will have it on your doorstep on the day it comes out.

Of course, if you want to wait to buy it until it hits the streets, so you can support your local bookseller, that's cool too. I am currently making plans to do readings, signings and various song-and-dance routines in several cities this summer — and will of course be announce the events here as they become officially locked-in.