Big Hair and Plastic Grass

Dan The Man

Funky birthday greetings goin' out today to Dan Driessen, who (next to George Foster) sported the baddest pair of 'chops on the '76 World Champion Cincinnati Reds.

In 1976, the Designated Hitter rule was used in the World Series for the first time, and Dan — a part-time utility player for much of his first four seasons with the Reds — became the first player to step to the plate as a DH in a World Series, hitting .357 during the Big Red Machine's four-game sweep of the Yankees. I was rooting for the Yanks, and remember marveling at the impressive depth of the Reds' roster; the Yanks didn't have anybody better than Otto Velez on their bench, but the Reds had THIS guy?!? I'd never even heard of him, and here he was raking Yankee pitching like it was batting practice...

Evidently, the Cincy front office thought they were sitting on a gold mine as well, because they traded 34 year-old fan favorite (and eventual Hall of Famer) Tony Perez to the Montreal Expos that off-season, and gave the 24 year-old Driessen the full-time first baseman position. Driessen responded by hitting .300 with a .375 OBP, 31 doubles, 17 HR, 91 RBI and 31 SBs, and put up a .994 fielding percentage at first — but he was never accepted by Reds fans as a sufficient replacement for the "Big Doggie". That the Reds didn't win the NL West in '77 or '78 didn't help Driessen's "Horace Clarke"-type standing among Cincinnati fans, nor did the fact that he never put up numbers matching his '77 output again. Still, he managed to hang onto the Reds' starting 1B gig  until July 1984, when he was traded to (wait for it) the Montreal Expos, aka the home for aging Reds first basemen...

In other news, I want to give a grateful tip of the Monsanto Toupee in the direction of Weston Cutter, who gave Big Hair & Plastic Grass a nice write-up on the Corduroy Books blog. "This is baseball writing with a healthy tilt toward the style of the day and game," he writes, "not just the substance. It’s a hell of a read." Much obliged, hombre...

Funky Good Times

I have waxed rhapsodic in the past (in my book, on this blog and for The Hall of Very Good) about Dave "The Cobra" Parker and his deadly cannon arm. But as Montreal Expos fans — and any baseball fan who was paying attention in the late 70s — can tell you, there was one outfielder whose arm might have been even deadlier than The Cobra's: Ellis Valentine.

In 1978, a year after Parker gunned down 26 runners from right field, Valentine nailed 25 — and took home a Gold Glove Award for his troubles. As if it wasn't enough that the dude was 6'4", could hit for power and average — .293 with 28 doubles and 25 homers in 1977, followed by .289 with 35 doubles and 25 homers in '78 — and looked (at least on his '77 Topps card, above) like Jim Kelly's beefy younger brother, the man had a Howitzer hanging from his right shoulder. Dig this awesome 12-second clip of the Ellis arm in action:

The late-70s Expos' outfield of Valentine, Andre Dawson and Warren Cromartie may not have been the greatest of all-time, but it sure was the most badass OF trio I can think of; I wasn't an Expos fan, per se, but those three guys were exciting as hell to watch. They brought the funk to the dreadfully un-funky Olympic Stadium — literally as well as figuratively, as it turns out. Check out "Ellis Valentine's Infinite Playlist," a piece I helped Instream Sports put together, wherein the music-loving Mr. Valentine picks (and holds forth upon) his ten favorite party jams of the era. Need some funk for your weekend? EV will provide! (The funk-loving folks at Deadspin apparently dug the piece, too, and boosted my Amazon sales numbers by calling me "The leading chronicler of 70s baseball." Thanks, y'all — beers on me!)

And speaking of music, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who came out last Friday night to my "AOR Demolition" event at Liar's Club in Chicago, where I read from the new paperback edition of Big Hair & Plastic Grass, and then took a sledgehammer to a stack of crappy rock records from the 70s (and a few from the 80s, just on principle), thereby redressing the lingering karmic and musical imbalance caused by the destruction of so much sweet funk and disco wax at 1979's "Disco Demolition Night" at Comiskey Park. I'd also like to thank the Liar's Club folks (esp. Herb Rosen and Mike O'Connell) for the hospitality, DJ John San Juan for expertly spinning the 70s AM gold, and Sarah from The Book Cellar for schlepping and selling copies of BH&PG. I love the above photo (taken by the lovely Miss Katie Howerton), which makes it look I'm sacrificing the wax to the Disco Ball God — which, in a sense, is exactly what happened. (Click HERE to see actual "AOR Demolition" footage. It's not for the faint of heart, or REO Speedwagon fans.)

The whole Chicago trip was fantastic, if far too short. We saw a ton of old friends, ate a ton of great food, and somehow managed to dodge most of the inclement weather that's troubled the Midwest. And thanks to my friend Rich Doherty, who kindly donated his kick-ass seats to the cause, we even managed to squeeze in a game at Wrigley Field — and were even treated to a "rare as hen's teeth" Cubs victory, to boot. It had been seven years since I last set foot in Wrigley, and I'd been gone so long I'd almost started to believe the "Wrigley is a dump" rhetoric. But the place looked absolutely gorgeous (even if I coulda done without the Under Armor ads on the outfield walls), and remains as glorious a place to watch a major league ballgame as I've ever been. Fuck the haters; may the old park stand for another century, at least!

In a moment of magical serendipity, my buddy Eric were nursing our post-AOR Demolition hangovers Saturday afternoon with a leisurely trudge through Lincoln Park, when we stumbled upon an old-timey, er, VINTAGE baseball game in action. There was something thrillingly surreal about the whole affair, which included an umpire who looked like Dr. John in a top hat, and who was perched upon a stool 20 feet to the right of home plate. Made me want to find a similar league to play in on my home turf; alas, I can't seem to find one in Southern California...

Speaking of the Windy City, I'll be talking live with the great Chicago sportswriter Steve Rosenbloom today (Saturday) at 11 am CST on WSCR-AM 670, aka "The Score". I remember having a great on-air chat with Steve when BH&PG first came out in 2010, so I'm looking forward to another round. Click HERE to listen online. And via the modern miracle of the telephone, I'll also be on the air in Philadelphia this Sunday evening; I'll be talking 70s baseball with Phil Allen, who's possibly the world's biggest Bake McBride fan, a little after 6 pm EST on 97.5 The Fanatic.

Okay, gotta boogie. But check back soon, 'cuz I've got some good news regarding my next book that I'm gonna lay on you in the not-too-distant future. 'Til then, keep the glide in your stride like Arnold Ray McBride...

 

 

Summer Madness

It's kind of amazing just how much crazy shit went down in baseball during the middle of July in the 1970s. Most of you probably know that yesterday was the 33rd anniversary of the ill-fated "Disco Demolition Night" promotion at Comiskey Park, wherein thousands of wasted kids high on beer, bad weed and general teenage idiocy rushed the field between games of a double-header, tearing it up and causing the second contest between the Tigers and the White Sox to be cancelled (and later forfeited to Detroit). G-Town Radio's Tom Casetta, who interviewed me earlier this week for his righteous Listen Up! show, referred to the event during our chat as the "Altamont" of 70s baseball, which seems pretty right-on, though I was hard-pressed at the time to come up with a "Woodstock" equivalent for the decade. (Though in retrospect, maybe it was the '76 All-Star Game?) But oh, babies, there was so much more that happened this week in 70s baseball...

For one thing, tonight is the 35th anniversary of the New York City blackout, which (among other things) plunged Shea Stadium into darkness — save for the ballpark's rudimentary emergency lights, as seen above — in the sixth inning of a Cubs-Mets contest, just as Mets third baseman Lenny Randle stepped to the plate against Ray Burris. In the interest of keeping the 14,626 people in attendance from panicking, Bud Harrelson, Craig Swan and several other Mets players drove their cars on to the field and performed a headlight-lit pantomimed ballgame for the amusement of the crowd.

And of course, on this date in 1971, Reggie Jackson went yard on Dock Ellis in the 4th inning of the All-Star Game, crushing the ball so mightily that it was still heading into orbit when it hit a power generator on top of Tiger Stadium's right field roof, at least 520 feet from home plate. Five other players homered in the AL's 6-4 victory that day: Johnny Bench, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente, Frank Robinson and Harmon Killebrew. All of them, including Reggie, ended up in the Hall of Fame. Dock wasn't tripping that day, but — according to this piece by Jeffrey Radice, one of the guys behind the upcoming No-No: A Dockumentary (About Dock Ellis), he was pretty looped on screwdrivers and speed when he took the mound in Detroit.

A quick side note: Radice and his crew are trying to raise money to fund their film via Kickstarter; they've only got a few days left to go, and they're still far short of their $35,000 goal — which means that, if they don't make it to $35,000 in pledges, they won't get a single penny of the money that's already been pledged. This is going to be a really entertaining and important film, and anyone who loves baseball, especially the 70s version, should support it if they can. So please, if you have a few (or more) bucks you can spare, do the badass thing and click HERE to pledge before Tuesday...

 

Okay, where were we? Ah, yes — the Atlanta Braves' first "Headlock and Wedlock Night" promotion was held on July 11, 1976. One of many wacky-to-downright-bizarre promotions thought up by Braves publicity director Bob Hope during the early years of Ted Turner's ownership, when the Braves desperately needed to do something (anything!) to lure fans to Fulton County Stadium, the event began with a number of couples (reports range anywhere from 9 to 34 in total) walking under an archway of bats held by ten players from the Braves and Mets to home plate, where they were joined in holy matrimony. After the game (which the Braves actually won 9-8 on a bases-loaded double by Willie Montanez), a wrestling ring was set up in the stadium's "picnic area," where anyone willing to stick around and swelter in the July humidity was welcome to watch a four-match Georgia Championship Wrestling card topped by Abdullah the Butcher (pictured above), who was pitted against Mr. Wrestling #2. Hope claimed that the weddings and the rasslin' were supposed to be separate promotions, but that someone on his staff accidentally double-booked them for the same game. In any case, somebody seriously needs to bring this promotion back...

Which brings us to a memorable promotion that somebody IS bringing back. Two years ago, when my book  was first released, I did a reading/signing event at Liar's Club in Chicago that we called "AOR Demolition Night" — books were signed, 70s AM gold was spun, cold beer was quaffed, crappy 70s rock records were smashed in the name of redressing the karmic imbalance created by the destruction of all that sweet disco wax at Comiskey in 1979, and a rockin' good time was had by all. Well, now that Big Hair and Plastic Grass is available in paperback, it's time (in the immortal words of Steely Dan) to go back, Jack, and do it again!

One week from tonight (July 20), all baseball-loving Chicagoans are hereby cordially invited to join me at Liar's Club (1665 W. Fullerton, 60614) from 8:30pm to midnight for an evening of funky (and not-so-funky) music, cold beer, baseball talk and maybe a few surprises. I will be reading aloud from my writings and signing my book — paperback copies of which will be on sale at the venue via The Book Cellar, the Nort' Side's finest book emporium. DJ John San Juan will be spinning the '70s AM gold all night, and we're going to once again be destroying a whole mess o' crappy '70s rock vinyl. Bring a '70s album by Styx, REO Speedwagon, Survivor, Orleans, Tycoon, Starcastle, Point Blank, etc. to be sacrificed, and receive a "special gift" courtesy of Pabst Blue Ribbon. The event is FREE, so Don your afro wig, your '70s threads and/or retro baseball jersey, and get down with us! I wanna see a sea of 'fros out there, people! Do it for me, do it for you, do it for Oscar Gamble...

A Thing of Beauty

Here it is — the official 1976 All-Star ballot! It was the first ASG I ever voted in; I got (and cast) my ballot during a late May game at Tiger Stadium. Just LOOK at those names...

While I don't remember exactly which players I voted for, I know that I voted for Ron "The Penguin" Cey, because he was my favorite player at the time, and I have a distinct memory of voting for Bobby Grich, because a) I had his baseball card and b) he was the only AL second baseman whose name I recognized. The irony, of course, is that Willie Randolph was actually playing for the Yankees in the game I was watching... but when Grich made the game as a starter, I was pretty sure it was my vote that put him in.

The Midsummer Classic

There are few things I care less about — in the world of baseball, or in the world in general — than the Home Run Derby. At its best, it's a fun and pleasant diversion for the fans, much like the original Home Run Derby TV show was, back in the 1960s. But the sheer amount of breathless hype that's pumped into it for weeks ahead of time (WILL MATT KEMP PICK BRYCE HARPER FOR THE HOME RUN DERBY?!?) is silly and grating, as are the endless punning bloviations of the execrable Chris Berman, who was airlifted to Kansas City apparently for the sole purpose of running through his arsenal (emphasis on the "arse") of home run calls during the contest. Seriously, this guy makes Hawk Harrelson sound like Noel Coward...

But despite that — and despite the many negative things I have to say about the All-Star Game in the most recent installment of "High and Tight," my baseball and rock n' roll column for Rolling Stone Online — I'm actually looking forward to the Midsummer Classic. I always do, even though it's often a dull and disappointing affair, probably because I will never entirely disassociate it with the All-Star Games of my youth. Sure, some of those were pretty boring, as well — like 1976, when Mark Fidrych started the ASG against Randy Jones, and wound up getting the "L" as the NL cruised to a 7-1 victory. But I'll never forget the thrill of seeing all those famous players introduced in their colorful uniforms, many of whom I'd never actually seen play (on TV or in person) before... and I still get a glimmer of that today, even with all the crap that surrounds it.

So in tribute to the All-Star Game — or rather, what it once was, I'm gonna offer up a few of the great 70s ASG clips that I've been able to find out there, starting with Fritz Peterson facing Willie McCovey in the 1970 Midsummer Classic...

Followed by Pete Rose's mad dash to win it all...

And the 1971 ASG, which featured Dock Ellis, Reggie Jackson and maybe the greatest collection of true All-Stars in history...

Here's another great clip from 1971, with the late Don Wilson performing some 8th inning fireballing heroics...

And of course, no round-up of 70s All-Star Games can be complete without a clip from the 1979 game, featuring Dave "The Cobra" Parker and his cannon arm...

The pic at the top of this post, by the way, is of the '79 NL squad, a truly stellar collection of players posing in a truly eye-popping collection of uniforms. Parker, Dave Winfield and George Foster in the outfield, Steve Garvey, Davey Lopes, Mike Schmidt and Larry Bowa in the infield, a starting battery of Steve Carlton and Bob Boone, with guys like Bruce Sutter, Gaylord Perry, Joaquin ANdujar and Stever Rogers in the bullpen, and Keith Hernandez, Gary Carter, Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Ron Cey, Johnny Bench, Dave Kingman, Lou Brock and Lee Mazzilli on the bench. So yeah, there's no chance in hell that the 2012 ASG in Kansas City is gonna live up to that. But a man can remember... and dream.