Big Hair and Plastic Grass

The Captain & Me: Out April 20!

It's hard to believe that The Captain & Me: On and Off the Field with Thurman Munson will be released a week from today. The passage of time has been so strangely blurred over the course of the last year, it seems like just yesterday that Ron Blomberg and I had our first phone conversation about collaborating on this project... but it also seems like about ten years ago.

In any case, I am incredibly excited to have the book finally coming out (via Triumph Books, who have done a marvelous job with everything from the cover art to promotion), and incredibly pleased with some of the reviews we've gotten for it so far — most notably in the pages of no less than the Wall Street Journal, where Ben Yagoda wrote that he "gobbled The Captain & Me up like a packet of Famous Amos chocolate-chip cookies." (Extra points for the period-appropriate pop cultural reference, Ben!)

So far, at least, the response makes me feel like Ron and I accomplished what we set out to do with this book — give people a better sense of who Thurman Munson was as a teammate and a pal, as well as shed additional light on what it was like to play for the New York Yankees during those promising-but-frustrating seasons in the first half of the 1970s. If you dig the Yankees, New York City, 1970s baseball, moustaches, delicatessens, mobsters, locker room japery, and heartwarming tales of friendship, I think you'll find much to enjoy herein. And for those of you who have asked if I was aware that The Captain & Me shares a title with a Doobie Brothers album, I was indeed; in fact, the Doobies were one of Thurman's favorite bands, which is something we get into in the book.

In a normal world, Ron and I would be up in NYC next week to do in-person signing events. While we still hope to be able to do some later this spring and summer, the sad fact is that it would be difficult/irresponsible to put on such events while the pandemic is still raging. So in the meantime, we've got a virtual Zoom event happening on April 21 with Bookends in New Jersey; Ron and I will be talking about the book, and all "attendees" will receive a copy of it with Ron's signature. Ron's a great talker, and it should be a lot of fun.

If you would like a copy of the book with my signature on it, the best way to do that at this point would be to buy a copy from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Booksamillion, Bookshop, or your local bookseller, and then send it to me with a SASE so I can sign it and get it back to you. Message me via the email link on this blog, and I'll let you know where to send it.

As always, I'd like to thank everyone who has supported and encouraged my writing over the years — especially all of you who bought Big Hair & Plastic Grass when it first came out, thus propelling me on this amazing journey. I hope our paths will cross again, sooner than later.

 

Weird Scenes Inside The Cell

It's been said that a baseball game will always show you something that you've never seen before. The most memorable part of last night's Tigers-White Sox game at U.S. Cellular Field was certainly unique, though neither I nor any of the other 32,527 fans in attendance were actually able to witness it.

I refer, of course, to Chris Sale's pre-game uniform-slashing incident, in which the Sox ace — apparently troubled by the prospect of having to pitch in the evening's collared throwbacks from the second Bill Veeck era — did his best Jason Voorhees impression on the team's '76-style uniforms, resulting in a scratched start and a five-game suspension from the front office.

This, in itself, would have been enough weirdness for one evening at the ballpark. In all my years of loving, researching and writing about baseball, I've never even heard of a player throwing this kind of a tantrum over the uniform he was supposed to wear. Certainly, there were members of the 1963 Kansas City A's and the 1969 Seattle Pilots — to name two early adopters of colorful uniforms which flouted the bland "home whites/road grays" tradition — who were significantly less than happy about the fashion statements that their teams were making.

“There was a lot of grousing about the uniforms," wrote Pilots hurler Jim Bouton in Ball Four. "I guess because we’re the Pilots we have to have captain’s uniforms. They have stripes on the sleeve, scrambled eggs on the [bill] of the cap and blue socks with yellow stripes. Also there are blue and yellow stripes down the sides of the pants. We look like goddamn clowns.”

Still, Bouton and his Pilots teammates went ahead and wore their "captain's uniforms" (at least until until Bud Selig and his cronies stole the Pilots from Seattle and moved them to Milwaukee) without incident. Ditto for the 1976 White Sox, whose Veeck-designed uniforms — truly the most unique unis of baseball's most fashion-forward era — were being celebrated last night.

The '76 Sox wore uniforms featuring collared jerseys that were meant to be worn un-tucked; Veeck believed that this unusual look would give his players players more comfort and flexibility in the field. White Sox utility man Jack Brohamer (more on him in a sec) told me last year that the '76 uniforms "made it look like we were in jail," but the players still went along with the concept, even during the three games that August when Veeck asked them to take the field in short pants.

Obviously, as the author of Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76, I have a special fondness for those '76 White Sox uniforms; while I can completely understand someone else's aesthetic aversion to them, they are so iconic, so emblematic of the welcome whimsy that Bill Veeck brought to the game, that they practically transcend criticism at this point. They're like the visual equivalent of Peter Frampton's talk-box solo on "Show Me The Way" — goofy as all hell, yet also guaranteed to transport me back to one of the happiest summers of my life in a nanosecond.

Which is why, along with the fact that our beloved Detroit Tigers were in town, that my wife and I went with some friends to "The Cell" last night. Not only were the White Sox giving away '76 throwback jerseys to the first 20,000 fans who showed up — which unfortunately turned out to be sullied by the Xfinity logo on one of the sleeves — but the team was also going to take the field in the full '76 throwbacks, as well. Or so we thought...

We arrived in time to catch the tail-end of the Tigers' batting practice, and while I was a little disappointed to see that the Tigers were wearing their usual road uniforms instead of 1976 road throwbacks, I know that visiting teams don't always get on board with their opponents' promotions. I was further disappointed a few minutes later to learn via Twitter that Chris Sale had been scratched from his scheduled start; he is, after all, one of the best starting pitchers of the past few years, and you always want to see the top guys in the game do their thing, even if it means additional challenges for the team you're rooting for. But there's been a lot of talk in recent days about the White Sox trading Sale to a contending team, and it seemed like maybe this was the team's (albeit clumsy) excuse to keep him out of action and free of harm before they had the chance to deal him.

But then, when the White Sox finally took the field after a minor rain delay wearing their early 80s "Winning Ugly" throwbacks instead of the '76 ones, I felt kind of ripped off. Don't get me wrong — I am fond of those uniforms, as well, but that's really not what I'd paid to see. Figuring that this must have been some kind of screw-up on the part of the team, I tweeted out the following joke:

At least, I thought it was a joke. But an hour or so later, when I got a text from a friend saying, "I want one of the cut-up throwbacks! Can't believe Sale did that!," I checked social media and realized that Sale had indeed blown a fuse over uniforms — only, it was the '76 ones that he didn't want to wear...

There was a strange energy (or maybe lack thereof) to the game itself. No longer facing one of the game's best lefties, the Tigers should have been able to tee off against a succession of bullpen arms led by Matt Albers, the beefy journeyman reliever who'd already pitched the previous two nights, but it was not to be. Numerous scoring opportunities were squandered; and while Miguel Cabrera and Nick Castellanos did knock in two of the Tigers' three runs, Cabrera, Castellanos, Ian Kinsler and Victor Martinez went a combined 2-for-14. Only Cameron "Extra Cheese" Maybin seemed completely impervious to the evening's oppressive humidity, going 2-for-3 with a walk, two stolen bases and two runs scored. I love that guy; the Tigers would be in a far worse position right now without Kinsler and Maybin at the top of their lineup.

The game was also delayed by three thunderstorms, two of which (including the final one, which caused the 3-3 contest to be postponed until today) were the most insane I'd ever witnessed at a ballpark. We'd somehow lucked into buying field-level tickets that were actually under the mezzanine overhang, so we were able to watch the torrential downpours and sky-piercing lightning flashes in relative comfort, and (mostly) avoid the crowds that were slowly shuffling "zombie apocalypse" style through the packed concessions areas. We also spent a lot of time watching the jumbotron on the centerfield scoreboard, where they were flashing a lot of 1970s Sox pics and trivia, and at least one major gaffe:

Yeah, Jack Brohamer was the only White Sox player to hit a home run while wearing short pants. But it happened in 1976 — you know, the year that the White Sox were supposed to be paying tribute to, until Chris Sale freaked the fuck out? — not 1979. (The Sox didn't even wear shorts in 1979, fer chrissakes.) Well, at least they got Jack's name right; I found out later that my friend Michael was at the game, and his family put up a birthday message to him on the jumbotron in the eighth inning, but the Sox put the message up with the wrong middle name...

Speaking of screw-ups, an interesting, er, wrinkle to the Sale slash-fest emerged today in this article by Jon Heyman:

Wait, what? The throwbacks were made out of "heavy wool"?!? Either Heyman's reporting is inaccurate — today's throwback uniforms typically come in the same lightweight synthetic blends as the regulation unis — or the White Sox are absolutely insane. Why would you make throwback uniforms out of wool, especially when the originals that you're throwing back to were made out of lightweight poly?

But maybe that's just how it's all going at The Cell these days. There's been weird energy around the White Sox since the bizarre Adam LaRoche incident in spring training — which you'll also recall Sale unnecessarily losing his shit over — and they've seemed pretty unfocused since their 17-8 hot start in April. Maybe it is indeed time to fire Robin Ventura and/or Kenny Williams, and deal off Sale and anyone else they can get some choice prospects for, and just start over. And, at the very least, maybe it's time for Sale to reconsider his priorities. I'll leave the last word here to my friend and colleague, Cardboard Gods author Josh Wilker, who summed the whole fiasco up quite nicely, and invoked my favorite White Sox pitcher in the process:

 

 

BRUSS!!!

Funky birthday greetings to Phillies (and later White Sox and Cubs) reliever Warren Brusstar, who was born on this day in 1952.

I post his '78 Topps card just about every year on this date on the Big Hair and Plastic Grass Facebook page, because, well, how could you not?

As if Warren's perm n' pornstache combo wasn't righteous enough, the unruly unibrow, gigantic chaw, mesmeric stare and matted chest hair yearning to breathe free all conspire to make this truly one of the most quintessential baseball cards of the 1970s.

Stars and Strikes — Now In Paperback!!!

The first time you see your new book in print is a huge thrill — but it's an almost equally huge thrill to get a paperback edition of said book in the mail, because it means that enough people bought the hardcover version to make a paperback printing worthwhile for the publishers. So I'd like to thank everyone who has already bought Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76 for making the paperback possible!

And for those of you who haven't bought it yet — or already did, and dug it enough that you'd like to buy many, many copies for your baseball and pop culture-obsessed acquaintances — the paperback edition officially hits the streets via St. Martins Griffin on February 9. You can pre-order copies from Amazon or Barnes & Noble, or of course from your friendly neighborhood indie bookseller.

I probably won't be doing a ton of reading events in support of the paperback — full-scale book tours require copious amounts of time and money — but I'm sure I'll schedule a few things in Chicago and the Midwest before the summer is out, especially since 2016 is the 40th anniversary of the Bicentennial. Watch this space for future updates!

Wait Until Next Year

Cheer up, Jose!

It's been a really fun season, and 97 wins plus the longest Cubs post-season run in 12 years (PLUS knocking the Cardinals out of the playoffs) is nothing to sneeze at; after all that, there's really no shame in losing to a better team with a ridiculously hot player. Almost everyone worth a damn on this team will be coming back next year, the farm system is deep with prospects, and the Cubs look set to contend for several seasons to come, none of which will bear the burden of endless Back to the Future 2 references. Of course, some additional arms wouldn't hurt — tell Theo to think about picking up David Price, wouldja?

Congrats to my Mets fan friends (and my Mets fan dad) — I thought this would be a tough, evenly matched series, but your team completely dominated it from the get-go. They're a lot of fun to watch, and a couple of your pitchers have truly impressive hair; I'll be rooting for 'em in the World Series against whichever American League team they wind up facing.

Farewell, Yogi

So sad to hear about Yogi Berra's passing, even though the man lived to the ripe old age of 90. It's kind of appropriate that the man left us on the last day of summer, given all the joy he brought to fans of "The Summer Game" for nearly 70 years...

One of baseball's greatest characters as well as one of its greatest players (and he was no slouch as a manager and coach, either), Yogi had a real flair for garbling the English language. "Yogi-isms" have become such a major part of baseball lore that he's often credited with malapropisms and twisted bons mots that he never actually uttered. (Or, as he put it, "I really didn't say everything I said.")

Therefore, I tend to take most purported Yogi-isms with a grain of salt, and have generally avoided quoting them unless I can find some evidence that he really said such a thing. But there's a beautiful "Yogi-ism" going around Twitter this morning that, even if it never actually emerged from his lips word-for-word, really does sound like something he'd say — especially in light of the 65 happy years he spent married to Carmen, who's pictured above with him during his early/mid-70s tenure as manager of the New York Mets.

"Love is the most important thing. But baseball is pretty good, too."

Rest in Peace, Yogi. And if you come to a fork in the road in the afterlife, take it.

 

 

Joe Pepitone's Kind Of Town (And Mine, Too)

On July 29, 1970, the Houston Astros sold Joe Pepitone to the Chicago Cubs, ushering in a new and (for a time) happy chapter in the swingin' slugger's career. 45 years later, almost to the day, my wife and I arrived in Chicago to begin the next chapter of our lives — one which will hopefully last substantially longer than Pepi's ultimately stormy tenure in the Windy City.

As any reader of my books, this blog, the Big Hair and Plastic Grass Facebook page or my Twitter account probably already knows, I have a deep affection for Joe Pepitone. While some decry his playboy ways and squandered talent, I think he brought an inimitable, sideburned insouciance to the game, and his newly back-in-print autobiography, Joe, You Coulda Made Us Proud — which totally warped my mind when I first read it at the impressionable age of twelve — remains one of the most entertaining and straightforward player memoirs ever published. So it was a profound and particular joy for me to interview Pepi earlier this summer for Rolling Stone, especially since our conversation turned out to be even funnier and more colorful than I could have hoped.

The resulting Rolling Stone Q&A — which you can read here — got a ton of traction, thanks in part to Joe's revelation that he used to stash various recreational drugs (gifts from Chicago's legendary Bleacher Bums) in the Wrigley Field ivy during games, and then trot out several hours after the game to retrieve them. But given the word-count limitations of the piece, there was plenty of good stuff that I wasn't able to include in the piece. So, now that I finally have a little free time after weeks of packing, moving and unpacking, I can share some other, unpublished gems from our interview:

Me: Reading your book again, I was really struck by how baseball was initially a refuge for you — that it enabled you to get away from the gangs and the problems at home.

Joe Pepitone: You know what it was, Dan? It was a surprise. I never thought about anything; I was a stickball player, and my brother’s team needed an outfielder. I went out there and hit three home runs in one game on a high school field — and I was fourteen years old. There was a scout that saw me, and the whole thing started from there. Even in the minor leagues, I had no expectations of getting to the majors; I just loved the game so much, you know? I was just having fun. [Baseball] allowed me to get away from my strict father. My friends partied their asses off, and I couldn’t do anything. And when my father died at 39 years old, I was free, man; my mother couldn’t hold me back — nobody could. I got a $25,000 bonus when I signed with the Yankees, and I almost spent the whole bonus on my way down to spring training. I bought a car and a boat, bought a dog and put it in the boat, and he was barking all the way down to spring training. [Laughs] Joe DiMaggio, I swear to god, he asked me, “Are you here to play ball or for vacation?” “A little of both,” I told him. Next day, everything was gone — they took everything back. And that’s the way it was, even when I made it to the majors. It was fun, and my father wasn’t around to knock the shit out of me, so I did what I wanted to do. It was all in front of me, man!

I tell ya, you have no idea what fun meant to me, after my father passed away. I loved my father, I adored him — how tough he was, the way he protected his family. But he knew how to do it a different way, you know? He showed his love in a different way. “You’re gonna be good, or I’m gonna knock the shit outta you!” He’d come to my games, and you have no idea how drastic it was. A black guy stepped on my foot one day; it went through my spike, and I was lying on the field and bleeding a little bit. He came out and dragged this sonofabitch off the field, right in the middle of a semi-pro game where I was being scouted, and just beat the shit out of him. The team didn’t want him to come to the games anymore. But I’ll tell you what, man; he was the type of guy that would hit you, and then apologize immediately after that, like, cry apologizing. One time he almost blinded me; he threw an ashtray that shattered in my eyes. I was gonna be signed within a year, and I couldn’t see shit because of the splinters in my eyes. After that, he never raised his hand to me. But then he died soon after that. What are you gonna do?

There’s a memorable story in your book about a couple of mob goons offering to knee-cap Moose Skowron, so that you could take his place at first base for the Yankees.

Oh, there were a couple things like that. They said, “Hey, Joe, we could get you on that first base thing.” I even told Moose about it. [Laughs] Because Moose was always on my ass about my partying. All the Yankees were like that in those days — “Don’t fuck with my money; get home early!” That’s the way it was. They roomed me with Moose one time. He really went to bed at 10 o’clock and drank milk, all that shit. I went out one night with Billy Hunter, and Moose said, “If you’re not home by 1 o’clock curfew, I’m putting the chain on the door.” Shit, I came home about three in the morning, bombed out of my head with Billy Hunter. Sure as shit, the chain was on the door; “Sleep out in the hallway!” he yelled out. I kicked the door down, the chain went flying, and he grabbed me — I weighed 175 pounds at the time, and Moose was like 220. I said, “Ohhh, shit!” The next day, Ralph Houk came to me and said, “You’re not rooming with Moose anymore. He doesn’t want you!” And shit, by ’63, I had Moose’s job. Mantle even told me, “You should send him a telegram saying, ‘I told you so!’” [Laughs] I had a great year that year, and was the only Yankee player who made the All Star starting team.

Houk aside, it didn't seem like there was anyone who was really talking sense to you in those days.

Not really, not really. It’s not like baseball is today, where you’re making a lot of money, and you’ve got coaches paying attention to your injuries, they pay attention to you mentally, you know what I’m saying? They got psychiatrists working for you today. Ralph Houk was good, but there was never no talks about, “Hey, you gotta settle down,” until I didn’t show up one day. Nobody ever sat me down and said, “Hey, Joe, you gotta do it this way.”

Still, as much of a hard-ass as Houk was, it seems like he had a real soft spot for you. He gave you a lot of second chances.

Oh, sure! When you’re going good, they do that. When you’re going good, you can get away with things, and everybody loves you. That’s why I thought I could put a telephone in my locker. [Laughs] And that was the same with Ralph. Ralph was a great, great guy, man. I loved playing for him. Every time I hit a home run, I looked at his face to see what he thought of it. I always hustled; I always did, even with a hangover. [Laughs] I figured if Mickey can do it, I can do it. I tell you what — there was not a day I went on that field where I didn’t want to play well. With my ego, my pride, I was not going up there to strike out and not hustle. That ego sets in, and you want to play, you want to do the best you can.

Okay, who was the toughest pitcher you ever faced?

Who was that guy from Detroit — left-hander, I forget his name…

Mickey Lolich?

Yeah, Lolich. I hit a lot of home runs off that sonofabitch, but he was tough! But the toughest guy I ever faced was Sparky Lyle — all I ever got from him were sliders. I hit a lot of lefties good, but Sparky Lyle, that sonofabitch, I’d come up to the plate, and he’d put his glove up to his face and laugh, like, “There’s no fucking way you’re going to hit me!” [Laughs] He would just fucking laugh. And I’d be there at the plate, saying, “What the fuck are you laughing at?” But I never got a hit off him; he never threw me a fastball, only sliders, sliders, sliders, sliders, sliders. That was his whole thing. Everything was a slider with Sparky Lyle. But I got to know him real well after baseball, and he’s a real fun guy.

(Note: Pepi's recollections totally check out. While he did homer six times off Mickey Lolich — the most he hit off any MLB pitcher — Lolich also struck him out 21 times, eight more times than any other pitcher whiffed him. And he went hitless with one walk in 13 plate appearances against Lyle.)

You arrived in Chicago in 1970 with no small amount of fanfare, right?

Let me tell you what happened. I joined the team in Cincinnati, and we were flying back, and Leo Durocher wanted to talk to me, so I was sitting up front with Leo. Next thing you know, we landed at O’Hare, and this chauffeur with a hat on comes up and yells, “Is Joe Pepitone here? His limousine is waiting!” [Laughs] Leo says, “You ordered a fucking limousine?!?” I said, “No! I don’t know who the fuck this is!" I asked the chauffeur, "Who the fuck are you?” He said, “I’m the Fabulous Howard, and you can use my limousine as long as you’re here in Chicago.” He drove me to the Executive House, and he said, “Joe, listen; I could use the publicity, so you can have my services for free as long as you want.” I said, “Look, as long as I’m going good, I’ll keep you.” And I told Leo that. Next morning, I get a phone call from Fabulous Howard. He says, “Joe! I’m here to take you to the ballpark!” I say, “I’ll be right down — I’m getting dressed!” I come down, and he’s got a line of photographers out there that he’s called for the publicity, and he rolls out this big red carpet for me, and on the end it says, “The Fantastic Pepitone”! [Laughs] The next day it was in the papers. Everywhere I went with him, there was a photographer waiting.

You also opened a bar in Chicago, Joe Pepitone’s Thing. How did that come about?

Oh yeah, The Thing! The guy had this bar, I knew the guy real well, and he was in trouble; I figured I’d help him by giving him ten thousand dollars, but he took the money, gave the place to me and took off! It was mine; I was like, “What am I gonna do with this?” So I made it into like a little dugout thing, the tables were like home plate, bats underneath, all that. Fireplace in the middle… it was nice, a little downstairs place with pictures of players on the wall. Bo Belinsky and his girlfriends from the Playboy Mansion would come down; a lot of celebrities came down. We were going so fucking good, and then after a year they had this drug probe on the whole street; I was the only celebrity at the time who owned a place, so they came down on me. There was nothing going on — it was just a probe, you know what I’m saying? But it got in the papers, and the players were told to stay away; it hurt me, and I gave it up after about a year and a half. Oh yeah, the Thing — it was a fun time.

I’ve been looking everywhere for some kind of memorabilia from the bar. Does any of that even exist anymore?

You should check with my ex-wives; they’ve probably got some of that shit. {Laughs] They got everything else from me, anyway!

Goose Gossage in '76: The Long and the Short(s) of It.

It's Hall of Fame reliever Rich "Goose" Gossage's birthday, which means it's time to repost one of my favorite photos of the 1976...

Despite having led the league in saves in 1975, Gossage was converted to a starting pitcher for the '76 season by new White Sox owner Bill Veeck and his new manager Paul Richards. The conversion was not a successful one; Goose went 9-17 with a 3.94 ERA in 224 innings, though he still made it to that summer's All Star Game as the lone White Sox representative (because, well, someone had to).

Goose served in relief only two times that year: April 17, when he blew a save and took the loss against the Red Sox at Fenway, and August 8 against the Royals at Comiskey, when he became the first (and, so far, the last) MLB pitcher to earn a save while wearing short pants — a Veeck idea that, depending on your perspective, may or may not have been more ill-conceived than putting Goose in the starting rotation.

Big Hair Blow-Out!!!

So, baseball fans, here's the deal:

My wife and I will be moving to Chicago at the end of July. While sorting through the stuff in our storage space in advance of the move, I discovered that I still have two big boxes full of first edition hardcover copies of Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride Through Baseball and America in the Swinging 70s.

I really don't want to have to schlep these boxes to Chicago, and I could really use a few extra bucks to put towards this exciting (but also stressful and rather expensive) transition. Therefore, I've decided to blow these copies out at a mere $20 a pop, shipping included — and yes, I will happily autograph each copy you purchase to you, your friends or your family members. (Father's Day is comin' right up, folks!)

Just make your purchase using the PayPal button below, tell me how many copies you'd like, and what your favorite teams or players from the 1970s were (or those of your gift recipient, whose name you should also include in the message section of the order form). And I will do the rest!

Yes, that's right — you too can own an autographed first edition of my flashback to baseball's coolest, wildest and weirdest decade, a book that received an A- grade from the The A.V. Club, which described it as "enormously entertaining". Lose yourself in the polyester-clad antics of Mark "The Bird" Fidrych, Dave "The Cobra" Parker and a whole lotta other swingin' dudes with great nicknames and even more impressive hair. And it can be yours for only twenty bucks, shipping included! (All told, that's thirty-three percent less than I was previously asking for autographed copies of BH&PG! Such a bargain!)

This offer is good til the end of June, or until those boxes run out. (Wish I could offer you something similar with Stars and Strikes, but I'm all sold out of that one.) Also, please note that this deal only applies within the US; if you're in another country and would like to purchase a copy, please contact me through the email link on this blog, and we'll figure out what the shipping cost will be. As always, I am profoundly appreciative of your support, your help, and your good vibes. Please spread the word, above all — KEEP IT FUNKY.

Peace, Love and Soul,

Dan

UPDATE: All of the books have been sold. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!

Can't Stop The Jenner

In honor of Bruce Jenner officially coming out as transgender (which, for the record, I think is pretty courageous and badass), I think it's high time that I direct your eyeballs to my SPHERE essay on Jenner's greatest contribution to pop culture: His starring role (alongside Steve Guttenberg and Valerie Perrine) in the 1980 disco-sploitation/Village People vehicle, Can't Stop The Music.

I have seen this film several times — it's currently available for streaming on Netflix — and am always left wide-eyed and dumbfounded by the carnage I've witnessed. The level of poor decision-making that went into this film surpasses even that of 1978's Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and at least that film contained the presence of the Bee Gees, Earth Win & Fire, Aerosmith and Steve Martin.

Jenner, of course, was an Olympic hero in the summer of 1976, who (as I mention in Stars and Strikes) parlayed his world decathlon record and chiseled good looks into a number of lucrative endorsement deals. But even his telegenic personality couldn't save a film that had come out about a year too late to cash in on the popularity of disco and/or the Village People.

The weird thing is, it could have been Mark Fidrych in this film instead of Jenner. During the summer of '76, Hollywood mogul Allan Carr noted the insane buzz that surrounded every one of The Bird's starts, and reasoned that a good-looking, charismatic youngster like Fidrych could draw people to movie theaters as well as ballparks. Carr offered Fidrych a role in Grease, the nostalgic 50s musical he was producing at the time (which would reach the screen in the summer of '78); but when the Tigers rookie turned him down, Carr went looking for another athletic sensation. While Bruce Jenner wasn't the right fit for Grease, Carr lined him up for his next project — a little something called Can't Stop The Music. 

 

 

 

The Baseball King of Italy (and more!)

Ballplayer, musician, standup comic, photographer, international man of mystery, and answer to the trivia question "Who was standing at the plate when the NYC blackout plunged Shea Stadium into darkness?" — Lenny Randle is easily one of most interesting dudes I've ever interviewed. Read about him (and his ongoing attempt to turn baseball into a major Italian sport) in my latest piece for Rolling Stone Sports.

And hey, while you're at it, check out my recent Rolling Stone feature on Hunter Pence of the San Francisco Giants, another extremely interesting ballplayer (even if he doesn't think he is). You can also find my recent Rolling Stone feature on Detroit Tigers ace David Price HERE; he may not be as "out there" as the two aforementioned gents, but he's a helluva hurler — and he's the proud papa of Astro, the cutest dog in the majors!