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Have a day, Dewayne Wise

Posted in Sports with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 25, 2022 by macmystery
Dewayne Wise saves Mark Buehrle’s perfect game.

I want to start by saying this post is dedicated to my friends – Richard Coco, Will Rothschild and Chris Winston.

Though it’s Feb. 25 now, I started writing this entry before midnight, late on Thursday, Feb. 24. As I perused my Facebook feed, looking for something inspiring that might not have anything to do with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, I came across a post by Braves Baseball Memories.

The post was wishing Dewayne Wise, an Atlanta Brave in 2004, a happy 44th birthday.

And that’s all it took to send me down a rabbit hole.

Dewayne Wise, a product of Chapin High School just outside of Columbia, S.C., was a slightly below average Major League Baseball player, although that is solely based on his offensive statistics. In 575 games in the show over 11 years, Wise had an OPS – on-base percentage + slugging percentage, a general indicator of offensive performance – of .645. While the average OPS of a Major League hitter varies from year to year, around .750 is a safe indicator of an average player, in any given year.

Wise’s poor on-base percentage belied the fact that he did have a little bit of power and a great deal of speed – he was successful on 55 of his 68 career stolen base attempts.

Wise hung around the majors, though, not just because he had promising offensive tools. It’s fair to say it was Wise’s glove that kept him in the bigs. And make no mistake, a career that involves parts of 11 seasons in the majors is nothing to dismiss. You don’t get there by accident.

The shining moment of Wise’s career came on July 23, 2009. And fittingly, it came in the field.

Though he didn’t start, the .196-hitting Wise, then a member of the Chicago White Sox, came on to play center field in the ninth-inning of a 5-0 game against the Tampa Bay Devil Rays.

Wise was tested early as Gabe Kapler led off the top of the ninth with a deep fly ball to left center field. Wise raced into the gap, leapt and reached high above the top of the wall to steal a home run away from Kapler.

Making the catch more spectacular, Wise lost the ball on the way down, found it in the air and caught it again before rolling to the ground.

Still, none of that is what really made the catch legendary. It was the circumstances surrounding the catch.

After Wise’s feat, Mark Buerhle took Michel Hernandez to a 3-2 count before striking him out, then got Michael Bartlett to ground out to the shortstop, completing his second no-hitter and the 18th perfect game in Major League history.

“Under the circumstances, one of the greatest catches I have ever seen in 50 years in this game,” White Sox announcer Ken Harrelson said.

It’s fair to say Buerhle should be sending more than socks to the Wise household every Christmas.

A year and two teams later, Wise was plying his trade in Toronto, and it’s with the Blue Jays that my friends and I encountered him.

A Bronx tale

Amazingly, somehow, in 14 years of writing this blog off and on, I’ve written nothing about Baseball Across the States, or BATS as we call it.

In 2000, three co-workers at the Spartanburg Herald-Journal – Richard Coco, Will Rothschild and Chris Winston – and I began a 20-year baseball odyssey.

In Chris’ Jeep Cherokee, the four of us headed to the Midwest and saw three games in four days – The Pirates at the Brewers at County Stadium on July 1, the Pirates at the Cubs at Wrigley Field on July 3, and the Reds at the Cardinals at the old Busch Stadium on July 4.

On the drive back to Spartanburg from St. Louis, we made the decision to make one of these trips every year. And we did. For the next 19 years.

In 2010, that trip carried us to New York, minus Will, who couldn’t make it. We saw a Mets game at Citi Field, a minor league game at Staten Island, and on July 4, the Blue Jays at The Stadium.

The temperature was in the 90s for a noon game, and our seats were at the very top row of the new Yankee Stadium on the third-base line.

And Dewayne Wise was starting in center and batting second for the Jays. As it turned out, this game was one of the best in 20 years of games on these trips, and Wise was clearly a factor.

In the top of the 5th, with the Jays trailing 3-1, Wise comes to the plate with two out and two on base and turns on a 1-0 pitch, taking it down the line in right for a three-run home run and a 4-3 Blue Jays lead.

There’s not a baseball fan that’s not heard the old adage about how the guy who makes a big defensive play always seems to come to the plate in the next half inning. Well on this day, that was reversed.

After he had the big blow to give Toronto the lead over Phil Hughes, who would go on to win 18 games that season, Wise once again demonstrated it was his defense that made him a Major League player.

Nick Swisher led off with a line-drive single to center for the Yankees. Mark Teixeira followed with a deep fly ball to center, over Wise’s head and to the wall for a double. But Wise’s throw was perfect to shortstop Alex Gonzalez and the relay throw nailed Swisher at the plate. Teixeira went to third.

On the very next pitch, Alex Rodriguez flirted with a home run to deep center, but it was caught by Wise. And this time, Wise didn’t need a relay man. His throw made it to the plate on a hop and Teixeira was out at the dish, as well.

A single, followed by two shots to the track in deep center, and thanks to Wise, it played like a routine 1-2-3 inning.

An Adam Lind solo homer in the top of the sixth frame put the Blue Jays up by 2, 5-3. In the Yankees’ half, however, Wise would once again factor in a big play. But this time, it was by the Yankees.

With Jorge Posada on first, Brett Gardner hit a deep fly ball to center that Wise didn’t contain, and College of Charleston’s Gardner turned in an inside-the-park home run to tie the game at 5.

In the bottom of the 7th, with no one out and Swisher and Derek Jeter on first and second, respectively, Teixeira doubled home Jeter, moving Swisher to third and giving the Yanks a 6-5 lead.

After a strikeout and a walk, Francicso Cervelli hit a foul ball deep down the right field line. When Swisher tried to tag and score from third, he was once again gunned down at home, this time by Jose Bautista for a double play to end the inning.

This made three Yankees thrown out at home in the game. Their base running still hasn’t improved much since then.

Enter Sandman

The Yankees lead held until the top of the ninth. And you know what that meant … Mariano Rivera time.

Rivera allowed a leadoff single to Lyle Overbay before striking out Jose Molina.

Enter John Buck.

A journeyman catcher to most, Buck held some significance for us.

Over the first 13 years of our trip, we saw John Buck play at least one game on like seven different trips … including twice in minor league games, once with the Single-A Lexington Legends and once with the Triple-A New Orleans Zephyrs. We also saw him play for the Royals, these Blue Jays, the Marlins, the Mets and the Pirates.

Buck singled, of course, putting Rivera in jeopardy.

Fred Lewis grounded into a fielder’s choice, moving Overbay to third. And up to the plate stepped Wise.

On the day, despite his 3-run homer and pair of assists in center field, Wise had still had a bumpy day, striking out in his other three at bats. But if you had any doubts, you only need to know that despite seeing the Yankees play five times in New York – once at Shea, twice at the old Stadium and twice at the new stadium – I never saw Rivera get a save,

Wise lined a single to center to tie the game. After the Yankees failed to score in the bottom of the ninth, there was one more bit of craziness in the top of the 10th.

Against David Robertson, the Blue Jays got the first two runners on base. And then, surprisingly, they asked slugger Edwin Encarnacion to bunt. A huge mistake.

Encarnacion actually got the bunt down, moving Jose Bautista to third, even. But A-Rod made a strong play, fielding the bunt and going to second to start a rare double play on a successful sacrifice bunt (no credit is given for a sac bunt here).

The Yankees walked Overbay intentionally and Robertson struck out the offensively inept Jose Molina to end the threat. The Blue Jays wouldn’t bat again.

Robinson Cano walked to lead off the bottom of the 10th, went to second on a sacrifice bunt, and a walk and a strikeout later, he scored the game-winning run on a single by pinch-hitter Marcus Thames.

After DeWayne Wise’s homer and four RBIs, three Ks and two assists; three Yankees thrown out at the plate; a Brett Gardner inside-the-park home run; a Mariano Rivera blown save; a John Buck sighting; and a double play on a bunt that was also a successful sacrifice, it was a 7-5 Yankees win.

Back to the Bullpen

After the nearly four-hour game, we took the train back to Manhattan. Prior to our walk from the station to our hotel, we had decided we would go back to our room and rest a bit in the cool before going back out and trying to find someplace we could watch the Angels’ night game on ESPN, as well as the fireworks over New York Harbor.

We did none of that.

On the way home, tired, hot and hungry, we stopped at a bar called The Bullpen where we sat down to order food and met a bartender named Jerrah Kohn from Charleston, S.C.

Eleven hours later, we left that bar. We had a lot less money. But a lot more stories.

In memory of a teammate

Posted in Sports with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 11, 2020 by macmystery
1981Padres

The Lithonia Youth Athletic Association 1981 Minor League Padres. I am at far left in the second row. Pledger Fretwell, and that beautiful smile, is center in the third row.

The baseball world lost Whitey Ford this week, just a couple weeks shy of his 92nd birthday. He was just the latest Hall of Famer to pass in the last month or two, joining Lou Brock, Tom Seaver and Bob Gibson.

Ordinarily, I would have penned something, even brief, for this space or social media about these legends, stories of whom filled my childhood. But I didn’t seem to find the time (yet).

But there was a passing this week I can not let go by.

Rest in peace, Pledger Fretwell.

Pledger graduated a year before me from Lithonia High School in 1988. He was ridiculously intelligent — a member of the National Honor Society and the Math and Science clubs. He would go on to his beloved Duke University and graduate in 1993.

Pledger was also a talented guitarist. But we were really only acquaintances in the halls. We would chat occasionally.

PledgerFretwell

Pledger Fretwell, shown here in the 1988 Bulldog (the Lithonia High School annual), shows off his air guitar skills while wearing a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt.

But for me, I would always have a bond with Pledger for something that happened several years earlier.

Despite my love of baseball, I was afraid of the ball and didn’t play organized baseball until I was 9 years old.

During that first year in 1981, Pledger was my teammate on the Lithonia Dixie Youth Baseball minor league Padres.

Pledger, like me, wasn’t very good. He was among ha handful of us who rotated in right field, along with Tony, this tiny Black kid to whom no pitcher could throw a strike, and maybe a couple others.

Pledger, quite heavy-set, was slow, but there was nobody on the team who had more fun. He was always, … ALWAYS, smiling.

My mother loved Pledger and his smile. I think if she had gotten to choose which kid she took home from a practice, it may have been Pledger over me.

I only remember one time Pledger wasn’t smiling.

It was late in the afternoon, and the setting sun was blazing, making it impossible to see if you were looking in its direction. The outfielders were warming up in the outfield. There were a half dozen of us, though I specifically remember Pledger, Tony, Chris Guy and myself.

I had ridden to the game with the mother of a teammate and neighbor. Supposedly, however, my dad was going to make this game, which was not always the case.

So in between warm-up throws, I would turn and peer behind the fence, hoping to see my mom and dad’s presence. As I was scanning the rickety wooden and metal bleachers for my parents, I heard a familiar voice say, “No, this is how you hum the ball!”

I turned in the direction from which the voice had come and all I saw was the brightness of the sun. I never saw the baseball, not even when it crashed into my face with enough velocity to break my nose, causing it to explode.

I screamed. And there was blood everywhere. I wasn’t actually seriously hurt, but tell that to a 9-year-old kid covered in his own blood.

I’m not sure if my mom was there and got me, or if my friend’s mom drove me home and we went from there. But I remember getting a brief glimpse at Pledger’s face during the commotion, and though I hadn’t seen it, I knew he had thrown the ball.

For the only instance in the time I knew him, Pledger looked unhappy. Sad. Hurt. Pained. I heard a coach yell at him for throwing the ball when I wasn’t looking. I wouldn’t have known how to describe it then, but I felt for him.

I obviously survived, and we played the year out together. I wasn’t on his team again, and because we didn’t go to the same elementary school, I really didn’t see him again until high school.

We talked and joked about him destroying my nose numerous times in the years afterward, and had discussions about music and other things.

And then, down the line, I reconnected with him on Facebook. We weren’t close, though compared to many of my high school acquaintances, I had a lot more in common with him.

But we were always connected, at least for me, by that one afternoon in the spring of 1981.

I got the news this week from my sister, who had seen someone post his passing on Facebook. I had to ask around before another Facebook friend closer to him told me it was colon cancer.

I pray he suffered as little as possible, My thoughts and prayers go out to his friends and family.

I know that the world is a worse place today without him in it.

I can’t help but look back and be disappointed

Posted in Family, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 26, 2020 by macmystery

Two years ago last night, I, along with my kids, spent the night in my new-to-me house for the first time.

That, in and of itself, was quite an accomplishment. It was already almost two months after we closed, which was also delayed. Both bathrooms were torn out at the time of closing. Finally, by Aug, 24, there was one functioning, finished bathroom.

The delay in being able to move into the house played a part in the decision not to file for custody of Dylan and Ella. That was a tough decision then and I still go back and forth about what was the best thing to do.’ (I’ve since filed for custody.)

I had closed early in July. I had hoped Linda and I might “rough it” in the house on the first night. But circumstance had other ideas, and I didn’t see her until after midnight in what would be a pretty crappy week before a really crappy week, which I now know was even crappier than I was aware at the time.

Despite the circumstances at the time, I was hopeful. I finally felt like I was going in the right direction and there were good things ahead. I was in love, I was hopeful, I was optimistic. And a couple months later it all came crashing down.

And I tried hard to save it and thought we had, for a while at least. But a couple of bone-headed weeks for me were the last straws for Linda another couple months later and that was it. Though, to be fair, I believe now it simply wouldn’t have mattered. I think she intended to do what she did for a while and I just served it up for her.

And I’ve been in a hole ever since.

I’m well. My kids are well, happy and thriving, actually. I’ve taken a second job editing a weekly newspaper and I love it despite the stress.

But if I told you I was doing more than surviving, … getting by, … I’d be lying.

I penned a Facebook message two years ago tonight (Aug. 25, 2018) thanking my dad and Linda and friends who had helped me get to where I was after the hole I was in a couple years before.

You can’t tell the people you care about that you love them too often. You should do it at every opportunity. You never know when you won’t get another chance.

I must have read that note 15 times today. But I couldn’t share it. Though I still mean every word in that note, I can’t put it out there.

Looking back at that day and that note, it’s hard not to be disappointed at how things turned out. And I haven’t been able to just get over it.

I know all of this sounds cryptic. But I just needed to get it out. It’s for me, not you.

Despite the disappointment and all the other emotions I’m dealing with on a daily basis, I want to repeat the sentiment of what I wrote that day.

I want to thank my father, William McCombs, without whom I would be lost. Without fail, he has always been there for me. Everything I know about being a man, I learned from him.

Despite how things went and where they are now, I am grateful to Linda. More than I can express.

And I’m grateful to Dawn and Bryan and Ken and Fran and Erin and even Mike, though I’d be lying if I said that relationship wasn’t strained, as well.

At some point, I’ll get out of the hole. It’ll happen. I know it will. But until then, I’ll be here at the house, getting by.

Back in the game

Posted in Family, Journalism with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2019 by macmystery

My first issue as editor of The Island News.

I posted something akin to this on Facebook a little more than a week ago, I guess, but I’m just getting around to posting it here.

The name of my blog is Raising Two Americans, a reference to my two kids. The subhead of sorts initially read “Tackling life as a husband, a father and a journalist.”

Funny thing is that in the almost 10 years since I started, everything about those headers has been shaken up.

I am not a husband. My wife informed me almost 5 years ago that she was no longer interested in being married. Of course, that’s no longer mentioned on the masthead above this post.

I am still a father, of course. How good of one I am, some people may call into question. But nonetheless, my children reside with their mother.

And, practically, I ceased being a journalist on Feb. 22, 2016 when I was laid off at my McClatchy newspaper. Though, in spirit, I have remained a journalist, even if I was not being paid as such.

(Working or not, I will gladly embrace the Donald Trump title “enemy of the people.” Opposing Trump is a badge of honor I will wear proudly until the day I leave this life.)

Currently, the top of the page reads “and former journalist.” It’s safe to say that’s no longer accurate.

I am now the editor of The Island News, a weekly newspaper that covers northern Beaufort County in South Carolina.

It pays but won’t pay the bills. It’s not a full-time gig. I’m still employed at Randel’s Lawnmowers Equipment Sales and Service to make ends meet. But it’s a nice bump.

And I’m back in the game.

The Island News is a typical small-town weekly. At the small end of the small-town spectrum.

There are a lot of community event pictures and rewritten press releases. But the new owners have goals of something bigger — filling the void left when the local paper, The Beaufort Gazette, basically abandoned its hometown.

And there is a lot of potential. But there is little staff.

Also, I’ll admit I like the job. Almost too much. While I needed a break after getting laid off, I will admit I may not have realized how much I missed the grind. It was time to get back.

Given the landscape, I’ll never get back into newspapers. Not in the big sense. But this job gives me the opportunity to play a constructive role in the community I have chosen to make my own.

And maybe one day, it’ll be more than a part-time gig.

But right now, it’s a positive. And given the way 2019 has gone for me personally, I needed it. It’s given me a little hope I have been lacking.

And a reason to change “former journalist” back to “journalist.”

Rakim, minus Eric B., of course, but not all by himself

Posted in Journalism, Music with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 26, 2018 by macmystery

https://www.npr.org/templates/event/embeddedVideo.php?storyId=622595890&mediaId=622597776

While procrastinating late Monday night, as I so often do when I have a viable writing topic, I found myself listening to music.

It’s not an uncommon activity in my life. A large percentage of my disposable income (and a lot that should have never been disposable) has been spent on music, not to mention my time, both disposable and indisposable, as well. Concerts, records, tapes, CDs, road trips.

But I’ll admit that over the last few years of my marriage, which LEGALLY ended in 2016, aside from time spent in the car, music had all but disappeared from my life. And maybe that should have been a sign. But that’s another story for another day.

Anyway, as I said, I was listening to music, something I do again, typically late at night. A strange mix … Dierks Bentley, the Cowboy Junkies, Henry Mancini, Metallica and Dave Brubeck. (I’ll admit, there was 10 minutes of George Carlin mixed in there, as well.)

I was listening to this strange mix as I put off writing something more substantial than my Facebook post from earlier Monday evening about former two-time National League Most Valuable Player and longtime Atlanta Braves standout Dale Murphy. Ironically, I’m still going to write that post, but it’ll be another day now, at least.

That’s because, while perusing Facebook, I came upon the New York Times story (How an Affair Between a Reporter and a Security Aide Has Rattled Washington Media) about the relationship between its reporter Ali Watkins and a man who handled security for many years for the Senate Intelligence Committee.

So, of course I was going to write about that. Being a former journalist — being a former journalist is like being a former Marine … there’s no such thing — the story presents some interesting and frustrating dilemmas during a time when the press is badly needed, as well as badly maligned.

And then Rakim happened.

Someone I know from high school, a lifetime ago, had shared the latest installment of National Public Radio’s Tiny Desk Concert. Featured for June 25, 2018 was Rakim, initially, at least, of Eric B. & Rakim fame.

I’ll admit it. Aside from straight up classical music, the least represented major genre in my music collection is rap. Or hip-hop, if you will. Old school Run D.M.C., some Sir Mix-A-Lot, Eminem, Kendrick Lamar … but not much else. A lot of it doesn’t interest me. A lot of it I respect but simply don’t enjoy.

I have read a lot about Rakim. But I haven’t listened a lot to Rakim.

But I did Monday night.

And I was treated to 9 minutes and 37 seconds of brilliance that maybe I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for 30 years ago, when Eric B. and Rakim were on top of their game. Kind of the same way I have a different appreciation for jazz now than I did as a young man.

And in a lot of ways, comparatively, Rakim’s style is jazz, at least vocally. His lyrics and voice are his instrument, and while aggressive, he is not necessarily loud and not in a hurry. Much as Willie Nelson brought jazz phrasing and guitar to his otherwise solid country gold lyrics, Rakim in some ways does the same thing.

It’s evident with the live band, rather than a DJ, backing him in the small NPR studio. The musicians are tight and work infectious grooves through three songs, allowing Rakim’s lyrics to shine as his instrument.

I was impressed. I had a moment, really. Usually, though, it’s when I hear something new that blows me away. I am admittedly not used to, at this point in my life, hearing songs more than two decades old, performed by the original artists, that pique my interest so completely.

My son, Dylan, possibly in the wrong place at the wrong time, can attest. He walked in the room in a moment of boredom after his computer crashed, expecting to wander in and wander out.

Instead he was detained by me and forced to surrender 9:37 of his evening, too, to sit and watch this Tiny Desk Concert. Not surprisingly, to me, he found himself, like I did, enjoying the video, foot tapping and hands popping.

The final two songs of Rakim’s three-song set, were “Paid In Full” and “Know The Ledge,” … classics and songs I will now seek out. But they followed “King’s Paradise,” a song released a few days ago and featured in Season 2 of Marvel’s Luke Cage on Netflix.

“King’s Paradise” is Rakim’s first new release in a decade. Suddenly, seemingly, I’m hoping it’s not his last.