Friendly Skies

 

Any world tour worthy of wordiness needs to begin with connections to the Cubs and the World Series.

In seat 2A sat a bearded gentleman sporting a ball cap and sunglasses, a map of Texas tattooed on the back of his right hand. I settled into 2B, exchanged greetings and leaned back in my oversized lounge hoping to nap. Just about to nod off, the stewardess leaned in asking “You ordered French toast? What do you want to drink?”

I don’t know why airline chefs are obsessed with offering adulterated dishes to brutalize your taste buds. I got date nut bread French toast with a side of steamed prunes and apricots. After this underwhelming breakfast I reclined my seat to snooze.

Before landing, I struck up a conversation with my neighbor which led to: “I used to pitch for the Cubs.”

“No way!  What’s your name?”

 “Mitch Williams”

“I remember a game in the ninth inning with the Cubs where you walked the first three batters and then struck out the next three.”

“I’m not saying I never walked the bases loaded, but that day there were three scratch hits. Opening day against the Phillies, my first game in the National League.”

“And then there was the home run...”

“Yeah, game 6 of the World Series,” he spoke unapologetically.

There are countless goats in baseball’s history, from Fred Merkle to Ralph Branca, Bill Buckner, Donny Moore and Mitch Williams, whose career, no matter how illustrious, are unfairly and ignorantly marked by one fatal play in a lost championship game. 

Thoughtful fans know there are a dozen plays over the course of any game that could have changed the outcome. It's too simple to find one villain. Donny Moore committed suicide years later, though the shame from the fans was unlikely the root cause.

I did not follow up on the home run story, (I might have gotten a personal perspective to share) but research reports that he faced the media stoically with resigned manner: “...many people work a hell of a lot harder than I... I’m not going to sit and whine and complain ... that I was in the World Series and lost.”

Some barbaric Philadelphia fans were less brotherly loving and philosophical.  They gathered at his home to pelt it with eggs and stones.

This affable fellow was gracious to this fawning fan. I regret not speaking to him at takeoff, but he dodged a 2 ½ hour grilling on baseball.