December 7th is Pearl Harbor Day, my Granceil's birthday (damn Japanese ruining her birthday), and now the day Whitey Herzog, the baseball Cardinal's manager, was finally tapped for the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I wasn't a big baseball fan growing up, but then I saw a game Whitey managed. Here's a typical Whiteyball game. (I swear to you this game happened. I don't know the stats and who we were playing, but it happened.) (Thanks Wikipedia, it was August 7, 1987 against the Phillies.)
The Cardinals were losing 12 to 4, and Whitey said (perhaps not in these words),"Well. Fuck this. Let's have some fun." He'd gone through all of his pitchers already, so he sent the first baseman in to pitch. I think Jose Oquendo was the first baseman, I don't really know because he played every position that year, because Whitey Herzog is a DIVERGENT THINKER. Then I think someone else pitched the last inning, because we were so fucked. Maybe Ozzie Smith. Or maybe that was the day he sent Ozzie in to catch. I mean, we lost, but we tried.
Because what the hell. Gotta try it all. And that was Whiteyball. That, plus nutty things like people stealing second and third and probably home, and inching toward the win, and bullpen by committee. In lieu of home runs we got to see Whitey get worked up. THEN we got to see Whitey get expelled. What I would give to find some video on YouTube for you. He'd get up in the umpire's face and turn his hat backward to get closer to the umpire's face and chest butt the umpire until the umpire had NO choice but throw him out.
I remember Gary and I were vacationing in Chicago when Whitey left the Cardinals. Unthinkable. I don't even really know who our manager even is now. The last two run together in my head, the guy who went to New York and got cancer, and the current one. One of them is named Joe Torre. And I don't care enough to look it up.