11-year itch

February 3, 2015 by Steve Myers 9 Comments

A seesaw on a foggy cliff overlooks probably more fog is wonder. Why does one kid gravitate towards the pitcher’s mound and another second base and why does one sync mind and body and let all worldly burdens fall away like a snake-skin abandoned while another is heavy from the sound of his own mind?

Maybe we only appear equal before the starting gun sounds but something happens in that split second first step and only a few really and truly carry on; up at the Ichiro dawn perfecting their own hit, bunt, and run; everyone else walking dead; only going through the motions; reluctant since the initial fall; maybe it was a hernia surgery at 18 or getting fired from a dream job; or stuck in state of wince over being dealt a bad hand.

Harvey Kuenn was born and raised in West Allis, Milwaukee, Wisconsin long before the major league Milwaukee Brewers and almost 30 years before the Boston Braves relocated to Milwaukee, but the minor league Brewers played their games at Borchert Field on Milwaukee’s North side and in the 1940’s Bill Veeck wielded his magic marketing wand there and well; Kuenn was an only child and he loved baseball.

A baseball environments is no guarantee. Destiny’s obstacles are fiercer and anyway, ballplayers come from all kinds of places including Ed Porray; born at sea or Tom Browning; born in Casper, Wyoming; one of only 14 players to ever be born there and Browning pitched one of baseball’s 23 perfect games.

Or maybe there is one place where no mobile hangs above a newborn’s crib; dangling ceramic bat, ball, and glove and the chances of a father son mythic catch are slim to none and just the word baseball sends a bitter bolt across its citizens’ tongues.

There hasn’t been baseball in Montreal for 11 years; not since 2004 when Termel Sledge popped out to third base, but there were no suicides and life continued and the Montreal Canadians remain more popular than the church in French Catholic Quebec.

Raines or Dawson are sometimes  mentioned around the water cooler.  A park was recently renamed Gary Carter field. Warren Cromartie continues to canvas for baseball’s return. There’s even an annual spring training game at Olympic Stadium.

The death of baseball attacks in subtler ways; in back alleys and playgrounds where kids learn new languages and share stories and build their own mythologies. Baseball is not a part of that in Montreal anymore, but the kids don’t dwell on it. They do something else and the river dries up.

I wonder if Harvey Kuenn got a warm feeling in 1944 when he found out that Bill Nagel-the Brewers minor league third baseman was bought by the major league White Sox. Harvey was 14 years young and maybe thinking; “damn; if he can do it, so can I.”

Kuenn went on to play at the University of Wisconsin and hit .383 over a 3 year career; foregoing his senior season to sign with Detroit in 1952. There was no draft back then. He enjoyed a 15-year career; 8 of those with the Tigers. He had the dubious distinction of making the last out in two of Koufax’s no hitters, but he was feared by opposing managers as unpredictable; a bad ball hitter who didn’t walk too much, but didn’t strike out either. In fact he never k’d more than 40 times in a season.

He hit. .303 for his career with a .357 ob%, 2092 total hits and a walk may be as good as hit in some computed run scoring probability sort of way;  little league coach’s broken record mantra and patience is a virtue and carrots are good for your eyes, but I’d sacrifice a week’s salary to board a time machine and see Kuenn golf a dirt ball into orbit; off the wall for one of his league leading 42 doubles in 1959 or take a shoulder-high swing and line the ball down the right field line in 1952 when Kuenn not only led the league with 209 base hits, but he took home the rookie of the year award.