(or 2001 a Strat-O-Matic
Odyssey)
by Phil Trygar
I have played, coached, and worked in Baseball for nearly my entire life. Like my family and Strat-O-Matic, Baseball has been an a great influence on what I do and who I am. If the expression you are what you eat is somewhat of a truism, then I am probably made up of Red River mud, clay, dirt, pine tar and resin because I live, breath and eat the sport. Perhaps not as much as I used to, since my playing days are long behind me and I haven’t coached in over 2 years, but Strat still gives me an outlet for my passion for the game.
If you’ve played or coached the game at any level, you’ve probably suffered some injuries along the road. Luckily, I’ve never suffered an injury that required surgery of any kind, but I’ve had more than my share of bumps and bruises, aches and pains. Casts, slings and stitches maybe…but thankfully I’ve never gone under the knife. Some of the aches I still have today, and the scars will never go away. But there is one injury that didn’t occur on the field that I will never forget. As a matter of fact, I get reminded of it just about every time I brush my teeth. As always, there is a Strat-O-Matic slant to this story too.
During a particularly hot summer evening at a Red Barons game, we had the PA Booth windows open as wide as they could go. The air conditioning wasn’t operating well again, so the 6 foot wide opening provided some relief. The Barons were taking on the Rochester Red Wings and an up and coming outfielder was currently with the Wings by the name of Brady Anderson. He had been up and down with Boston and Baltimore during the past few seasons and everyone who watched him play knew it was only a matter of time before he stuck for good with the O’s.
Brady was leading off the ball game and as usual, we were still in the middle of preparing last minute advertisements, inputting the night’s giveaway seat numbers, and countless other things that had to be done on a game night. After taking ball one, he fouled one straight back at us, right thru the open windows. The “heads up!” that everyone yelled barely made me look up from the computer screen where I was typing, since balls hit back at us were a fairly common occurrence and not many had actually made it into the booth. As I looked up, I saw that the ball was going to my left and high, so I half-heartedly reached up as if to catch it. The ball came in fairly hot and was actually still headed upwards when it struck the sprinkler head attached to the ceiling.
The ball ricocheted off the sprinkler head, came straight down and hit me dead square in the mouth. Now, not that I’m an overly macho guy, but I guess it happened so fast that it really didn’t hurt. The force of the ball didn’t knock out any teeth thankfully, but it flattened my upper lip and cut the inside of my mouth open enough that I was spitting blood. Maybe it didn’t bother me since I’d been hit in the face enough times in my lifetime that I was numb to it…and I have the face to prove it to you today. I turned and walked out into the rampway outside our door and started spitting out blood, almost right onto team General Manager Bill Terlecky’s shoes. He asked me what the hell had happened, and after I told him and he made sure I was all right, we both started laughing.
Alan saved the ball for me. It had a chunk taken out of it from the sprinklerhead, so that a flap of horsehide was hanging off, it had a few indentations in it that I thought could have been from my teeth, and it had drops of blood on it that I knew came from my face. Everyone in the booth must have decided that all that was as good as having my name on it, since usually when a ball flys into the booth, it’s a mad scramble to see who could grab it first.
The next day, I took the ball and Brady Anderson’s Strat card down onto the field during batting practice. I introduced myself to him and asked him if I could get an autograph. As usual, the appearance of a player’s Strat-O-Matic card proved to be a great way to break the ice to a visiting player who doesn’t know you from a bale of hay, and after looking it over, he was more than happy to sign it. Next I showed him the baseball and asked him if he could autograph that as well. “What the hell happened to this ball?” he asked. After I told him the story, he apologized (kind of took me by surprise, since it certainly wasn’t expected…how would he know where he’s going to foul a ball off to?) and after he found a spot on the ball that didn’t have teeth marks, holes, or spots of blood, he signed it.
To Phil,
Always keep your eye on the ball!
#9
Brady Anderson
Now what was interesting about it, was that Brady was wearing #25 with Rochester. Less than 2 weeks later, he was called up to Baltimore and when I checked he was wearing, you guessed it, #9. Did he know he was going to get recalled or was he just hoping? Either way, it was pretty cool. Brady went on to become a terrific Major League center fielder and he became one of my all-time favorite players. At one point I had him on all three of my Strat league teams. But I became a fan of his not because he’s had some good Strat-O-Matic cards and because he put up a 50 HR year one season. I became a fan because he took the time to be personable, spend a minute talking Strat with me and then write what he did on that baseball.
Thanks Brady! I’ll always be a fan!