Life, the Universe, and Strat-O-Matic
Volume I, Number 2
January 15, 2001
Talkin’
Baaaaaseball….
It’s the end of January and a crisp
winter day out on Long Island. That can mean only one thing: baseball. Now,
many of you who might not be part of all of this are thinking, “January and
baseball? Spring training doesn’t even begin until mid-February.” But, for
those of you we affectionately refer to as Strat-O-Maniacs, you know exactly
what I’m referring to. The first day the cards are distributed.
Much like an Islamic trip to Mecca,
sometime between the third week of January and the second week of February
every year, Glen Head, New York, is overrun with men who will be boys again as
they converge on that small, white cinderblock, inconspicuous looking building,
which is the center for fantasy baseball like no other. It’s the Corporate
Headquarters for Strat-O-Matic, though you wouldn’t know it to look at the
in-obtrusive one-story building. And on this particular day you will find a
line of die-hard fans as long as any line the day tickets go on sale to a Pearl
Jam or Garth Brooks concert.
The years were 1990 and 1991. Dave
Steib and Doc Gooden were the Pedro’s of the day. Alex Rodriguez and Mike
Piazza had yet to show their faces in the Show. I had been introduced to the
world of Strat-O the summer of ’89 while interning with a minor league baseball
team. And now I was invited for my first prestigious treks to that little town
in New York, which shall forever be a haven for baseball enthusiasts. Many
years and many seasons of playing Strat have passed since then. (Unfortunately,
those early years begin to blur together after awhile, and since I’m apt to mix
my facts up, I will describe what transpired both those years rather than
trying to separate the facts incorrectly.) But making a Strat-O run those two
winters will forever stand out in my mind as fond memories of my rookie-dom in
SOM leagues.
Phil Trygar (yes, the guru of this
site is to blame for my obsession with this addictive game) used to spin yarns
about trips to Glen Head, and how hundreds of Fanatics from all over would
gather together, light up the Hibachi’s, and wait patiently to collect the
coveted new set of cards, temporarily forgetting the cold, as staff from SOM
would pass copies of the more exciting cards through the crowds. Being brand
new to our league in Scranton, Pa, I was thrilled to be allowed to join the
crew on those trips, much like joining Indiana Jones as he dug through the
sands of Egypt for the Ark of the Covenant. Along with pals Dave, Larry and
Kevin (Kevin only came the first year), Phil and I made the 2 ˝ ride eastward,
fortunate that the baseball gods kept the weather clear for our journey.
I may not have witnessed any
sausages on the grill, but I did see lines of at least hundreds strong at any
given time, emerging from cars and campers with license plates from all over
the country and Canada. I remember meeting people from Florida and Toronto who
took time off from work just to pick up their cards. And people thought we were
nuts driving a couple hours from Pennsylvania! Every time the front door of the
office would open a cry of “Oooo! Aahhh!” would emit from the throats of the
crowd. At one point is was due to the distribution of copies of Darryl
Strawberry’s 35 homerun card (remember when 35 HR was a lot?) to keep everyone
occupied as they stood there in sub-freezing temperatures, temporarily
forgetting the feelings of frostbite. Other times, all that would emerge would
be some happy camper with his bag full of new cards. While this wasn’t much to
cheer about, it did mean you were one person closer to claiming your own prize.
It was on one of those same said
trips that the legend of the Mustard Man began. About a mile down the street
from the SOM Holy Temple is a Hardee’s restaurant (at least I think it’s a
Hardee’s). Much like the swallows in Capistrano, the locals know that every
year at this time the SOManiacs will rear their ugly heads and return for
burgers and fried chicken, while they ogle Sammy Sosa’s 3 ˝ solid homeruns,
laugh at their friend who got stuck with Dante Bichette and a 5 OF rating, and
cause pandemonium in the restaurant trying to avoid the errant condiment from
marring Pedro Martinez’s otherwise immaculate card (clean of hits anyway).
While feasting on fast food beef
by-products at the same time we flipped through pages of un-separated SOM
cards, Larry did the unthinkable – he dropped the Seattle Mariners sheet into a
splotch of mustard that had dripped onto the table. Picking it up, we discovered
that Edgar Martinez had suffered a small yellow stain. A collective “Uh-oh”
escaped everyone’s lips. “Who gets this set [that we had already rifled
through]?” someone asked. Dave, Larry, Kevin, Phil and I all looked at each
other and came to the same foregone conclusion: Frank. At that same time Edgar
was dubbed “The Mustard Man” as we laughed about how Frank (who, fortunately,
did not possess the rights to Edgar’s contract) would be puzzled by references
to The Mustard Man whenever we would play against him.
A tradition the SOM people have of
their own is to photograph visitors who have traveled more than an hour or so
to pick up their cards in person. On one such occasion, as we entered the hovel
waiting as patiently as we could whilst they tracked down our collective
orders, a SOM employee with a Polaroid inquired our origin. When we told him it
was Pennsylvania, he snapped our picture, which later appeared in a SOM
newsletter, unbeknownst to us at the time. A league which features team owners
from across the nation took notice of the picture and contacted Dave to see if
he wanted to fill a vacancy for a play-by-mail league. With the computer game
increasing in popularity, he agreed and has been in that league ever since.
Ironically, the four of us who appeared in the photo, Dave, Phil, Larry and I,
have, one by one, all joined that league. Now we send computer managers to New
York, Texas, Kentucky, Ohio, Washington, Pennsylvania, Virginia and Oregon. All
because we just HAD to have those cards in hand the first day possible!
Ah, yes, it’s been about ten years
since my last trip through frigid, northeast winter conditions to that one
bright spot in an otherwise drab and inconspicuous time of year in that part of
the country… perhaps too long. I now live more than six hours farther away than
I used to, and possess a full time job (the curse of adulthood) so it is
unlikely I will be visiting Glen Head anytime soon. Thank the SOM gods for
Priority Mail and on-line ordering to expedite delivery of Mike Piazza’s next
40-HR card. But for those of you who have never been, the trip is one you
should make at least once in your SOM lifetime. Like kissing the Blarney Stone,
riding a pack mule through the Grand Canyon, or seeing the Coliseum in Rome,
the SOM building in little Glen Head, NY, the day the cards come out is a
spectacle to experience for all those engrossed by the SOM craze.
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