You’ve probably heard the proverb “don’t meet your heroes” and, sadly for me, I found out about this first-hand as a 12-year-old.
Well, that’s not completely accurate. I didn’t actually meet mine. But that makes no difference.
Growing up, my brother was a Boston Red Sox fan and I was a fan of the New York Yankees. As fate would have it, in August 1972, the Texas Rangers had a homestand in which they played the Red Sox one night and the Yankees the next.
Older brother Ben was about to head off to college and I was about to begin two-a-days for eighth-grade football (our coach was a maniac), and so our father made arrangements for us to head over to Arlington for a late-summer trip to see our favorite teams on back-to-back nights.
The Red Sox were pretty good that year (eventually finishing second in the American League East) but the ’72 Yankees were fairly awful. I mean, how good could you be with third baseman Celerino Sanchez and shortstop Gene Michael combining for ONE home run all year?
Anyway, the Red Sox scored three in the eighth inning to beat the Rangers 4-3 the first night we were at Arlington Stadium. I had to act like I was excited about it, even though I wasn’t.
The next night was my turn. My first time to see my favorite team in person.
And more importantly, my favorite player.
When I was younger, I tried to be a Mickey Mantle fan like a few million other kids, but The Mick was pretty much done by the time I climbed on board the fanwagon. But there was this kid on the Yankees who was also an outfielder from Oklahoma who was showing great promise named Bobby Murcer.
Good enough for me. I’ll take him! (Who else … Horace Clarke?)
In 1970, Murcer hit four consecutive home runs in a doubleheader to set a club record and was also a starter in the famed 1971 All-Star Game which featured some of baseball’s all-time greats in the starting lineup.
Murcer was having another really good year in 1972, so I was anxious to see my guy and try to get an autograph.
I should have known this wasn’t going to be my night. If you ever went to Arlington Stadium, you might remember they would post the starting lineups by displaying uniform numbers on the scoreboard in the panhandle part of the state of Texas.
Catcher Thurman Munson was my No. 2 favorite but as we were walking through the parking lot, I didn’t see “No. 15” displayed by the “C.” Instead, it was No. 23, John Ellis.
You mean we came all this way to see some second-string catcher?
Nevertheless, the mission at hand was to try to get Murcer’s signature during the pre-game.
If you can believe this, back in those days, you could climb on the dugout and look inside to see if any players were there and ask for an autograph.
I passed on Ron Blomberg and Roy White because I was focused on trying to get Murcer, who I didn’t see sitting on the bench and wasn’t warming up on the field.
It was getting close to gametime and I knew I was about to get chased off by what little security there was in those days … and then I saw him! Standing in the darkened runway that led from the clubhouse to the dugout.
It was Bobby Murcer.
And he was smoking a cigarette.
He looked at me, I looked at him and that was it. I was done.
Totally and complete stunned. When I got back to our seats, my brother asked if I got the autograph and I could hardly speak. I just said no and left out all the sordid details.
Bobby, how could you do this to me? As far as I was concerned, he might as well have been holding a crack pipe in one hand with a bottle of vodka in the other.
The Yankees got blasted that night 11-2 (it was 11-0 after the fourth) and Murcer struck out twice.
Of course he did with all of that nicotine poisoning his body.
When I tell you that I remember this like it was yesterday, that’s exactly what I mean. I may forget a lot of things in my advanced age, but I’m not forgetting this. Call me in 20 years and I will still be able to recite this down to the last detail.
Some things you don’t forget. Even if you want to.
(It should be pointed out that Bobby went on to have a solid baseball career. He later became a great baseball broadcaster with the Yankees and was known as a really, really good guy. Sadly, he lost a very courageous and public battle with brain cancer in 2008 at the age of 62.)
Contact JJ at johnjamesmarshall@yahoo.com