Exploring a different kind of pastime

By Troy Foster

“Baseball, like no other sport, is a pastime built on nostalgia.”

I saw these words at the National Baseball Hall of Fame. They resonated with me, because, like I’ve said so many times before, it’s not the game of baseball that fascinates me, it’s the culture. The history.

We recently paid a visit to Cooperstown to immerse ourselves in baseball lore. This small town in Upstate New York is straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, and if you don’t believe me look at the effect it had on Daren. (You have to click on that link to know what I’m talking about). 

Cooperstown hasn’t been our only brush with baseball nostalgia. 

A week ago we got a personal tour of the Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory by a very genteel man named Bill. We were interested in learning a little more about the emerging maple bat controversy, and in the process learned a lot about how this factory cranks out 3,000 bats per day, which players get them and who’s entitled to a personalized signature.

This museum also is home to the largest baseball bat in the world – a 120-foot replica of Babe Ruth’s model R43. We just crossed the halfway point on our basecrawl, so I decided to knock on wood for good luck. I also wanted to see if it was made out of maple or ash. Turned out to be 68,000 pounds of carbon steel, thank you very much.

In Kansas City, we were fortunate to visit the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. You might be tempted to think of the negro leagues as a sad symbol of segregation — a shameful side of our pastime. While that’s certainly part of the angle, their legacy would be shortchanged if it were that limited. 

The various negro leagues were a spectacle all to their own. They deserve to be celebrated for their rich, colorful history and a cast of characters that went by names like Turkey, Jelly or Cool Papa Bell. Some of the greatest baseball players of all time — Major League or otherwise — played in these leagues; guys like Satchel Paige (55 career no-hitters), Josh Gibson (nearly 800-lifetime homers; 69 in 1934 alone) and Jackie Robinson.

What you also might not know is that the players and owners that comprised these teams were innovators. The Kansas City Monarchs pioneered modern-day night games, beginning them in 1930 — five years before the first Major League night game took place in Cincinnati. And the first professional women baseball players participated alongside men in the negro leagues. 

This is no longer lost upon the Hall of Fame. Thirty-five of its inductees played exclusively in the negro leagues.

As I toured the museum in Cooperstown, I was reminded of this and the recent events that re-introduced me to a sport I had seemingly forgotten. 

My alma mater, Oregon State, was well-represented in the Hall. One display noted their status as baseball’s 2007 College World Series Champions – an amazing story of overcoming inherent disadvantages that can’t be matched by anyone, except maybe the team that won it the year before. 

Another display featured the baseball bat Jacoby Ellsbury used in the 2007 World Series. Jacoby grew up in a small Central Oregon town where he dominated the headlines of a newspaper called The Madras Pioneer, my first employer out of college.

Now that I think of it, Jacoby and I have a lot in common. We both lived in Madras, we both went to Oregon State and now he plays for the Boston Red Sox. He also has a World Series ring and a million dollar contract coming.

Meanwhile, I play for … and have … and … uh … well, nevermind. 

My parents knew Cooperstown was on our basecrawl itinerary, and after our visit Mom sent me an e-mail that said: “Just wanted to know if you jumped the fence and ran the bases today?”

Just like that, an old memory was dusted off and brought down from the shelf. My dad had jumped the fence at Doubleday Field 18 years earlier and ran the bases, despite signs and other indicators that insisted otherwise. He lamented my 12-year-old self for not immediately following, and I finally joined him in sheer terror. We made it around the bases without getting caught. At least that’s how I remember it.

That was back in the fall of 1990, back when the Oakland A’s were gods and baseball was the center of my universe. All these years later, I was delighted — and surprised — to see one of my childhood heroes, Dennis Eckersley, immortalized at the Hall. 

But it’s memories of dad running the bases at Doubleday Field and another kind of pastime that’s caught my attention lately.

Just an hour from Cooperstown is a small hamlet called Hobart. This is your picturesque Upstate town, with locally owned businesses, funny idiosyncrasies and typical town squabbles. This also is the place where my good friend and traveling companion grew up.

In the past five days I’ve met Daren’s mother, father (again), his incredibly sweet grandparents and a few of his childhood friends. I’ve seen the Little League field he played on and the secret places he used to sneak away to drink beer.

From the beginning, Daren has insisted there’s more to this basecrawl than cold beer, couches or a game that’s played on a field. 

I think he’s onto something. Because here in his old stomping ground, I have experienced a different kind of nostalgia. I have explored a different kind of pastime. I’ve met a unique family. I’ve felt love.

And I like it here.

(There’s more on this and our other adventures at BaseCrawl.com.)