Whitey
I somehow have a great respect for history while being completely self-centered about it. I love history, but only when it concerns me. I love American history, but stuff like the War of 1812 and the Civil Rights movement bore me, while World War II and the Bill of Rights could keep me entertained for hours.
I don’t know if this quality is genetic or a result of my environment, but evidence points to both. My father and most of the Doran family has an unnatural interest in the family’s genealogy, which is why I knew my grandmother’s house in Ireland was called the Bowling Green years before I’d ever visited the country, and why I know that Doran was such a common name in Strabane at one point that my great-great-grandfather Doran married a woman named Doran who had no relation at all. Somehow, I’ve never met a person with my last name, much less plan on marrying one.
Philadelphia also seems to be a city obsessed with its own history, notably its own sports history. It’s an unhealthy and very depressing obsession, since we’re arguably the most tragic sports town of all time. The Phillies have lost more games than any other sports franchise. The Eagles haven’t won a Super Bowl ever, and haven’t won an NFL Championship in 46 years. The Sixers drafted guys like Speedy Claxton, Jumaine Jones, Larry Hughes, Keith Van Horn, Jerry Stackhouse, Sharone Wright, and Shawn Bradley, all of whom were either complete busts or did nothing of note in Philadelphia before being traded away. And that’s just in the past 12 years. The Flyers have the highest winning percentage in all of sports, but they’ve only got two Stanley Cups to show for it, and they both happened about 30 years ago. Most hardcore Philadelphia sports fans know all these facts already, which is why it’s easy to see that the obsession is unhealthy and very depressing.
Based on Philadelphia’s sick fixation on its tragic history, sports or otherwise (and I could go on about the other stuff, too, but I’ll spare you), I don’t know if my pride comes from my father’s genes or my social upbringing. I know it’s not my mother’s genes, since everyone in the Walsh family tends to make fun of each other.
My pride is so intense, however, that I just experienced something completely new to me. I just got teary-eyed (which almost never happens, I assure you) reading about Richie Ashburn.
In case you’re not familiar with Richie Ashburn, he was a Hall of Famer for the Phillies and a long-time broadcaster for the team until he died in 1997.
I was only about 12 years old when he died, so I really don’t remember him very specifically, except remembering the sound of his voice in 1993 Phillies retrospects, or recalling a story Harry Kalas told when he got inducted into the Hall of Fame.
[For the sake of accuracy, I consulted the internet to find this story from Harry’s induction speech, and Jayson Stark gets paid to say stuff a lot better than I ever could, so here’s an excerpt from his story on Harry’s induction.]
And he paid homage to his partner one more time during his speech, with a hilarious story about how Ashburn, on nights the games dragged a little long, used to wonder aloud on air "if the people from Celebre's Pizza are listening."
"And sure enough," Kalas said. "Fifteen minutes later, we'd have pizzas being delivered up to the booth."
But after this had gone on awhile, Kalas reported, Ashburn was called into the office and reminded that Celebre's Pizza wasn't a sponsor, so he couldn't keep plugging them for free. It was OK to do birthdays and anniversaries, but no more free plugs.
A few days later, though, another Phillies game refused to end. So Ashburn abruptly delivered an unexpected birthday greeting.
"I'd like to send out very special birthday wishes tonight," he said, "to the Celebre's twins -- Plain and Pepperoni.”
Find anyone who’s been a Phillies fan for the past 30 years and they could probably recount a story about Richie Ashburn similar to that one. He was loved by the city, and for good reason.
The reason I bring him up is that I’m currently reading Bill James’ Historical Baseball Abstract, and reading the story about Ashburn just made me beam with pride. I never watched him play, obviously, but James’ description portrays him as the perfect Philadelphia athlete—always running full-speed, always wanting to win, and always having a sense of humor.
Besides those qualities, he was also a tremendous person. James says his favorite Ashburn story happened when Richie hit a foul ball into the stands and hit a woman. Concerned, he stepped out of the box and watched to make sure the medics could revive her. As soon as they did, he stepped back in the box and hit another foul ball—right at the woman. After the game he visited her in the hospital, took her to meet the team, and became friends with her. They corresponded for the rest of his life.
Stories like that are what make me wish I had a better memory, one that could recall my favorite Richie Ashburn moment. It must take a great person to bring to tears a guy who doesn’t remember him.
I don’t know if this quality is genetic or a result of my environment, but evidence points to both. My father and most of the Doran family has an unnatural interest in the family’s genealogy, which is why I knew my grandmother’s house in Ireland was called the Bowling Green years before I’d ever visited the country, and why I know that Doran was such a common name in Strabane at one point that my great-great-grandfather Doran married a woman named Doran who had no relation at all. Somehow, I’ve never met a person with my last name, much less plan on marrying one.
Philadelphia also seems to be a city obsessed with its own history, notably its own sports history. It’s an unhealthy and very depressing obsession, since we’re arguably the most tragic sports town of all time. The Phillies have lost more games than any other sports franchise. The Eagles haven’t won a Super Bowl ever, and haven’t won an NFL Championship in 46 years. The Sixers drafted guys like Speedy Claxton, Jumaine Jones, Larry Hughes, Keith Van Horn, Jerry Stackhouse, Sharone Wright, and Shawn Bradley, all of whom were either complete busts or did nothing of note in Philadelphia before being traded away. And that’s just in the past 12 years. The Flyers have the highest winning percentage in all of sports, but they’ve only got two Stanley Cups to show for it, and they both happened about 30 years ago. Most hardcore Philadelphia sports fans know all these facts already, which is why it’s easy to see that the obsession is unhealthy and very depressing.
Based on Philadelphia’s sick fixation on its tragic history, sports or otherwise (and I could go on about the other stuff, too, but I’ll spare you), I don’t know if my pride comes from my father’s genes or my social upbringing. I know it’s not my mother’s genes, since everyone in the Walsh family tends to make fun of each other.
My pride is so intense, however, that I just experienced something completely new to me. I just got teary-eyed (which almost never happens, I assure you) reading about Richie Ashburn.
In case you’re not familiar with Richie Ashburn, he was a Hall of Famer for the Phillies and a long-time broadcaster for the team until he died in 1997.
I was only about 12 years old when he died, so I really don’t remember him very specifically, except remembering the sound of his voice in 1993 Phillies retrospects, or recalling a story Harry Kalas told when he got inducted into the Hall of Fame.
[For the sake of accuracy, I consulted the internet to find this story from Harry’s induction speech, and Jayson Stark gets paid to say stuff a lot better than I ever could, so here’s an excerpt from his story on Harry’s induction.]
And he paid homage to his partner one more time during his speech, with a hilarious story about how Ashburn, on nights the games dragged a little long, used to wonder aloud on air "if the people from Celebre's Pizza are listening."
"And sure enough," Kalas said. "Fifteen minutes later, we'd have pizzas being delivered up to the booth."
But after this had gone on awhile, Kalas reported, Ashburn was called into the office and reminded that Celebre's Pizza wasn't a sponsor, so he couldn't keep plugging them for free. It was OK to do birthdays and anniversaries, but no more free plugs.
A few days later, though, another Phillies game refused to end. So Ashburn abruptly delivered an unexpected birthday greeting.
"I'd like to send out very special birthday wishes tonight," he said, "to the Celebre's twins -- Plain and Pepperoni.”
Find anyone who’s been a Phillies fan for the past 30 years and they could probably recount a story about Richie Ashburn similar to that one. He was loved by the city, and for good reason.
The reason I bring him up is that I’m currently reading Bill James’ Historical Baseball Abstract, and reading the story about Ashburn just made me beam with pride. I never watched him play, obviously, but James’ description portrays him as the perfect Philadelphia athlete—always running full-speed, always wanting to win, and always having a sense of humor.
Besides those qualities, he was also a tremendous person. James says his favorite Ashburn story happened when Richie hit a foul ball into the stands and hit a woman. Concerned, he stepped out of the box and watched to make sure the medics could revive her. As soon as they did, he stepped back in the box and hit another foul ball—right at the woman. After the game he visited her in the hospital, took her to meet the team, and became friends with her. They corresponded for the rest of his life.
Stories like that are what make me wish I had a better memory, one that could recall my favorite Richie Ashburn moment. It must take a great person to bring to tears a guy who doesn’t remember him.
posted by Kevin A. Doran at 4:55 AM
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