APBA Convention - 2005
© 7/18/2005
Hello, all!
My second convention, this time held on the east coast in Lancaster, was spectacular fun. It all started with Friday night's intro and Q&A session. Unlike last year, no one leveled any "hard ball" questions at Marc; the atmosphere was much friendlier. One of the best things was seeing several youngsters in attendance. Hope springs eternal that the hobby will begin spreading to kids again, just as it did when most of us were young(er). During the raffle, Nick, also known as TGC and several other aliases, managed to call out his own winning number even as Sandi Rinaldi was reading it. Many in attendance failed to notice this, same as most of TGC's actions. Those around him were pummeled by his exploits. A giant jar of Excedrin was passed around.
The tournament was fun and exciting. I had the opportunity to lose to many fine individuals. I blame Dom for keeping me from the trophy (it's more fun than blaming the 73 Dodgers or myself). A 6-4 record showed a four game improvement from last year's 90 Mets debacle. My division included one of the kids at the convention. How fun to remember when rolling a 66 and seeing a 1 would be cause to leap from the chair. He did it to me (and many others on his way to a playoff game with ... Dom. Johnny Cochran brought the original 50 Yankees. The numbers on these cards were so odd that I gave up attempting to understand why a roll of 43 would generate a sacrifice fly. Dimagio hit four home runs in a row. Ultimately, though, I beat this team due to the great heroics of Bill Russell's awesome ability to single and Ken McMullen's double ones.
I visited the old brick APBA building which was on the original game box I purchased in 1971. The metal letters that proclaimed APBA Game Company and the forever remembered 1001 Millersville Road address still hung prominently on the front of the building even though a floor store now dominated the inside. The sidewalk leading to the now unused front door was overgrown but didn't stop me from trampling through the thorny raspberry bushes to read the paper sign telling the APBA fan to go to the side of the building for their APBA fix. I stood there, happy to see the building and sad to see the changes. I ate several raspberries (which were sweet and good), took pictures of the building, and went to the side to get my APBA fix.
After walking down a short hallway, I went through another door and into a room with a small counter. Behind the counter was a large bar and open room with what appeared to be a tiny dance floor. A button said press so I did. Out popped Skeet Carr, as much a representation of APBA as the roll of 66. He showed me around the place. The reception area was the infamous Dick Seitz party room. There were thousands of packets of APBA cards. There were offices, some small and some not. Veryl Lincoln had a sign on his that said, "Step forward, state your problem, then step back and no one will get hurt." I didn't see the office of Marc Rinaldi. Skeet said no one was allowed in because that's where Marc was keeping the Miller brothers until an "agreement" on BBW could be reached. I heard muffled screams so I asked no more questions.
Lancaster was a kick. The facilities at America's Best Inn were incredible. Next year, they are planning to put up walls and a roof. A fun trip to WalMart with Dom, Randy, and Nick showed me that east coast WalMarts do have an "expanded" inventory over what is sold out here in the west. Upon return to the Inn (motto: "No sense cleaning a good thing."), all were treated to Randy's vocal rendition of "Sweet Home Alabama" as he played a very hot air guitar. A giant jar of Excedrin was once again passed around.
Saturday night was, without question, the highlight of the convention (for me, at least). It is not often when a group of fourteen people can have dinner together and have such an incredible time. But this group wasn't just some conventioneers looking to star in a Fox TV special. It was a group of good people who have formed a family. John Hunt (a very nice, quiet, intelligent guy and the eventual winner of the tournament) was a newcomer to this group and was amazed by the relentlessness of the fun poking (Nick and I led the way). But it was all in fun and fun it was. Gone but not forgotten from this wayward family group was my state-mate, Jim and the lovely LS. Also, a quiet toast was made to our friends in England, Colin and Vince. Hopefully, they all will be able to attend in Vegas and the dinner will be even better. Nick, Mrs. Pengy says the food was fine but it was the company that made the evening for her. Thus, had we been at Red Lobster or even McDonalds, it would have been great.
The rest of my trip included heading north to Cooperstown to see the Baseball Hall of Fame. Cooperstown is the town that time forgot. I kept expecting Rod Serling to pop out from behind some door, in soliloquy: "Submitted for your approval, a man, a woman, and a time problem." The town has no chain stores or eateries: nary a WalMart or McDonalds mar the view. Small shops (98% of which are devoted to baseball) and diners dot the main street (appropriately called Main Street). A single traffic light controls the traffic. If it weren't for the modern cars traveling down streets clearly made for the smaller cars of a different era, the fifty year backward spin through time would be complete.
Doubleday field, a replica of a 50's style ball stadium, complete with steel beams blocking the view, is near the center of town. On the day of the visit, a group of guys (and at least one girl) was playing. All were wearing uniforms of their favorite team and, with the temperature at 90 degrees with 75% humidity, they were doing it only because they love to play the game. When they were on the field, they weren't bankers, auto mechanics, lawyers, or teachers. They were big leaguers. They were playing on the real field of dreams, just two blocks from the Hall.
And the Hall of Fame: it was reverent. I strolled through the induction hall where pictures of induction ceremonies past covered the wall. The two newest, Ryne Sandberg and Wade Boggs, were showcased at the front of this walkway. At the end of the walkway, the cavernous enshrinement room, with plaques of each HoF member. I watched as people found their hero and touched the plaque; I did the same. Then, upstairs to see the exhibits: the locker of Lou Gehrig and Stan Musial; bats used by Hank Aaron; balls pitched by Bob Gibson. I listened as people told stories to each other. One group included what appeared to be five generations of family members. The youngest (probably 8 or 9) seemed in awe as the oldest told of seeing Dizzy Dean pitch in the 30s. Another talked about seeing Bob Gibson for his first game. As the St. Louis contingent moved away, I just watched and listened. The real baseball fans seem to grow misty at different exhibits. The casual baseball fans seem to just enjoy seeing the old artifacts. The non-baseball fans kept looking at their watches.
Incredible memories for a baseball fan: pictures of a young Tom Seaver and the memory of the 69 Mets championship; pictures of George Brett and the memories of the pine tar incident; pictures of Hank Aaron and the memory of 715. Pictures of Pete Rose and memories of...wait...there are no pictures of Pete Rose in the HoF. I asked a guy who worked at the hall if there was anything from or about Pete in the hall. He said there was a Phillies jersey and nothing else. He was so serious that I asked if saying "Pete Rose" was illegal. He thought a moment and then said, "No, I didn't think so."
Several hours later, I was back on the steets of Cooperstown, picking up some souvenirs, then riding the tram back to my car. Shortly after that, I drove out of town and the time machine brought me back to the 21st century. I felt fortunate to see that and I have APBA to thank for it. I came to this convention knowing that I couldn't get this close to Cooperstown without making the trip. I'm glad I did.
Thank you, Marc, Skeet, and Veryl, for putting on another good show. I look forward to seeing everyone in Las Vegas next year. I will be bringing yet another team that I think can win but won't (and it won't be the 61 Yankees, Nick). There was talk of allowing any team to participate next year. I suspect we'll have thirty people using the 1927 Yankees. If I can, I'll bring the 1919 Chicago White Sox or any team with Pete Rose. What better way to celebrate baseball in Vegas!
