Pages

16 February 2012

The Kid, #8

So, Gary Carter has passed away from cancer at the age of 57.

I admit, that the death of Number 8 has hit me a bit harder than I thought it would.  And it's not because I really got a chance to see Carter play.

But I've watched this clip a million times:



And it still gives me goose bumps.  Carter hits one out at the Old Shea, my absolute favorite ballpark to watch a a game.  And Bob Murphy, rest in peace, calls the play-by-play and is confused on whether it gets out or not -- perfect.

I know by heart the single in Game Six in '86 that kept the Mets season alive.  I know that they called him the Kid -- that he was tough and confident, bordering on cocky and arrogant.  I know he had some pop in his bat and had a reputation for clutch hitting.  I know all these things because people have told me, because I've watched it on video.

But you see, Gary Carter is the same age as my parents, one of whom is a cancer survivor.  And so, in a way, the passing of someone I don't know hits closer to home.

And what's more (and as some of you already know), my father for as long as I remember, calls me "Kid."  It's always been a baseball thing.


Me toeing the rubber: Come on kid, throw strikes.
Me at the plate: Come on Kid, two to get loose, one to produce.
Me swinging at a pitch up and away (I loved those): Kid, that one could have broken your nose.

I don't know if there's a connection between my father calling me "Kid" and it being Carter's nickname.  I've never asked.  And it really doesn't matter.

What I do know is that I'm sitting in my room right now getting emotionally involved in this post, thinking about my history playing ball, how much joy it brought me and how I tried to play the game in much the way Carter seemed to always play the game.  I'm recalling how much I miss the game, how I'll become all depressed when the weather gets warm and I'm not able to get onto a field for infield practice.  I'm remembering how my dad always hit fungoes at me harder than all the other infielders, because he knew I needed to work harder than everybody to keep an edge.

I remember all these things about Carter and about myself.  But you know, until my last game, I played with the joy of a child, the joy of a kid.  So did Carter.

And so, from one Kid to another: Touch 'em all, Gary.

4 comments:

child brain injury said...

Its sad ...

UP said...

Well said, kid.

AARP Life Insurance said...

This is very interesting, You're a very skilled blogger. I've joined your rss feed and look forward to seeking more of your fantastic post. Also, I have shared your website in my social networks!

No Medical Exam Life Insurance

michigan web design said...

his is very interesting, You're a very skilled blogger. I've joined your rss feed and look forward to seeking more of your fantastic post. Also, I have shared your website in my social networks!