Jerry's Kids

A crappy iphone pic from last year's Hike & Bike featuring my friend Ellanna and our new ex-mayor, Jerry. The Mayor's Hike & Bike happened twice a year during the long Abramson administration years, on labor day and memorial day. A city wide bike ride and walk that started downtown at the waterfront (over to Iroquois park and back), the H&B was a typical Jerry invention designed to trick fat KY families into getting active and spending time together (points for trying, Jer). He would always show up in his crazy spandex bike outfit and gamely pose for pictures with gawkers (see above).

Can we expect to see Mayor Fischer sporting a sleek Papa John's jersey and hot pants ensemble this year? Time will tell (and so will MM!)...

The End of the Jerry Era

Readers, today is the day: January 3rd marks the very first day of the new mayoral administration and the end of The Jerry Years here in Louisville, KY. You may or may not realize how important this man is/was to the identity of this city, so just take my word for it: Love him or hate him, Jerry was Louisville. He was the embodiment of the city (or the way we wish the city was) in a way that I can't imagine anyone else becoming.

I've personally never heard of a mayor that was so unselfconsciously gaga for his own jurisdiction. Jerry had crazy ideas that he would fight tooth-and-nail for--a new minor league baseball park that's much nicer (in my opinion) than many big league ones, a crazy skate park right next to the expressway that attracted the X Games to town one year, a massive bike trail that encircles the city--and he would make them happen while maintaining a maddeningly optimistic aint-we-the-greatest attitude that makes him seem like a boundless glass-half-full mental case sometimes. You see, Louisville is a weird breed of place: natives have a notoriously cynical streak because, deep down, we know we aren't a big city like Jerry keeps insisting we are. We are not like Chicago or even Cincinnati, but Jerry--god bless him--was always making that case anyway. We weren't large enough to compete with those other places, so Jerry merged the city and county together and created "America's newest top 20 city." His brand of constant upbeat insistence won over quite a few of us, convinced people to take serious pride in our hometown, somehow managing to inspire the type of fierce loyalty that can support entire businesses whose sole purpose is to sell Louisville-related clothing and merchandise. This, of course, is a good thing I think.

And even if Jerry tended to shoot himself in the foot sometimes (he totally fumbled an opportunity to convince the city to pass a tax referendum that would've supported the local public library system a few years back, all because he got a little overzealous in a campaign commercial, for instance. Long story.), he was the type of guy you knew would try to make good things happen for us. Enthusiastic to the point of lunacy about anything local, he was supportive of the arts and pretty much any other aspect of life in Louisville, he was OUR mayor and he showed up to EVERYTHING (one of my fondest memories of running the Derby Festival Mini-Marathon last year was when I was about to cross the start line to begin the race and looked over to see Jerry--wearing his goofy windbreaker, yelling encouragement and clapping for me/us like a madman. I was probably the 10,000th person to run by him, but he looked thrilled anyway--I think we made eye contact).

Now that he's out of office he'll be teaching some business class at my old college, and he's campaigning for next year's gubernatorial election--he'll be on the ticket with the current governor, running as his lieutenant (projections here at MM don't look good, though). So good luck, Jerry, it's already feeling very weird around here without you.

My Awesome Dream Business Plan

And when I say "dream" I mean literally--I dreamt that my husband and I started an awesome new business. Finally! My dream time is paying off (rather than digressing into nonsensical nightmare scenarios and quasi-Freudian non sequiturs). This business would fill a niche market that is not currently being taken advantage of: music purists who need personal documentation delivery and small appliance repairs. That's right, folks: we have a large and comprehensive collection of vinyl LPs, a value-added personal document delivery service (birth certificates! social security cards! credit report scores!), and, while you wait, my husband can repair or replace frayed power cables belonging to your well-used small home appliances (waffle irons! blenders! coffee grinders! ETC.!). A super-useful customer-oriented service provided by us for you, the consumer!

So come on down to Records Records & Re-Cords, LLC!

Please Stand By

We will return you to your irregularly scheduled programming soon(ish)

--MM Staff

4192: Pete Rose Makes His Case (Again)

Wow, readers: as promised I viewed the new documentary 4192 yesterday. It details the career of one Peter Edward Rose, a guy I have had a hard time loving--but even a harder time hating. Pete doesn't make it easy to feel either way about him, at least for the die-hard Reds fans, and this doc (if anyone sees it) makes it even more difficult to keep the long-held keep-the-bum-out public opinion going.

Look, I know there's been a lot of Pete Rose publicity stunts aimed at reinstating him into the good graces of baseball in the last decade or so, and I know he's sounding more and more pathetic and desperate (and guilty) with each one. But here's the thing: the guy was f-ing amazing. He was the real deal, which, in this age of 'roided up super-villain-looking cheaters, seems more rare, more genuine and a breath of fresh air. Pete was (and still is, by the looks of him in the film) a total troll: not by any means tall or muscled or agile or graceful--not an athlete at all, by most definitions. The fact that he was able to succeed like he did was no accident, stroke of luck or by-product of dirty-dealings: it was sheer grit, heart and H-U-S-T-L-E. That little troll was scrappy, he could hit from either side of the plate and would play any position he was asked to play with no complaints. Would any of that fly today with our current crowd of jacked-up prima donnas? I doubt Jeter would be so accommodating.

The film just lays it all out there for you: the numbers have always spoken very loudly about his (mind-boggling) accomplishments, but there were also some of the most accomplished and respected faces in baseball extolling Pete's virtues. Marty Brenneman, Mike Schmidt, and (Mercy Missile favorite) Tony Perez: all saying what a stand-up guy and astounding player Pete is/was. I dare you: go see this film, listen to the adorable Tony Perez talk about his BFF and try and tell me you still think Pete should be barred from Cooperstown. If you can do this than you have a heart of cold hard steel.

*Please note* I would be remiss if I did not warn you: about halfway in Pete does a cringe-worthy reenactment of that awful Aqua Velva commercial. Ye be warned!

Sparky Anderson, 1934-2010

A few days ago I learned about the death of Sparky Anderson--the beloved manager of the Cincinnati Reds during the empire years of the Big Red Machine (1970-76). Sparky was a guy who spent 40 years in baseball: entering the minors in 1953 and managing his last game with the Tigers in 1995.

I already knew the highlights of his career (the back-to-back World Series titles in '75 & '76), and I even knew the fun, fallen-out-of-common-knowledge puzzlers (like, that Sparky's nickname as manager was "Captain Hook." Only in baseball does a guy already known as "Sparky" get a nickname). What I didn't really know was anything about his career before becoming a manager, when he was just George Lee Anderson: minor league talent. It's kind of tragic, really--like that part in Field of Dreams when Burt Lancaster is telling Kevin Costner about his one half of an inning that he got to play right field in the majors, essentially an uneventful failure, but that it was okay because then he got to go be a doctor (*sob!*).

Check out his stats and tell me that's not sad: he was never a great batter, but he was consistently in the mid .200's, which isn't bad. He worked his way up the minor league pecking order pretty quickly, too, starting out in the California League, then on to single, double, and finally triple A ball, progressing one league up each year. So obviously someone thought Mr. Anderson was alright, at least good enough for a promotion each year. It's when we get to 1959 that we run into Moonlight Graham territory:

April 10th, 1959 George Anderson reported up to Philadelphia as second baseman; on September 27th, 1959 he played in his final major league game ever. We don't get much of a narrative in these stats-obsessed kinds of sources, but it's fun to try and eke out a story: he ended up with a kind-of disappointing-but-by-no-means-terrible-for-a-rookie .218 batting average, so we can assume the major league pitching had him a little rattled. He committed 12 errors, but he got to play in 152 games that season, so it looks like he was the second baseman in Philly that year (no riding the pine in '59 for this one). But then they sent him back down to AAA, where he finished out his playing career with the Toronto Maple Leafs (no, not a hockey team) in 1963. It's strange: you've got to think that plenty of other notable baseball players started out with stats at (or below) those of Sparky's, but maybe they got second chances for some reason or another and the good Captain didn't.

But then, of course, Sparky broke into managing and that's how he ultimately got to Cooperstown. Can't say it's a bad ending (we just won't think too much about those years in Detroit).

In memory of Captain Hook I'm making a trip out to my local cinema today for an afternoon matinee: 4192, which will undoubtedly feature amazing footage of Sparky's glory years.