Go Brooklyn
Originally posted on October 4, 2005.
50 years ago today the Brooklyn Dodgers won the World Series.
It got me thinking about my grandmother, Rose, who passed away 3 years ago.
Grannyma loved the Dodgers. I mean loved. The way I love the Knicks. The way I felt about the Liberty from 1997 to 2002. Knew every stat, story and backstory.
Like a lot of other Brooklynites and baseball fans, she was crushed when they moved to LA.
She hated the Yankees and vowed to never watch major league baseball ever again.
And to my knowledge, she never did. I know for a fact she didn't watch baseball for the 18 years we had together. Tennis and figure skating were her sports of choice.
Even when the Mets were exciting in the 80's. Even when the Yankees were unstoppable in the 90's. Couldn't care less about a Subway Series. They weren't her Dodgers.
She'd tell the story of how they stole her Dodgers everytime a baseball highlight had the audacity to be shown during the news. She probably thought I didn't notice, but every October she'd turn the channel right after the weather.
She still loved the game though. She even went as far as to grandma guilt me into playing in the softball league by her house when I was 9. I hated baseball, softball, wiffle ball and anything else with a bat, but Grannyma signed me up and was at every game watching me twiddle my thumbs in the outfield.
She'd give me tips on how not to strike out everytime I was up. How to snap out of my boredom to catch the ball. How fielding ground balls consisted of bending at the knees and waist instead of watching the ball go through your legs.
No doubt my grandmother was a better coach than the actual coach of the team.
As good an outfielder as I became, I still hated the game and even at 9 I knew how disappointed she was that I would even rather play with dolls than stand in the hot sun for 6 innings. And I was one of those little girls that cut the heads off all my dolls.
This glove thing had nothing on a basketball as far as I was concerned.But I began to kind of enjoy watching baseball because I finally knew what the heck I was watching. Since I couldn't watch major league games in her presence, we'd walk down to the park and watch the other kids play. Sometimes we'd stop by the fields in Brooklyn right off the Jackie Robinson Parkway to watch the men play on Sunday afternoons on our way back to Queens from church.
By the time the Brooklyn Cyclones came to town, Grannyma was excited and wanted to support baseball back in Brooklyn, but her schedule, and then her health never permitted it.
Because of her health after 26 years, she wasn't able to do the one thing she loved anymore which was teach at NY City Tech, so she decided to do stuff around the house and needed someone to help her with her medication, sit with her on days she had doctor's appointments, help her cook, and just be around. So we spent the entire summer of 2001 together chilling at her house.
Besides watching her favorite shows Little House on the Prairie, and Press Your Luck, I rented typical grandmother-granddaughter movies like Blow, which she loved. We'd talk sports, politics, economics, race, life, religion and whatever else we could think of.
If it were the day after a Liberty home game, I'd sit in my usual spot on the edge of her bed and replay the previous night's activities, most of the time a win.
She'd always ask how the Liberty were doing. What the lastest goings on were.
She once told me that even if she wasn't a big basketball fan, she loved the way my excitement over the Knicks and Liberty mirrored her love for the Dodgers.
How my enthusiasm on the way to a Liberty game at Madison Square Garden was just like her's on the way to a Dodgers game at Ebbets field.
The way I'd rush home to watch a Knick game was the same way she'd drop everything to listen to a Dodgers game.
She said she knew how important it was to just be able to talk about your team with somebody, anybody who'd listen.
She even wanted to go to a Liberty game with me to see if her craziness was also inherited. But she knew that attending a game in person wasn't something she could get through in her
condition.
She'd smile at my habit of wearing the same outfit to games until a loss caused me to search my closet for something else.
She told me I was a true fan when I explained that I never wore Liberty gear to a Liberty game because the last time I did they lost to Detroit - the Sandy Brondello Detroit.
Everyone else thought I was nuts to have nearly every piece of Liberty merchandise and never wear any of it to a game. She understood.
She talked about the social meaning of having a professional women's basketball team play its games at Madison Square Garden.
And every now and then, usually during another fruitless Liberty finals run, she slipped in a story about those '55 Dodgers.
She said one day I'd experience the joy she felt when they finally won it all and when I did, it would be like nothing I'd ever felt.
I'm still waiting.
50 years ago today the Brooklyn Dodgers won the World Series.
It got me thinking about my grandmother, Rose, who passed away 3 years ago.
Grannyma loved the Dodgers. I mean loved. The way I love the Knicks. The way I felt about the Liberty from 1997 to 2002. Knew every stat, story and backstory.
Like a lot of other Brooklynites and baseball fans, she was crushed when they moved to LA.
She hated the Yankees and vowed to never watch major league baseball ever again.
And to my knowledge, she never did. I know for a fact she didn't watch baseball for the 18 years we had together. Tennis and figure skating were her sports of choice.
Even when the Mets were exciting in the 80's. Even when the Yankees were unstoppable in the 90's. Couldn't care less about a Subway Series. They weren't her Dodgers.
She'd tell the story of how they stole her Dodgers everytime a baseball highlight had the audacity to be shown during the news. She probably thought I didn't notice, but every October she'd turn the channel right after the weather.
She still loved the game though. She even went as far as to grandma guilt me into playing in the softball league by her house when I was 9. I hated baseball, softball, wiffle ball and anything else with a bat, but Grannyma signed me up and was at every game watching me twiddle my thumbs in the outfield.
She'd give me tips on how not to strike out everytime I was up. How to snap out of my boredom to catch the ball. How fielding ground balls consisted of bending at the knees and waist instead of watching the ball go through your legs.
No doubt my grandmother was a better coach than the actual coach of the team.
As good an outfielder as I became, I still hated the game and even at 9 I knew how disappointed she was that I would even rather play with dolls than stand in the hot sun for 6 innings. And I was one of those little girls that cut the heads off all my dolls.
This glove thing had nothing on a basketball as far as I was concerned.But I began to kind of enjoy watching baseball because I finally knew what the heck I was watching. Since I couldn't watch major league games in her presence, we'd walk down to the park and watch the other kids play. Sometimes we'd stop by the fields in Brooklyn right off the Jackie Robinson Parkway to watch the men play on Sunday afternoons on our way back to Queens from church.
By the time the Brooklyn Cyclones came to town, Grannyma was excited and wanted to support baseball back in Brooklyn, but her schedule, and then her health never permitted it.
Because of her health after 26 years, she wasn't able to do the one thing she loved anymore which was teach at NY City Tech, so she decided to do stuff around the house and needed someone to help her with her medication, sit with her on days she had doctor's appointments, help her cook, and just be around. So we spent the entire summer of 2001 together chilling at her house.
Besides watching her favorite shows Little House on the Prairie, and Press Your Luck, I rented typical grandmother-granddaughter movies like Blow, which she loved. We'd talk sports, politics, economics, race, life, religion and whatever else we could think of.
If it were the day after a Liberty home game, I'd sit in my usual spot on the edge of her bed and replay the previous night's activities, most of the time a win.
She'd always ask how the Liberty were doing. What the lastest goings on were.
She once told me that even if she wasn't a big basketball fan, she loved the way my excitement over the Knicks and Liberty mirrored her love for the Dodgers.
How my enthusiasm on the way to a Liberty game at Madison Square Garden was just like her's on the way to a Dodgers game at Ebbets field.
The way I'd rush home to watch a Knick game was the same way she'd drop everything to listen to a Dodgers game.
She said she knew how important it was to just be able to talk about your team with somebody, anybody who'd listen.
She even wanted to go to a Liberty game with me to see if her craziness was also inherited. But she knew that attending a game in person wasn't something she could get through in her
condition.
She'd smile at my habit of wearing the same outfit to games until a loss caused me to search my closet for something else.
She told me I was a true fan when I explained that I never wore Liberty gear to a Liberty game because the last time I did they lost to Detroit - the Sandy Brondello Detroit.
Everyone else thought I was nuts to have nearly every piece of Liberty merchandise and never wear any of it to a game. She understood.
She talked about the social meaning of having a professional women's basketball team play its games at Madison Square Garden.
And every now and then, usually during another fruitless Liberty finals run, she slipped in a story about those '55 Dodgers.
She said one day I'd experience the joy she felt when they finally won it all and when I did, it would be like nothing I'd ever felt.
I'm still waiting.
posted by universalh8r | 1:19 PM
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