Bruce Bochy (MLB World Series Coach) or Me- Who Has the Bigger Head?

MLB Game Day (Padres Vs. Phillies 1985)

Twizzlers hid under the ice.

Larue (my dad) verified nobody forgot the peanuts

Larue (my dad) celebrated with a Moosehead Lager. We didn’t get lost.

We executed the start.

Breakdancing & Veteran’s Stadium- DON’T GET LOST

*** Different Strokes (a 1980's tv program)  portrayed a rich guy in New York City that adopted two African American kids, Arnold & Willis. ***

* The MLB Philadelphia Phillies played at Veteran’s Stadium. *

*** Breakdancing- crazy street dancing popular in America ***

The MLB team, the Philadelphia Phillies, plays at Veteran’s Stadium, in Philadelphia, PA.

A wrong turn while driving to Veteran's Stadium places one in the center of the ghetto. 

I know not all African American people live in the ghetto. (38 year old brain)

I didn’t know much about African American people in 1985 (7 year old brain).  

We had one African American family in our whole town. Their son Mike Miller wrestled his way to a state championship. He performed a funny dance after he won states (to my young brain).

My neighbor, Mrs. Smith,  grew up in the 40’s. 

The law mandated African Americans to use a different bathroom. I never agreed with this law. If you grow up under these laws, it is hard to change.

My neighbor, Mrs. Smith, often warned people.  Don’t watch television programs with ‘colored people.’ She feared their tummy might hurt (seven year old memory).  

If Mrs. Smith looked at the screen too long, the screen made her tummy hurt. (she thought, seven year old memory)

I think she was being a bit cautious. I suspect her mom told her that, in an even more racist time. So, she just believed it. Don't hate Mrs. Smith:) 

I had one other affiliation with African American culture (seven year old brain).

I owned an A-Track disc. The disc played ten break dancing tracks.

CBS broadcasted a TV show, Different Strokes on Saturday nights. The Different Strokes theme song played on our TV.

My ritual included fleeing for the living room. I made my mom pop the break dancing track.

I tucked my knees to my chest. I spun in circles. I rolled around on the floor. I listened to the A-track with giant headphones.

I called it break dancing.

Break dancing prepared my seven year old brain to watch Different Strokes.

We got lost several times leaving Veteran’s Stadium.  We landed in the center of the ghetto. We saw many very poor people. I remember thinking it was neat, getting to read “ Fuck You,” and other bad words on the walls of buildings.

Some bad kids at my school wrote those words on the bathroom wall too. I just never saw those words on building walls before. 

Some of the Philadelphia people in the ghetto also lived with broken windows.

When we got lost, nothing ever happened.

Sometimes, I said a Hail Mary to ask God not to let my tummy feel bad. 

I did that because Mrs. Smith told me to do that.

Today, I don’t think getting lost was that dangerous. Those people were just living their lives. Their lives were different from our lives.

Playing Every Child’s Favorite Game- The Waiting Game

Larue offered me peanuts. I declined the offer.

I wanted to brutalize a hot dog, a pretzel, and cheese fries. I wanted to lick the cheese off my fingers.

Ryan and I’s eyes pried for Mercedes, and BMW’s.

Our peepers spotted a golf cart.

I hoped the Phillie Phanatic drove this car. The Philly played mascot for the MLB team, The Philadelphia Phillies.

His fake tongue tried to kiss me the last year. I hated him.

To me, he resembled a weird dinosaur that was too fat to run fast.

I also hated Mike Schmidt (Phillies Star Player). He always hit home runs off The Padres.  I hoped he drove the ticket guy’s beater car.

I guessed the BMW belonged to Tony Gwynn. (The Padres Star Player) My brother called me an idiot. 

Traveling players don’t drive cross country for games. My brother knew a lot of stuff.

Ryan & I continued our quarrels.

Larue pealed the peanuts, and sucked the Moosehead Lager.

I kept my Steve Garvey (Padres Star Player) autographed glove on my hand.

I didn’t want to miss a foul ball, even if the players didn't even start hitting batting practice yet.

Larue wore his Padres’ sweater. The sweater had no stains.

Time stopped for a moment

Hey Uncle Dick- Uh, uh, uh, Merry Christmas

Uncle Dick came up the hallway.

The Steve Garvey signed glove rested on my hand, but closer to my leg.

 I stood without words. Uncle Dick called us every year at Christmas. I always got to ask one question about the Padres’ off-season.

My conversations with him, not on the phone, were always “Thanks a lot for the Padres tickets, and the autographed baseballs.”

Uncle Dick didn’t have much time.  Uncle Dick had time today. Today was going to be great.

Ryan & I paused our arguments. We listened to Uncle Dick & Larue bicker instead.

We didn’t want to miss a word Uncle Dick said. What if he knew about a trade? We had to hear everything.

Mostly, Uncle Dick teased Larue. We didn’t know what he teased Larue about. 

We didn’t understand their conversation. They probably talked about paying the bills, and fixing stuff around the house(we thought).

We knew Uncle Dick was really giving him the business, as Larue used to say.

Ryan warned me the entire ninety minute car ride to not ask any stupid questions today. 

We approached The San Diego Padres’ clubhouse. Uncle Dick, the Padres' athletic trainer delivered on his promise. He actually got us in the clubhouse.

I couldn’t believe it. My Steve Garvey autographed glove blocked my face. I bit the  glove.

We stood behind the door. Uncle Dick confirmed ready status for the boys.

Padres' players walked with towels.

Uncle Dick knew we loved The Padres.

He didn’t know how much.

My morning routine included lodging blueberries in between my braces, spilling Cinamon Life cereal milk on my dad’s coveted Express Times (newspaper), and memorizing Padres’ box scores.

Box scores break down each player’s performance. Box scores bore most seven year old kids. I still locked in on every stat, for every player, on every morning.

I kept chewing on my glove.

I felt like a fat kid whiffing untouchable funnel cake at a carnival while duct taped to a chair. I wanted to devour this situation.

We walked through the clubhouse. My dad kept nudging me. “You know who that is, don’t you boy?”

My dad never quizzed my math. He still wanted to ensure I recognized each player.  Good fortune brought Larue as my dad.

Some players sat in the middle smoking cigarettes. Society accepted indoor smoking.

I passed Larue’s pop quizzes.  We got to the legendary Hall of Famer, Tony Gwynn.

I wanted to ask why he always got one hit, every three at bats. I wanted to ask why he always hits the ball in the same  spot in batting practice. Why didn't he ever swing for home runs?

The opportunity came to speak. I said, “ Hi, Mr. Gwynn.” 

I struck out looking.

I never traveled further south than Ocean City, MD. (at that point)  He sounded like people from Ocean City, MD.

Mr. Gwynn treated us with respect. My brother and I just kind of stared at him. Then, he said “ Hey Guys, you want some wristbands.”

It reminded me of Eric Kelly’s mom (my pal). She offered us Kool-Aid when we remained silent.

Mr. Gwynn autographed the wrist bands for my brother and I. I finished my last organized baseball game ten years later, with the same wrist bands.

Let’s recap. We stared at guys smoking cigs. We got Tony Gwyn’s auto-graphed wristbands.

Dick Williams & His Tighty Whities

My uncle’s pal, Dick Williams (Padres’ manager) came around the corner. 

Dick Williams stood in his underwear.

My dad, my uncle, and Dick Williams threw jokes around.

I wanted to understand. I guessed they talked about girls. I didn’t understand anything.

I got my shot at a question for Dick Williams.

His underwear distracted me. I never talked to anyone, only wearing their underwear before, besides my dad.

What could I say?

 Did you know I have He-Man on my underwear?

Did you know I crapped my pants last week, and I had to wear a nun’s underwear at school?

Did you know I had to hold the bag of clean underwear in my hands at the flag pole for fifteen minutes the next day? 

Did you know I crapped my pants twice that day? Did you know that's why a pair of pink and blue nun's underwear lied inside the bag?

Did you know I told the other kids there were snacks in the bag?

I struck out again. 

I just said, “Do you like working here, Mr. Williams?”

Seven year old children suck at making conversation with MLB managers.

Bring Out Goose Gossage!

Finally!

I met the Wild Man of The San Diego Padres.

The Padres' Wild Man called himself, Richard “Goose” Gossage. 

MLB  players feared Goose. He threw the ball 100 m.ph. He didn't look when he threw. My memory tells me every article ever written said this about Goose.

Uncle Dick's intuition told Dick something. Goose would heave the unexpected at the crew.

My mom didn’t like baseball(not really anyway) She still dug Goose, and his dreamy hair.

Goose's clothing reminded me of Dick Williams’ style of dress, except for Goose walked without clothes.

Goose’s pecker hung out. Home rules didn't allow me to say pecker.

I thought that's a pecker. My dad couldn't  hear my thoughts.

If my mom and dad kissed, I looked away.

Today, I looked at the floor. I didn't want to see.

Goose jumped in the whirlpool. The water covered him.

My eyes stayed locked on the ground. The room’s laughter improved my mood.

Goose joked, “Hey Little Man, do you want me to show you your Uncle’s Playboys?”

I didn’t know what Playboys were.  

Years later, I saw  stars on boobs for the first time via my neighbor Jason Calandra's father's stash of Playboys.

Let US Tell You a Story, Goose

Something about the word Playboy told my mind it was something I shouldn't see. Their mischievous grins told me the same thing. 

I told Goose that sounds ok.

Sweet!

Goose laughed at my Playboy joke. 

I couldn't believe it. My hero chuckled at my joke.

The chuckles prepared us for a story.

I can't remember who spilled the beans.

Everyone (in the room) pointed at my head. 

Uncle or Dad: "Hey Goose, you're never going to believe this shit. The Playboy kid has a bigger head than Bochy."

Goose twirled his stache in anticipation of this slobber knocker of a story...

Bruce Bochy- Journeyman Catcher With One Big Noggin!!

Bruce Bochy played backup catcher for The Padres. Bochy's career high in home runs totaled four. That's roughly around worst in the league.

If you don't know anything about baseball, he served a valuable role as backup catcher. He did a great job advising pitchers. Four home runs in a year, however, doesn't make a baseball player famous.

Bochy went on to manage the SF Giants to a World Series Championship.

Bruce Bochy wore a hat size of 8 1/4 inches. Nobody had a bigger head than Bochy in MLB. Bruce Bochy's head size made him famous.

If you don't know anything about head sizes, 8 & 1/4 inches is huge.

Goose had no idea what happened thirty minutes ago. 

Get The Kids a Hat

Uncle Dick had a knack for kids, when it came to baseball. 

His instincts told him what children of baseball endeared.

Uncle Dick ordered his equipment guy to fit Ryan & I into some fitted hats. 

My heart pumped like I ate too many Twizzlers. 

My heart pumped like I guzzled an A-Treat Cream soda. 

My heart pumped like I belched after the soda and waited to get hollered at by mom or dad.

 Hats never fit me. Ryan always gave me the business about this.

Ryan Always Got All The Luck

Ryan rocked a peanut head. Equipment Guy slid the first hat on top of Ryan's head. Equipment Guy closed the case with Ryan. 

I thought that Ryan always gets lucky.

I puzzled the equipment guy. 

The 7 & 1/4 inch hat halted at the halfway mark on my head. 

Equipment Guy didn't have many hats left. 

One hat remained on Equipment Guy's rack. The size read 7 & 3/4 inches.

Equipment Guy put the hat on my head.The hat didn't even come close to my forehead.

The clubhouse stars stopped. 

The clubhouse journeyman stopped. 

The clubhouse poker games stopped

The clubhouse chatter stopped. 

The clubhouse goofing around stopped

The clubhouse TV's shut off. 

The clubhouse ceiling fans shut down. 

One clubhouse whirlpool stopped. 

One clubhouse person remained without a clue. (me)

Everyone knew Equipment Guy's next move.

Get Bochy, FAST!!!

Equipment Guy: " Bochy!!! Bochy!!! Where the hell is Bochy??  Somebody get Bochy! "

Five jersey-less (so nameless) players probably could have crushed their all-time best 40 yard speed to get Bochy.  The five guys attacked the hallways looking for Bochy.

Everyone wanted to know about the upcoming duel.

I told you before, Bruce Bochy had the biggest head in the majors. 

Equipment Guy: " Hey Boch.. You're never going to believe this one. This kid might have a bigger head than yours.

The players laughed. Normally, I would have felt embarrassed. I thought entertaining them sure beat having to make conversation with them. 

I told you earlier. I was 7. I kind of sucked at making conversation with grown ups. Besides baseball, I only really knew about He-Man & the Smurfs.

Bochy: " Well, that can't be possible. Nobody has a bigger head than me."

The room died in anticipation. I thought let's do it.

Equipment Guy wiggled the hat around, tucked my ears under, the hat still didn't fit.

Nobody could believe it. I out-dueled the champ.

I proved to have a bigger head than Bochy.

The players showered me with high-fives.

Back to Goose

The whirlpool jets kicked on higher.

Goose twirled his mustache throughout the story.  Larue, Uncle Dick, and Ryan continued to laugh in hysterics. 

Larue palmed my head to outline the size of my noggin. The noggin outline elicited another rouse of laughter.

The story wound down, at the same time as the timer on the whirlpool came on.

Goose threw one more joke at us: " It's alright kid, I'll take you for a beer after the game. Maybe we'll even find you a girlfriend."

I shrugged my shoulders, and laughed.

The guys really gave me the business on this day. I still didn't mind. 

I told you two other times. I was seven. I really sucked at making conversation with grown ups. 

They didn't know much about He-Man or the Smurfs, and I didn't know much about balancing checkbooks or paying the bills. 

A laugh from Goose & the guys made my day!!

Wrap- Up

The colors, the sights, the patterns, and other minor details from my day in The Padres' clubhouse have evaded me. Time let this happen.

The hat story starts a lot of conversations. My heart stays with the background story. This was the best day of my life in so many ways.

The sounds of their voices stay fresh.

Tony Gwyn sounded just like he did on TV.

Steve Garvey sounded like a church guy, calm and content. 

Templeton sounded like a church mouse. He didn't say much.

Uncle Dick sounded like a retired army guy. His voice commanded respect. 

His voice still had fun.

Goose Gossage, sounded like a Wild Man. 

I  remember the bantering among players, and Uncle Dick. 

My memory reaches first for the foul conversations. 

I didn't understand Playboy.  In seventh grade, I learned it was a place girls put stars on their boobies.

Larue still talks about the muscles the Padres shortstop, Gary Templeton, ate for lunch. I still remember when my dad gagged at the table. 

I still remember Steve Garvey's forearms when we ate lunch with him and Gary Templeton.

Larue, Ryan, & I wanted one moment. We wanted a moment with Goose Gossage. 

Our favorite ball player asked if I wanted to look at Playboys. I didn't know what Playboys were.

Family life couldn't have been much better. 

The day passed us by.  The memory of Goose, and the guys, laughing at my joke, grew seeds in my heart. 

My parents always teased me if I swallowed watermelon seeds that I would grow a watermelon in my belly.  

I wanted to grow a watermelon tree of Goose and the guys' laughter in my belly.

Years later, I still memorized box scores. I still collected baseball cards. I even chewed the gum from the packs, even though I hated gum. 

Baseball bores me today. I still respect the game.
sacrifice needed by everyone in the organization from the owner, to the groundskeeper, to the Philly Phanatic (even if I did hate him for kissing me),  to present such a beautiful product to the fans, I never thought much about. 

Until one afternoon, underneath a palm tree in Gilbert, AZ, with my black golf shirt with white stripes covering my top, and the chest hairs popping out of the shirt.

I hadn’t talked to Uncle Dick (LT) since I was a young child.

Uncle Dick called every Christmas. I stopped whatever game I was playing to listen to the conversation between him and my dad. 

I had a million questions about the Padres’ off season deals. My dad always gave me one question.

Larue (my dad) stood on the backs of my ankles. Larue tried to whisper. 

Our nearest neighbor could hear Larue say, you better let him go, long distance costs too much money.

I always asked Uncle Dick the same question, “Do you think Tony Gwynn will come back next year?”

I conceded defeat to an ankle stepping Laure :) with, “ Merry Christmas Uncle Dick.” 

Uncle Dick knew about my favorite MLB team. He worked with them.  Again, seven year old children really suck at making conversation :)

This same man, Uncle Dick, that my dad seemed so scared of, I figured couldn’t be that bad.  He always seemed content to talk with me.

At the time of the phone call , (under the palm tree in Gilbert, AZ) I collected protein shakes, not baseball autographs. 

Fitness fascinated me. 

I wanted to inquire about physical therapy school. Uncle Dick had to attend PT school for his job with the Padres.

I forgot one detail. Phycial Therapists see blood. Blood made me pass out. The nurse used to prick one drop of blood from me on our annual blood  check at work. 

The one prick, and the ensuing drops of blood turned my face purple. My brown eyes turned white. A loss of consciousness seemed my fate.

My friend, Tina, led the Human Resources department. Tina had big cans. 

Tina came in to say , “Joshua!!” I didn’t laugh. I didn’t even smirk. Tina knew to call the ambulance.

I came back to normal. The firefighters had a laugh. They suggested to put my feet up before doing any blood work. I hadn’t yet tested their theory. Blood still scared me.

So, as all this went through my head, I had the legend on the phone, Uncle Dick (LT)

I connected this call for a reason. 

The day before I took advantage of free counseling sessions from my work. 

I didn’t make significant money. I thought I should take advantage. 

I had been really struggling to find the right career choice. I worked in offices for so long. I hated every second of it.

I hated the pointless team meetings that carried on hours past their expiration minute.

I hated the Hawaiian Shirt team builders. 

I opened up to this lady fast. She called herself Pat. 

I pictured a lady in a green suit, and short blonde hair, parted down the middle. I hoped she had her own office.

Try telling your problems to a pro. The problems slide right out of your mouth.

I paced back and forth with my right hand, underneath my left armpit, as I told her my interests.  She finally asked about my goals.

I told her I wanted to go back to school to be a physical therapist. 

I knew the requirements. I knew I had to get some Anatomy courses, and Biology courses done to get in. I had no idea how to pay for them.

I could help people with their fitness.

I could be around sports teams. I could end up working with an MLB team.  I could end up like Uncle Dick.

Pat asked if I had any contacts in the field. I told her about my ace . I assume a life coach waits for my next words. 

I told her Uncle Dick worked as a physical therapist for The San Diego Padres for twenty years.

Uncle Dick answered the phone. I hoped he didn’t. Then, I didn’t have to go through with this.

Uncle Dick and I chatted about his career with The Padres. 

Three minutes in, I learned something.  I assumed Uncle Dick received a stroke of good fortune to get his job.

He had to be the luckiest guy I ever met. He got to pal around with players. He went on the road with them. He had a front row seat.

Uncle Dick then froze me with his back door slider (via words). 

The next  (paraphrased to the best of my memory) words stopped me: 

“ I loved hanging around with guys like Terry Kennedy (former catcher), Dick Williams, (former manager) and so many more. The guys taught me everything I know about baseball.  I had to walk away from the game. Baseball took half of my life away from me.

You see Josh. It is like this. One season lasts one hundred and sixty two games. The team plays eighty one games at home, and eighty one games on the road.

Unless the game was in LA, or my wife was able to get her and the kids away from life at home, there wasn't a chance in hell of seeing my family for those games. 

Ok fair enough. Then, we go home for 81 games. For those 81 home games, I'm at the ballpark by 9 in the morning. I have to get the healthy players going on their workouts, the injured players iced up, the players staying on the roster but dealing with injuries need to be iced up as well. There is more going on than you could possibly imagine. There is no down time.

The night games then start at 7 p.m. Anyway, if I get home by 11 pm, I might get to watch my kids already tucked in bed, sleeping for a moment, and kiss my wife on the cheek. 

I had two kids and a wife. I didn't even know them . I had to walk away. "

I got the point. Uncle Dick didn’t wake up one day physical trainer for MLB. 

The man made sacrifices.  

If you're calling a life coach, you're probably moping. At that time, I moped about my life situation. My life situation represented my sacrifices. 

I worked in a call center, and dated a girl named Psycho.

I am eternally grateful to hear him tell me that story. 

I also will never forget the day, when I out-dueled Bochy in a noggin for noggin contest.

That’s my story. I’m sticking to it.

Thanks for listening.

P.S- Read more about Bochy's head, or you can watch more about Bochy's head