back when the man said
its the team the team the team
who knew who listened

It is not surprise to my readers (and I know I am thinking positive when I use the plural) that I follow the sports teams of the University of Michgan.

It truly is in my blood.

My Grand Father, Roelof Hofman, the first one in that part of the family tree to be born in the USA, was also the first one to graduate from Michigan in 1911 as Dr. Robert Karl Hoffman, DDS. (Yep Americanized the name).

My Dad graduated from Michigan in 1942.

Me and my brothers and sisters make up the largest group of siblings, nine, to ever graduate from Michigan.

So I come by it honestly.

For a big chunk of my life, Michigan was Michigan Football and Michigan Football was Bo Schembechler.

He was the guy who when asked what made Michigan special, responded with three things.

The team, the team, the team.

So now for my deep dark secret.

Michigan Basketball has always been closer to my heart than the football team.

Sports teams have batters, pitchers, quarter backs, left wings, spin bowlers and stars.

Don’t get wrong as basketball has stars and teams led by stars.

But basketball to me, when played by a team, as a team, is something wonderful to behold.

Michigan is famous for its FAB FIVE.

A team of 5 superstar high school players who all agreed in 1991 to sign up at Michigan at the same time and create a legend.

Like so many legends, the movie has a bad ending.

It ends with Chris Webber calling timeout in the Championship Game when there were no time outs to be called.

When the demise of the legend is the stuff legends are made of, you know its a legend.

Oddly enough the head of the athletics at Michigan at the time was none other than Mr. Schembechlor.

He was NOT impressed with the FAB FIVE.

The shaved heads.

The baggy pants (yes those are part of the legend AND the start of a new look in uniforms).

The black socks.

“What did they win? NUTHIN!”, said Mr. Schembechor.

Something I always thought a bit disingenuous on his part but I digress.

But they were a team.

A member of that team was Juwan Howard.

A young man who went on to play 19 … NINETEEN … years in the NBA.

Now Mr. Howard is the basketball coach at Michigan.

And he has a good team.

No.

He has a good TEAM

The basketball effort at Michigan has been very team oriented in this century.

Under Coach John Beilein, the team was the plan and Mr. Beilein found the players to fit the plan and it worked.

With 2 final four appearances, it worked rather well.

Then comes Coach Howard.

I am not sure what the Coach Howard plan is.

This is what it seems to be.

Get the best players possible.

Then get those players to play better than they thought they ever could.

Get those players to play defense.

Get those players to play defense better than they ever thought they could.

Get those players to play better than they thought they ever could play and play together as a team towards a team goal.

Sounds easy right?

Let me tell you if this was easy other coaches would do it.

Get players to play better than they themselves know how to play.

And play as part of a team where the team the team the team is what matters.

This team is fun to watch.

Somewhere along the line I was told to try and watch the game away from the ball.

My senior year at Michigan, we had season’s tickets in the 2nd row of Crisler Arena.

Boy howdy but you could watch the game away from the ball from down there.

This is hard to do on TV and the TV follows the ball but the other night I tried to watch the game between Hunter Dickinson and Luke Garza.

It was quite a game.

This is fun team.

Basketball is a team sport.

I think the Piston’s Bad Boys.

I think of the FAB FIVE.

I think of the Ben Wallace Pistons.

I think of basketball teams that play basketball.

The team, the team, the team.

It seems that Juwan Howard was listening.

Coach Schembechler would be proud.

names what you should know
is Moses Fleetwood Walker
listed in your brain

Pleasantly surprised to start my morning online newspaper reading today and find a story on Moses Fleetwood Walker on the front page of The Guardian.

Even though almost every one knows who Moses Fleetwood Walker is, or at least what he did, or what happened because of Moses Fleetwood Walker, I am surprised at how few folks recognize the name.

I always seemed to know who Mr. Walker was.

It was in my brain.

But I have always had issues with the odd little facts in my brain.

I have always had a hard time realizing that the goofy little things stored away in my brain aren’t common knowledge.

Everyone, right, everyone knows that when Julia Roberts was born in Atlanta, it was Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who went to the hospital and paid all the medical bills.

Everyone, right, everyone knows that Henry Ford sent test tubes to Thomas Edison’s son so that when Thomas Edison died, his last breath could be captured for history.

I read a lot and I remember a lot and I can often bring up what I remember quickly and some folks think that is what being smart is.

But its not.

Smart is math and science and such.

That is smart.

I am good at trivia.

I grew in a family full of smart people.

With 10 brothers and sisters, when I went to Grand Rapids Creston High School I walked past trophy cases filled my brothers and sisters names.

Valedictorians.

Math Trophies.

Our last name was all over those awards.

Doctors, Lawyers and me the Indian Chief, I guess.

I was quick.

And quickly bored.

I could do algebra.

Really I could.

But in a very odd way.

I could stare at an algebra problem and after awhile my brain would spit out an answer.

Oddly enough that answer was usually correct.

But show my work?

Explain how I got the answer?

Couldn’t do it.

Well, I guess had I put in more effort I could have, but it was toooooooooo boring.

I wanted to read and gather more useless knowlegdge.

Presidents who didn’t use their first names?

Steven Cleveland, Thomas Wilson, John Coolidge.

Lots of stuff in my brain, but since I knew I wasn’t smart, I have always held to the idea that if I knew something, well, everyone has to know it as well.

So I think everyone knows who Moses Fleetwood Walker is.

I may be on firmer ground when I say everyone knows who Jackie Robinson is.

In 1997, Major League Baseball somehow celebrated Jackie Robinson.

It had been 50 years since Jackie Robinson broke the MLB color barrier.

The so-called gentleman’s agreement that kept black ball players from playing in the so called at the time, Major Leagues of Baseball.

They turned it into a celebration.

Nothing wrong with that.

But I kept waiting for the Major Leagues to say that it had been 50 since they got it through their minds that they had been wrong.

I kept waiting for Baseball to say, for over 60 years, we screwed up.

I kept waiting for Baseball to say, for over 60 years, we were wrong.

I kept waiting for Baseball to say, we are sorry to every player who played between 1947 and Jackie Robinson back to 1884 when Moses Fleetwood Walker took the field for the Toledo Blue Stockings and the opposing manager, Cap Anson (of Hall of Fame fame) said, “get the N***** off the field.”

That is who Moses Fleetwood Walker was.

Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier that was created because of Moses Fleetwood Walker.

Mr. Walker played college ball at Oberlin and the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN.

After a year at Michigan, Mr. Walker moved on the Toledo Baseball club in 1883 and at the start of the 1884 his skin color came to the attention of those folks who felt skin color made a difference.

I am not sure if Baseball as a whole, ever came flat out and said they were sorry that happened.

I know the names.

To help my kids remember, we named our third son, born in 1997, Jackie Robinson Hoffman.

Had I known how much trouble he would have with the name I might have not pushed for it.

Not any real problems just book keeping and such.

I have been in offices answering questions for paperwork with Jackie,

1st name?

Jackie.

LEGAL FIRST NAME??

Jackie.

Middle name?

Robinson?

Pause,

Oh.

You wouldn’t believe the number of times people just assume by his name, he his a girl.

And that is also kind of funny as he was supposed to be a girl.

We had been contacted by his birth mother and asked to adopt Jackie prior to his being born.

“It’s a girl, I can tell,” said the birth mom.

So we had a girls name picked out.

Keziah by the way.

And we planned on a girl.

Then for some reason I began having doubts,

Anyway my wife was invited to the birth and when we got the call and she walked out the door, I called to her and said, “Just in case, I got a boys name picked out.”

She was thrilled I can tell you.

We already had a Franklin David Robert (FDR) and a Lucas EDWIN (Edwin being our Great Great Grand Father who fought in the civil war).

“He will be Jackie Robinson Hoffman,” I said.

My wife just said, “OK” and off she went to the hospital.

Hours later I got call from her.

“Well, Jackie Robinson is here.”

Thirteen years later when we learned we were again going to adopt another boy I called together all our kids that we had by that time, 3 boys and 3 girls, and I said that we needed a new name and they were going to vote on it.

I said the new baby could be Ellington Bernard after Duke Ellington and my wife’s Father,

OR.

He could be MOSES FLEETWOOD WALKER.

I explained how COOL it would be to have brothers named Jackie Robinson and Moses Fleetwood Walker.

I explained how important those two names were.

I explained why they should know those names.

They voted for Ellington Bernard.

I didn’t feel too bad as I had slipped one past everyone as I also wanted Ellie to named after EB White.

Ellington goes by Ellie.

Jackie goes by Jay.

But they both know who Moses Fleetwood Walker was.

Doesn’t everyone?

As a postscript I wondered why this story happened to be written at this time.

I searched the story for clues like, “New movie coming out” or “soon to be part of an HBO special.”

But nothing.

I then looked for the authors bio thinking it would say, “This is excerpted from a new book coming out this spring.”

I found the authors name, Andrew Lawrence, and the short blurb under his name said simply the Mr. Lawrence is a free lance writer and that formerly, he was an award-winning Sports Illustrated staff writer.

It also said that Mr. Lawrence is “Based in Beaufort, South Carolina.”

Boy HOWDY!

Low Country Neighbors.

is it time for me?
baseball updates their records
you can look it up

I have long held that the secret to understanding Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea is baseball.

The Old Man has a special regard for Joe DiMaggio because Joe’s father was also a fisherman.

As a side note, Joe’s dad, Giuseppe DiMaggio was classified as a enemy alien during World War 2 and his fishing boat was seized and he was banned from the San Francisco harbor.

Joe DiMaggio’s Dad?

Marilyn Monroe’s Father-in-law?

Oh geeee whiz.

I also like how the Old Man talks about other teams in the American big leagues.

The Old Man says, “I fear both the Tigers of Detroit and the Indians of Cleveland.”

Somehow in the way Mr. Hemingway gets the conversation down on paper, I get the feeling that the Old Man pictured the Indians of Cleveland as Indians from-the-wild-west Indians.

Maybe that is just me.

Winston Churchill tells the story that while in Chicago on a lecture tour of the United States, one his meetings was broken up when an Indian in full dress stood up to yell at Churchill.

Mr. Churchill related how security went after the Indian who got away by diving through a plate glass window and running off down the streets of Chicago.

I had hard time understanding why an Indian in full dress, which to me meant an outfit out of a John Ford movie, would be in Chicago, heckling Winston Churchill.

It sure was a vivid word picture for me though.

An Indian in Indian Dress yelling at Winston Churchill, diving through a plate glass window like the cowardly lion, and running down the streets of Chicago with Chicago PD, guns blazing, in pursuit.

It was a long time before I figured out that Mr. Churchill was on a lecture tour, which included Grand Rapids, Michigan and an overnight stay at the Pantlind Hotel, and speaking on the topic of keeping India in the British Empire.

The Indian in full dress was a man from India in black tie.

The word picture is still pretty good at that.

So baseball is a theme that runs through The Old Man and the Sea.

At the end of the story, the Old Man ends up with nothing but bones.

Bones of the fish.

Imagine if you will the outlines of the bones of the fish.

The bold spine.

The thin faint ribs.

In my odd way, I can make the jump from a bony skeleton of a fish to the way the tiny print looks in the Official Baseball Encyclopedia.

When all is said in done all that remains of baseball are the faint outlines, the bones of a career, in the records.

I used to love baseball.

I came THIS CLOSE to taking a job with the National Baseball Hall of Fame,

The only thing that kept me from moving to Cooperstown was that another guy was offered the job.

At the end of my interview, the guy who interviewed me said he couldn’t offer me the job but he was penciling me into the lineup.

So I have that.

It was the strike of 1994-1995 that ended my love for the game.

I was shocked at the greed of players and owners.

I was disappointed mostly that when the 1994 season did not finish due to the strike, they still gave out awards for MVP, Cy Young and all the golden gloves based on the games played.

There had been no season, how could their be an MVP?

I don’t know why but that really bothered me.

Then the next season started late.

As Wikipedia says, “During the first days of the 1995 season, some fans remained irate at both players and owners.”

That was me.

Irate.

Still am I guess.

I have a fascination for the old game, the game before the strike but nothing like it was.

I think it was Mitch Albom who suggested that what could have been done was make the 1994 and 1995 seasons, one long season.

I think I could have handled that.

As it was, seeing 94 and 95 as separate seasons broke the string of records.

And it was the records to me that mattered.

They were the spine and bones of the game.

And this was messing with the backbone.

The records meant something.

To an extent they still do or at least they did.

At least through to the steroids era.

I have a hard time relating to the home run records of Bobby Bonds and Mark McGwire.

I hate to say it but I am clueless to about half the abbreviations now prevalent in baseball writing.

WAR?

And something called Walk UP Music?

Oh brother.

But the old records and the old names and the old games?

I still find fascinating!

The announcement by Major League Baseball yesterday stirred up a lot of feelings for me.

MLB stated that they were going to recognize the Negro Leagues as an official major baseball league.

The Negro League records will be made part of the official MLB Records.

Not sure why but I also thought they were but I guess I was wrong.

Sometimes I cannot figure MLB out.

I certainly understand and appreciate their Jackie Robinson campaign.

I have a son named Jackie Robinson Hoffman.

I pushed for another son to be named Moses Fleetwood Walker Hoffman.

Moses Fleetwood Walker played baseball at the University of Michigan.

But when Mr. Walker walked out on the field as a player for the Toledo Blue Stockings in a game against the Chicago Cubs, Cap Anson, the Cubs Manager yelled, “GET THE N***** OFF THE FIELD.”

This was in 1884.

It wasn’t until 1947 that another black player got on the field.

My kids voted for the name Ellington over Moses.

Jackie Robinson should be celebrated and remembered.

Maybe more than a lot of players.

But for me, its for a reason that never should have happened.

When Robin Yount reached the same age Jackie Robinson was when Mr. Robinson was rookie of the year, Mr. Yount had been playing for 14 years.

I have a hard time getting my arms around MLB celebrating that it took them 63 years to figure out they had it wrong.

The decision for the color line was a decision made by MLB.

No one forced them to do it.

ANYWAY ….

In spite of all considerations, I cannot think of anything on a sports level that had brought me such internal satisfaction.

Someone somewhere for some reason after way too long time made the right decision.

What does this mean?

There were seven accepted major leagues.

National League
American League
Federal League
American Association
Players League
Union Association
National Association

The record books also included under other headings or tab, Minor Leagues, Negro Leagues, KBO, Japan, Cuban, & Winter Baseball.

As off yesterday, the Negro Leagues considered a major league.

The tab between leagues has been removed.

If you look at the records for a player with time in the Federal League, you will see games played in the league along with that players other major league games:

Here is the record of Joe Tinker of Tinkers to Evers to Chance fame.

Notice the two years he played in the Federal League appear along with his other MLB appearances.

Here is the OLD Major League, as of yesterday, record of Satchel Paige.

NOW here is Mr. Paige’s records from Negro League appearances.

I am thinking that going forward, this record and the first record will now make up the official records.

The records in the books.

Who knows what may change.

I understand as Wikipedia puts it, “The true statistical achievements of Negro league players may be impossible to know as the Negro leagues did not compile complete statistics or game summaries.”

But I still look forward to looking up Josh Gibson when the next Baseball Encyclopedia is released.

However long this took to happen, it took too long.

But it is here now and it makes me happy.

I think of something Bill Veeck wrote about Satchel Paige.

In 1947, Jackie Robinson broke the color line in the National Leage.

In 1948, Larry Doby became the first black player in the American League when Veeck signed him to play for the Cleveland Indians.

Veeck writes in his book, Veeck as in Wreck, “The day after I signed Doby I got a wire from him [Satchel Paige] saying, “IS IT TIME FOR ME TO COME?”

Paige was around 42 years old.

Paige had been playing since 1927.

Playing and waiting for 21 years.

Now it is time.

Time for Mr. Paige to come into the record books.