Behind the Stats: Looking back at Lefebvre’s battle with depression

For those of you who are outside of the Kansas City area, please hang with me for a moment. On Tuesday, a popular Kansas City weather guy and TV personality, Don Harman, committed suicide. He was 41. Don Harman was one of the funniest guys you’d find on TV in Kansas City.  Unbeknownst to viewers and probably a lot of people around Don, however, he battled depression for years. This morning, I overheard two guys talking about Harman. One of them said how he couldn’t comprehend how a guy who seemingly had it all — a great job on TV, beloved by thousands and thousands of people, with a wife and a young daughter — could fight depression and, eventually, take his own life. Frankly, that’s impossible for a lot of people to process. That guy’s statement, though, reminded me of another young, seemingly happy media personality who had it all, but battled with depression: Royals broadcaster Ryan Lefebvre.

Lefebvre suffered depression during much of the 2005 season. In his case, he was able to get help that worked. Before Opening Day, 2006, Ryan allowed me to share his story on Metro Sports’ website. For those of you who wonder how a guy can battle depression, or for those of you who might have your own demons, here is that column from March 2006.

BEHIND THE STATS: Lefebvre back on track after depression

It was a typical sun-filled Midwestern summer afternoon, August 7 of last year. The temperature hovered around 90 degrees. Perfect for baseball, but even better for some time on a lake.

Ryan Lefebvre had the best of both worlds. After his job of announcing that Sunday afternoon’s Royals game on radio, Lefebvre planned to go to hang out with some friends at his home on a Kansas City area lake for an afternoon of playing on the water and cooking out.

What a life. Being in his early 30s, single, calling games for a major-league team. Along with those came a nice income, a four-bedroom house, two expensive cars, not to mention a boat and a jet ski parked at his dock. Then there are the road trips, spent at incredible ballparks, the best hotels and exquisite restaurants. As if those things aren’t enough for a guy’s dream life, Lefebvre’s girlfriend at the time was a former Miss USA runner-up.

Only, as Lefebvre was hanging out that afternoon with his girlfriend and Dave Witty, the Royals’ Vice President of Communications and Marketing, and Witty’s family, he felt uneasy.

The feeling worsened. He was alone, jealous, empty, a hole in his stomach. He didn’t know this feeling. He knew it wasn’t alcohol or drug-induced. He was all too familiar with those nightmares before sobering up in January 1998. No, this was different. Much different.

After everyone left that night, Lefebvre had a breakdown. As a child would when he’s scared, Lefebvre went to his bedroom closet and hid, huddled in the corner, and cried uncontrollably for an hour.

As he went to bed that night, Lefebvre didn’t think he could sleep this one off. He was right. The next morning, he called his mom in New Mexico.

“She’s been through clinical depression twice, and she’s been through disappointments with me during my entire life,” said Lefebvre. “She knew something was different with this. She made me promise that I’d make an appointment (with a psychologist) that day.”

That afternoon, August 8, Lefebvre began a life-changing process.

NOT JUST A WOMAN’S ILLNESS

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, approximately 6 million men are treated for depression each year. The number of women treated? A little more than 12 million.

In today’s world, or really at any other time in history, men are taught to be tough. It isn’t cool to talk about feelings. Heck, it isn’t even hip to think about feelings.

Hollywood and Madison Avenue both reinforce that idea more than ever today. They show a world that Lefebvre was living with the cash, cars, chicks and celebrity. Crying and depression and all that other womanly stuff is taboo for today’s “real” man.

“Even though I had everything I thought I wanted, I was miserable,” said Lefebvre, who still takes medication for major depressive disorder. “I had everything but at the same time I had nothing. My purpose had been fulfilled, but I was empty.”

The result often becomes suicide. In fact, the Mayo Clinic reports that depressed men are four times more likely to commit suicide than depressed women.

Despite his personal hell, Lefebvre says he never seriously considered killing himself, although at one point late in the season, he realized that was an option. It came on Oct. 1, the day before the season finale in Toronto.

Lefebvre suffered another breakdown.

“Short of planning my own suicide, it occurred to me that if worst came to absolute worst, there was a way out,” he says. “For a man of faith, I realized that it wasn’t about quitting on life, it was about being in a better place with God. It wasn’t as dramatic as people would assume; it was more peaceful. But it also crossed my mind how much it would hurt people, namely my family and friends, if I were to do that.”

LIVING UP TO AN IMAGE

On the surface, Ryan Lefebvre’s childhood in southern California sounds blissful. He lived in Manhattan Beach with his parents. During his early childhood, his mom, Jeane, was a model. His dad, Jim, was a baseball player.

Indeed, Jim Lefebvre was a solid major-league infielder for the Los Angeles Dodgers during 1965-72, where he played in two World Series. After doing some acting, including television roles on “Gilligan’s Island” and “Batman,” Jim Lefebvre went on to manage Seattle, the Chicago Cubs and Milwaukee. He’s also coached with the Dodgers, San Francisco and Oakland.

Most recently, he managed China in the World Baseball Classic.

But Ryan’s relationship with his dad throughout the years has been OK at best. Ryan’s parents separated when he was 18 months old and divorced when he was 6 years old. He grew up with his mom, whom he considers a close friend.

“There’s a certain image attached to my father being a major leaguer and to my mom being a former model,” Lefebvre said. “As they went their separate ways after the divorce, I thought I needed to get their attention through an image that was either taught to me, or others believed I should portray. Regardless, I wasn’t living my own life.”

Take baseball. Lefebvre enjoyed playing through his years at the University of Minnesota and then a season in the Cleveland organization, but he was playing because of his parents. Truth be told, it wasn’t making him happy. All the while, beginning early in his high school years and continuing until his late 20s, Lefebvre turned to alcohol and drugs.

“I think most people drink or do drugs because it makes them think they’re portraying the image that everyone wants,” he said. “But the problems don’t actually go away.”

Even after Lefebvre sobered in 1998, shortly before his final season with the Minnesota Twins and his first with the Royals, his burden grew. He likens it to carrying a backpack of rocks representing life’s good and bad experiences, and expectations. The rocks, much like life’s burdens, are dead weight.

“Sometimes the burden becomes too much and you can’t carry anymore,” he said. “I think it’s an interesting analogy because putting the rocks in your backpack puts them in a place that you can’t see them, but no one else can, either.”

Ryan’s mom carried many of his rocks on a daily basis during his bout with depression. He still hasn’t told his dad.

“I wanted to sit down with him alone during spring training and talk to him about it, but we couldn’t work out our schedules,” said Lefebvre. “I’m trying to plan a trip for him to come to my house in late April so we can sit down and talk about it.”

THE LONG SEASON

As the Royals continued working toward their club-record 106 losses in 2005, Lefebvre did his best to make it through each day, thanks to a team of people led by his mom and his psychologist, Dale Williamson.

On a perfect day, he could escape his thoughts for 30 minutes or so. Unfortunately, there weren’t many of those.

Although going to the ballpark everyday opened up the possibility of questions from others about Lefebvre’s abnormally somber demeanor, that sure beat the “living hell” that he faced with being alone at home or in a hotel room, trapped with his thoughts.

Those times never were easy. Like September 16, in Cleveland, when Lefebvre was going to wait until everyone had left for the stadium, and then call in sick before checking himself into a hospital. His mom convinced him otherwise.

Even life outside of hotel rooms wasn’t easy. Three weeks before the Cleveland incident, Lefebvre suffered a public panic attack while out for a night with Mike Sweeney and John Buck in New York.

“I don’t think anybody had any idea how deeply troubled I was,” said Lefebvre, who talked with his mom at least twice a day from Aug. 7 until the end of the season. She often reminded him that fighting depression was “one day at a time, one step at a time and one foot in front of the other.”

Unlike his previous 11 years announcing in the big leagues, Lefebvre doesn’t remember much about the games on the field in 2005. Looking back, he recalls the early part of the season. Then, as June rolls around, details are fuzzy. July and into August become more blurry.

“From then on, I remember hardly anything from the field,” he admits. “But I remember vivid details of some of my worst days at home and on the road. Like most people, I’ve lost my personal problems in my work. But with this, I simultaneously called the games and focused on my problems at the same time.”

And he remained to himself, embarrassed and unwilling to talk about his depression. In fact, only a handful of people knew of Lefebvre’s torment. He didn’t even tell his radio partner, Denny Matthews, or their producer/engineer, Don Free. Not until their last day in Arizona for spring training.

THE BISHOP’S FRIENDSHIP

As with former alcoholics and drug addicts, most people who have suffered through depression say that recovery is a long and arduous process. Usually, it’s the rest of the person’s life.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I’m cured,” Lefebvre agrees.

Lefebvre’s road to recovery, however, gained momentum in early November 2005, when he traveled to Florida for a wedding. As he strolled down the beach one day, watching families build sand castles along the Gulf of Mexico shore, he realized he felt better. He had an “even keel.” He was thinking more rationally.

Lefebvre decided to spend the rest of the offseason doing things he wanted to do. Things that would help him in recovery. He volunteered at John Knox Village and Lee’s Summit Hospital. He hosted a weekly bible study for high school students at his house. He got back to playing weekly pick-up hockey games with a few friends, including Matthews.

And, he planned vacations. One to Jamaica, where he’d visit Gordon Bennett, one of his former principals who’s now a bishop in the Catholic Church; and then his first trip to Europe, specifically Rome.

“Meeting with Bishop Bennett was almost my own ‘Tuesdays with Morrie,’” Lefebvre said, referring to the best-selling book. “During our discussions I asked him what common characteristics he saw in a good man. One that stuck like glue was the difference between a tough man and a brave man.

“He showed me that tough gets you nowhere. Or, you can be brave and be the type of man to say, ‘this is what happened to me.’”

Lefebvre’s also sharing his story with others. It started as a self-realization of how far he’d come. It’s transformed, though, into helping other men.

Said Lefebvre: “When I began sharing this with people, it was incredible how many men would come up to me and say, ‘I haven’t really told anyone about this…,’ and then they’d tell me their story about depression.

“There are too many men in this world who are more frightened by the cure than they are the disease. They settle into not being happy and feeling like they can deal with it. But there’s no better feeling than chiseling away all those layers of grime that collects around our hearts, and getting back to who God designed you to be.”

Lefebvre’s biggest project, however, is still a work in progress. He wants to touch a bigger audience through a book, which is near completion.

“I accept what happened to me, and I’m not ashamed of it now,” he said. “Maybe a man who’s ashamed to go to therapy and share his emotions with a doctor, can read a story or listen to my experience and draw strength from it. That’s all I wanted and needed to hear during the whole thing. When you’re going through this, you want to feel like you’re not losing your mind, that you’re normal and you’re going to be OK.

“I know how that felt, and I want to provide that for someone else.”

EVERY DAY IS OPENING DAY

The 2006 season marks Ryan Lefebvre’s 12th opening day as a major-league announcer. He enters this one, however, with a little more optimism, a little more zeal.

“I’m excited about this season because, regardless of how the team does on the field, I’m going to just go out and enjoy it,” he said.

After all, it was just six months ago when Lefebvre felt he’d be the one guy who ended up in an institution.

“Going through this was horrible; there’s no other way to describe it,” he said. “But, with all the things I’ve discovered, had I not gone through this I wouldn’t feel as good as I do now. This was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but at the same time it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.

“I’ve never felt better in my life. I’ve never experienced the joy that I have now.”

If you’d like to contact Ryan Lefebvre, you can post comments below or send them through www.MattFulks.com. Although we can’t guarantee personal responses, we’ll make sure Ryan gets copies of all comments and emails.

Behind the Stats: 1960 contest most debated in KU-MU rivalry

In Friday’s Wall Street Journal, there was an article about today’s Border War between Kansas and Missouri, and how today’s game is likely the last football game between the two. At least for the next several years. The WSJ article points out the most disputed game in the rivalry, the 1960 contest, when Missouri was going into the game with a shot at the national championship. With that in mind, and since this likely is the last football game between the two schools for the next several years, here is an updated reprint of an article I wrote about that game.

Kansas vs. Missouri, according to the KU media guide: 55-55-9

Missouri vs. Kansas, according to the MU media guide: 56-54-9

Oddly, that figures.

You wouldn’t really expect anything other than at least a mild discrepancy in the all-time football series record between the schools, would you?

Shoot, it’s impressive that they disagree on only one game. Of course, in the game that provides the difference in record, which happened 51 years ago, the implications were enormous. And the outcome heartbreaking. Or laughable. Depending on which side of the state line you’re pulling for.

Appropriately for this story, the player at the center of the controversy, Bert Coan, jokes that he “didn’t have much of a career” atKansas.

He’s right to an extent. Coan certainly had all the makings for a good career at running back with his size (6-foot-4,210 pounds) and 9.4 speed. But things didn’t pan out.

After playing his freshman season at Texas Christian, Coan enrolled at Kansas. He redshirted one season, played a season and then suffered a season-ending injury the next year after he broke his leg in spring practices. He entered the pro draft and eventually spent six seasons with the Chiefs. But the mark he left at Kansas has remained the biggest legend in the rivalry with Missouri, at least before Saturday’s contest.

Just how did Coan, a Texan by birth who started his career at TCU, end up at Kansas? The true facts are that Houston Oilers/Tennessee Titans founder Bud Adams, a former KU football player, knew Coan and mentioned Kansas to him. It’s also true that Coan took a flight to Chicago with Adams before attending Kansas. Any other facts, for the most part, have been up in the air.

Missouri fans would have you believe that Coan was drugged and then forced to go to Kansas. Really, Tiger fans will tell you, that’s the only way anyone would go to school in Lawrence.

The colorful and late Don Fambrough, the long-time KU player and coach who used to rally his KU teams by insisting that William Quantrill was a Missouri alum, offered a different take on the Coan story.

“Bud didn’t have any idea he was breaking the rules,” Fambrough, who was an assistant coach for Jack Mitchell, said in Max Falkenstien’s book, “A Good Place to Stop.” “Bud was taking some people up to Chicago to the All-Star game and happened to have an empty seat on his plane. As I remember he just happened to run into Bert on the street and asked him if he wanted to go to Chicago to see the All-Star game. Naturally, Bert said yes.”

When that version was read to him, Coan just chuckled and then offered the right side of the story. After all, as with any story there are always at least two sides plus the factual side.

“I guess it’s safe to say it now, but I was illegally recruited off the TCU campus,” he says. “I was working, driving a concrete truck and (Adams) called me and asked if I wanted to go up (to Chicago). He was about to create a new (American Football League) team and all of the owners were meeting in Chicago at the Hilton, which was part of the reason for him being there. I thought he might want me to play with the Oilers, so I went with him. I had no idea he was going to talk about Kansas the entire time.

“When I first visited the KU campus, (head coach Jack) Mitchell was leery, and I don’t think he had any idea what was going on.”

Bert Coan, because of or in spite of his career at KU, is usually the player from the 1960 squad known as “that player” or the “ineligible player.”

Coan, who still lives in Texas, laughs today that if it hadn’t been for one of the Jayhawks’ seven wins that season, he wouldn’t be getting these phone calls every few years.

See, at that time in college football, the national champion was crowned before the bowl games. Basically, the team ranked No. 1 at the end of the regular season was picked as the national champ.

Heading into the season finale, the Tigers found themselves undefeated at 9-0 and ranked No.1 inthe country. The only obstacle between the Tigers and the national championship was a home game against the Jayhawks on Nov. 19.

Easier said than done.

Kansas wasn’t exactly minced meat. The Jayhawks were ranked No. 11. Their only losses were against No. 2 Syracuse and at No. 1 Iowa.

“Naturally you’re afraid of a 9-0 team,” says Coan, “but we felt like we matched up with Missouri pretty well.”

“Coach Dan Devine was a superb coach, but that week he did not let us think Kansas was going to be an easy game,” Andy Russell, who was a sophomore linebacker and fullback for the Tigers, said from his office in Pittsburgh. “We worked hard and scrimmaged during the week and some players thought he wore us out. That was the first mistake.”

Offensively, Missouri’s main play that season was a wide sweep with Norris Stevenson. The Tigers always ran it to the right side.

“The Kansas coaches, not being dunces, decided they weren’t going to let us run that play,” Russell said. “Six guys penetrated the right side of the field and there was no way to run that play. But that was our big play and we kept running it. So, possibly the second mistake was that Devine got stubborn.”

In the only time during this rivalry when one of the teams was ranked No. 1, the Jayhawks dominated the Tigers. Missouri didn’t get a first down until the clock showed 9:06 … left in the third quarter. They didn’t get another until the fourth quarter.

Coan led all rushers in the game with 67 yards. He also scored two touchdowns, one by air and one by ground. The Jayhawks went on to win 23-7.

As Ernie Mehl wrote in The Kansas City Times: “Not even the most partisan Missouri fan could deny that the better team on the field in this classic came away with the heavy end of the score. It was so completely convincing there was nothing to look back upon as a turning point.”

Missouri’s victory would come off the field as the Big Eight Conference looked closer at the season for KU, which already had been placed on one-year probation for the recruitment of Coan. In case you need more fuel for the rivalry, it’s always been widely speculated that Missouri A.D. and former coach Don Faurot led the Big Eight’s witch hunt against Coan and the Jayhawks.

About a month after the contest, the Big Eight ruled that Coan was ineligible and the Jayhawks needed to forfeit wins against Colorado and Missouri.

The damage was done already. The loss to Kansas dropped Missouri to No.5 in the polls, which meant the Tigers would have to wait a few more years before winning a national championship. (They’re still waiting.) That wasn’t necessarily a consolation for the Jayhawks.

“Sure it hurt,” Coan says of the forfeits. “I felt bad about it, like I had let everybody down. When you’re 18 years old, though, it’s hard to think down the line about things like that.”

Missouri quickly changed its record. Kansas hasn’t been so quick to do so. (Nor has the NCAA.)

So, which school has the all-time record correct? As you might expect from the players, it doesn’t really matter.

“If you look at the record, it shows they forfeited, but we didn’t win that game,” Russell says. “They beat us. That’s all there is to it.”

Behind the Stats: Today I’m thankful for…

Read nearly every newspaper around the country today — most of which you can find online, which is a slight reason newspapers are in their current dire state, but I digress — and you’ll read a column such as this. Our list of things for which we’re thankful.

In many ways, as some writers have said, this is a crutch column. Lists seem to be like that to some old-school writers. At the same time, though, writing of list of things for which I’m thankful almost seems that it’s not done nearly enough. Kind of like honoring veterans one day a year.

Of course, most of these are sports related and specific to the Kansas City area, except for the number of things in the list. As I wrote a few weeks ago, several of us celebrated recently the life of friend and former Lipscomb University pitcher Scott Shannon, who lost a battle with cancer 20 years ago this month. His number at Lipscomb was 23.

That said, in no particular order, this year I’m especially thankful for….

1. Christ. It seems so blasé these days to list religion first, especially with the firestorm under which Tim Tebow is planted. But, when you read through Tony Dungy’s book, “Quiet Strength,” or you spend a few minutes with someone like Dayton Moore, Kevin Seitzer or ex-Kansas State tight end Paul Coffman, you’re reminded that leading off with this should never seem trite.

2. Family, especially my wife and our three kids. Of course my parents and my in-laws fall in that category, too.

3. Friends. When you’re an extreme introvert, it’s nice to have a few people around you who can put up with your quirkiness.

4. Our service men and women, along with police officers and firefighters. I’m a big chicken. So I’m in complete awe when I think about these people who choose to defend our freedoms or keep us safe on a daily basis.

5. Frank White. My blood always boils this time of year with all of the discussions about the Baseball Hall of Fame and which of the current candidates deserve or don’t deserve to get in. The pointless debates don’t include Royals Hall of Famer Frank White. And, by this time they shouldn’t because he should be in already. But he’s not, which is a travesty. During his era, he was one of the game’s best all-around defensive players. He remains one of the best second basemen of all-time. Besides his play on the field, I do value Frank’s friendship.

6. The Royals and the Chiefs and the optimism that we have at the beginning of each season, and the fact that when one season hits the tank we can start looking forward to the other. By the way, pitchers and catchers report in 70-some-odd days, depending on when you’re reading this. Although, if we were going to look forward to pitchers and catchers reporting when the Chiefs season tanked, we could’ve said, “pitchers and catchers report in six months.”

7. Denny Matthews and Fred White. No offense to Ryan Lefebvre or Bob Davis whatsoever, but for me it’s always been natural to say the names Denny and Fred together. In various combinations, they’ve been great together for the past 38 years. They’re also great individuals and friends.

8. Max Falkenstien. In a way I could put Max with Denny and Fred. Like Denny and Fred, Falkenstien was one of my heroes growing up. He certainly is missed during the KU broadcasts.

9. The T-Bones. The baseball team, not the steak. (Although I’m thankful for the steak, too.) I’ve written about the T-Bones and General Manager Chris Browne in previous columns and articles, so it shouldn’t be a big shock that I think they’re a wonderful and important part of the Kansas City sports landscape. However, in a moment of weakness this past season, they did something so unthinkable that I had to add them to this year’s list. Desperate during the season, they asked me to fill in as their public address announcer when the legendary Dan Roberts had to miss a game. My start in this media business actually can be traced to doing PA work, so it’s not a complete stretch to think that I could do it. To think, though, that a professional baseball team would ask me does seem far-fetched. But, it went well enough, evidently, that they asked me in August to work PA for the Willie Wilson Baseball Classic. Who knows, maybe they’ll be in a bind again next season.

10. Jim Chappell and Chappell’s Restaurant and Sports Museum. Jim likely will argue that he should be higher on the list, and he may be right. But, you’ll be able to read more about Chappell’s in this space in a full-length column tomorrow. Suffice to say for now that Chappell’s is the best sports museum in the Midwest. Hands down. And the food is excellent, too. They must be doing something right since they’re celebrating their 25th anniversary this week.

11. The Border War. The rivalry between KU and MU (listed alphabetically, by the way) is one of the best, most heated, most hated and most overlooked in all of college sports. And, at least for the time being, is likely about to come to an end, because of both schools. Although Saturday’s football game promises to be exciting for about two possessions, it looks like both men’s basketball games this season could be classics.

12. The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum.  As a long-time Kansas Citian, I sometimes take for granted this city’s role in black baseball. We have a chance to be reminded of that with the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum.

13. Steve Renko. I have so many reasons to be thankful for Renk, the Kansas City area native, who spent only one season, 1983, with the Royals. Besides the fact that he was one of my “Behind the Stats” radio sidekicks for nearly two years, he’s also a constant source of encouragement, information and opinions. Not to mention, he’s taken time to work with one of my sons who wants to be a pitcher. Most of those times, though, I think he’s working as much with me as a father of a kid who wants to pitch.

14. The Jazz Museum. As a huge fan of jazz, particularly the likes of Charlie Parker, Miles Davis and Count Basie, it’s awesome to have the Jazz Museum next to the NLBM. It’s pretty easy to do both in the morning and still have time to grab lunch down the road at Arthur Bryant’s before driving past 22nd and Brooklyn, the site of where the Blues, Monarchs, Athletics, Chiefs and Royals all played.

15. Kansas Citybarbecue. Too many to have a favorite.

16. Pineapple and Canadian bacon. The person who first decided to try that odd combination on a pizza is a genius. Plain and simple.

17. Ken Morrow. Whether you’re a hockey fan or not, we’re lucky to have Morrow in the Kansas City area. The current Director of Pro Scouting for the New York Islanders and a winner of multiple Stanley Cups, Morrow is a great ambassador for amateur hockey in the Kansas City area. Besides — and as important as the rest — he was an important part of the 1980 U.S. hockey team that beat the Soviet Union during the Olympics.

18. The running/biking trails around the area. Yes, there are other cities with better or more extensive trails, but if you’ve lived in or visited cities without trails as nice as here you know how lucky we are. Now if we only had leaders who understood the importance of light rail.

19. Cedric Tallis, the Royals’ first general manager in 1969. Although he orchestrated one of the worst trades in baseball history, Lindy McDaniel from the Yankees in exchange for Rookie of the Year Lou Piniella, he’s also responsible for building the Royals into winners relatively soon into their existence with trades that brought Piniella, Buck Martinez, Amos Otis, Cookie Rojas and Fred Patek to Kansas City. Tallis deserves to be in the Royals Hall of Fame.

20. Taco Via. OK, this one might seem a little odd, unless you grew up on the Kansas side of the state line. If you grew up on the Missouri side, you might not know about the Via’s nachos, sanchos, taco burgers, enchiladas and sauce so good that you could drink it faster than a QT Quart. What you may not realize is that the restaurant moved about 500 yards from its location at 95th and Antioch in Overland Park – and the new location opened this week.

21. Municipal Auditorium. What a great, historic place to watch a basketball game. To think, more NCAA men’s championship basketball games have been played there than any other venue in the country.

22. LIVESTRONG Park. I’m not a big soccer fan. Those who know me might even take the word “big” out of that first sentence. But, what an incredible stadium in Kansas City,Kan.! Even if you’re not a soccer fan, you need to see the stadium at least once. It’s also cool to think about that stadium being within an Alex Gordon throw from the Kansas Speedway and CommunityAmerica Ballpark.

23. The NAIA. This isn’t a knock on the NCAA, but the NAIA “gets it.” They understand the importance of pushing the idea of character, not only to their institutions but also to local high schools, grade schools and amateur sports leagues. President/CEO Jim Carr and his staff should be commended for the work they do. Not to mention, the sports teams at NAIA schools are extremely competitive and fun to watch.

For more information on Matt Fulks’ books, or to suggest a “Behind the Stats” topic, visit Matt at www.mattfulks.com.

Behind the Stats: Larry Munson was one of a kind

College athletics has lost one of its most legendary announcers. Larry Munson, the long-time radio voice of all things Georgia Bulldogs and, before that, Vanderbilt Commodores, died Sunday night after a bout with pneumonia. He was 89.

Munson was as beloved by Georgia fans as anyone else who walked between the hedges. His style, simply put, was that of an A-1 “homer.” Sure, he bled Vandy black and gold for several years, but since the mid 1960s, it’s been all Georgia red and black.  There wasn’t any gray in a Munson broadcast. It was “we” and “they.” And, it didn’t take long after turning on a game to figure out if his team was playing well. He lived and died with each play. Frankly, instead of many cookie-cutter broadcasters today, Munson conveyed exactly what the fans felt.

Breaking into broadcasting while at Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tenn., I heard all about Munson and his unmistakable style. And the first time I heard him on the radio, I knew immediately that it was Larry Munson and the Georgia Bulldogs.

I got to know Munson during the 1990s, while working on my second book, “The Sportscaster’s Dozen: Off the air with Southeastern Legends.” The book featured firsthand stories from 12 “legendary” broadcasters from the Southeastern and Atlantic Coast Conferences.

Of course, Larry Munson was one of the dozen who agreed to be featured, giving me and, eventually, the book’s readers, a behind-the-scenes look at his career — the highlights, low lights, and everything in between.

Away from the microphone, Munson was a man’s man. He enjoyed hunting and fishing, cigars, jazz, movies, and so on. When broadcasting, he was one of a kind.

As I wrote it in “The Sportscaster’s Dozen,” radio play-by-play is a wonderful art form. Frank Lloyd Wright said that “television is chewing gum for the eyes.” That said, radio must be chewing gum for the mind, for the imagination, with a good announcer providing the flavor.

For Georgia and Vanderbilt fans, Larry Munson provided that flavor better than salt, pepper, oregano or paprika ever could.

But, Munson was so much more than only the “voice” of Vanderbilt and Georgia. He was one of the pioneers of a weekly fishing show on television. He called professional baseball games, first with a minor-league team in Nashville, and then with the Atlanta Braves. He was the “voice” of the Atlanta Falcons.

So, although you can read countless Larry Munson stories right now, please indulge me for a few minutes as I share two of my favorite Larry Munson stories from “The Sportscaster’s Dozen.”

The late Curt Gowdy, with whom Munson worked in Wyoming, helped Munson land a job in Nashville with Vanderbilt and the Nashville Vols, a minor-league baseball team, after World War II. (While in Wyoming, Munson had seriously considered becoming a jazz pianist, but Gowdy convinced him to stick with broadcasting.) At that time, it was common for broadcasts to be re-creations. (Basically, as you might remember from “Bull Durham,” for instance, in a re-creation, the announcer would receive a note on the Western Union wire, with brief notes about a play. The announcer then would make a sound effect and describe the play as if he was sitting in the stadium.)

Munson was known in broadcasting circles as being sensational at re-creating games. He had proof, too.

When he arrived in Nashville at WKDA radio in 1947, he talked the executives into carrying pro football “out of Chicago.” At that time, there were two teams in Chicago, the Cardinals and the Bears. So, there was a home game every week.

“There was a permanent Western Union line up there that enabled us to do games every single Sunday.  That worked for two years. … It was fun because I could get on a jammed elevator leading up to WKDA on Monday, not saying a word to anybody, and the people would be talking about hearing that announcer talking about how hard it was snowing in Chicago the day before with the guys sliding on the ice when they went out of bounds.  It was difficult keeping a straight face knowing they didn’t realize it was me with sound effects sitting upstairs of that building.“

Oddly enough, I thought about the second story on Saturday when ESPN’s Lee Corso dropped the F-bomb on TV. Larry Munson’s moment, much like Munson himself, is legendary in Nashville, especially with old timers, if you will. Like many stories of its nature, there are variations of the truth. John Forney, the late Alabama broadcaster, told me his version for “The Sportscaster’s Dozen.” (Munson told me his version 50 years later, but brushed it off, so we didn’t put it in his chapter.)

As the story goes, the Nashville Vols were playing either Little Rock or New Orleans in a wretched, blow out of a game. During the late innings, as Munson thought he sent the game to a commercial break, he said, “What a freaking way to make a living.” Only, the guy in the studio had fallen asleep and hadn’t started any commercials, so Munson’s microphone was still on. That might not seem terrible, except Munson said a different “f” word instead of freaking. That wouldn’t go over well anywhere, but especially not in the buckle of the Bible belt.

The next inning, someone brought a message to Munson. It was from his boss. It read: “Dear Larry: It sure is, but you don’t have to tell everyone.”

Whether you are a Yellow Jacket or a Volunteer or a Gamecock or a Gator, you know that Larry Munson was one of a kind. There never will be another like him. He will be missed by anyone who ever had a chance to get to know him.

If you have a favorite Larry Munson memory, feel free to leave it in the comments section. For more about Matt Fulks, please visit www.MattFulks.com.

Behind the Stats: Bleier shows Veteran’s Day is about second chances

“As long as you keep moving forward, you’ll reach the finish line.”

—Unknown

Throughout each person’s life we encounter at least one individual — whether it’s as basic as a casual acquaintance or as personal as a friendship — who teaches us about living and makes us realize that we can do better. It’s these people whose lives can intimidate writers, or at least give writers a mental hurdle while trying to relay the story in a perfect way.

Rocky Bleier, who is best known as a running back with the great Pittsburgh Steelers teams of the 1970s, is one of those people. His story, while worth telling and retelling and passing along to children and grandchildren, is challenging.

I have a deep appreciation for anyone who’s ever had the guts to serve our country. Heaven knows I didn’t and still don’t.

That appreciation — combined with a love of the Steelers that began as a child — makes Bleier a perfect subject to honor today as we  celebrate Veteran’s Day.

It’s tough to find one word to describe Bleier and his life. Oh, you could use courageous, inspiring, athletic, heroic, unwavering, horrific, determined, incredible, astonishing, remarkable, and tenacious. And so many more. You could also throw in Super Bowl champion and college national champion, but of course neither of those is just one word.

Shoot, Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, Pat Conroy, and even the Merriam-Webster folks would struggle finding one word to describe Bleier.

The remarkable aspect of Bleier’s life is not what he accomplished on the field per se.

“Like many people, I probably peaked when I was nine years old, in a game against my neighbor when I scored 52 touchdowns on one afternoon,” Bleier quipped, laughing. “That was probably the biggest game of my life, and it’s been downhill ever since.”

Actually, Bleier, a native of Appleton, Wisc., played an important role on Notre Dame’s 1966 national championship team under coach Ara Parseghian. But he wasn’t given much chance of making it in the NFL, particularly because of his 5-foot-11, 205-pound frame. The Steelers didn’t gamble a lot when they drafted him in the 16th round of the 1968 draft.

However, shortly thereafter is where the story takes its most revealing turn.

In December 1968, with three games left in his rookie season, Bleier received an unwanted piece of mail before practice…his draft notice for the U.S. Army. With the United States near the height of the Vietnam War, Bleier loved his country, but, c’mon, how many 22-year-olds really wanted to go to war?

“I can’t say that I was gung-ho about serving,” he said. “I can’t say that I wanted to or needed to serve our country in time of war. Like most others, I was just an average guy who got a draft notice. I’m sure my thought process wasn’t much different than anybody else who got drafted, when you look at that [notice] and say, ‘Aw, (insert your own profanity)! How did I screw up? Now what do I do?’ But you do what you think is right. You go and you serve.”

When someone received a draft notice, he usually had a week before he had to report. Bleier’s draft notice reached him late. He had one day to report. The Steelers tried to help him defer until the end of the season, but the best they could do was designate him with high blood pressure, giving him an extra day before reporting.

Five months later, in May 1969, Bleier was sent to Chu Lai, South Vietnam, with the 196th American Division’s Light Infantry Brigade.

A few months later, in August, Bleier’s life was altered in Heip Duc as he was crippled by enemy rifle fire and grenade wounds in both legs.

It appeared as though his NFL career — not to mention his ability even to walk normally — was finished.

But while he was still in the army, Bleier worked to become a better football player.

“Whether it was by design or by the grace of God, or the lessons that I needed to learn, I fell through the cracks and came back alive,” he says. “I went over there, I served, I got wounded, and I got wounded again. I wasn’t wounded enough to not play, but enough to learn a lesson.

“People have asked me if the experience made me a better  ballplayer. I would have to say yes, it did. If I hadn’t gone, would I have been a better ballplayer? I don’t know. I do know that what I wanted to do was come back from Vietnam and play football. That drove me. So I pushed myself.

“When I was in the service, I got up at 5:30in the morning and ran prior to going to my duty station. When I got done with my duty, I came back and lifted weights. When I got done with that, I went home and ran sprints. All of that was part of wanting to come back with a focus.”

Bleier, who was awarded a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, and two campaign ribbons, came back with that same desire to play football.

Steelers’ owner Art Rooney, whether out of a belief in Bleier or pity for him, gave Bleier a second chance.

Two years later, in 1972, after working off the injured reserve and the taxi squad, Bleier made Pittsburgh’s active roster.

“I think all of us want hope. As long as we can see the light at the end of the tunnel, we’re okay,” said Bleier, who retired from the NFL after the 1980 season. “As long as there is hope, or a ray of hope, of either making the team or doing something that you love, then you push yourself forward.”

Bleier became an important part of those championship Steelers teams of the ’70s. His best statistical season in 12 years with the Steelers came in 1976, when he rushed 220 times for 1,036 yards and five touchdowns, and caught 24 passes for 294 yards. He was best known on the field, however, as a great blocking back for Franco Harris, en route to four Super Bowl titles.

And to think that, as with so many other American veterans, Bleier’s life changed with one letter. In many ways, the lives of fans who followed Bleier’s career changed with that letter.

“Vietnam is a part of my story and a part of who I am,” he said. “Am I thankful for Vietnam? I’m thankful for the experience. I’m thankful for going. I’m thankful for having served. I’m thankful for the people I have served with, and those who served before and after me. I’m thankful for the people who know me and the relationship they have of one of those who defended our country.”

Indeed, Rocky Bleier can give us a kick in the pants every now and then. He can teach us that we should be thankful for life’s challenges.

He can teach us about change and being our best and finding our strengths. He can teach us that we will reach the finish line with each new step. And he can teach us that we sometimes do get a second chance.

For more information on Matt Fulks’ books, or to suggest a “Behind the Stats” topic, visit Matt at MattFulks.com.

The previous appeared on SportsRadioKC.com on Nov. 11, 2010.

Behind the Stats: Celebrating the life of Scott Shannon

Yesterday was so much fun. And so easy.

Broadcasting games. Hanging out, talking sports – mainly baseball and basketball – and music. And girls. Quoting “Fletch.” Laughing about unique observations in life. Debating about which college basketball program was better, KU or UK. (Just remember, the coach who really got it going for you, Adolph Rupp, was from Kansas.) Going to church.

But Scott and I were young. And naïve.

And, in seemingly an instant, the innocence, youth and naivety all changed.

Wow, it’s been a blur of 20 years.

I’ve written about Scott Shannon before. Shoot, I’ve written many of the following exact words countless times during other Novembers.

That doesn’t make this column easier. Even as, today on the campus of Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tenn., several members of Scott’s family, plus friends, teammates, teachers and fans, gather to celebrate his life with a memorial service, my mind doesn’t let these words flow. I still get furious with that wretched cancer. I loathe it.

Even if you’re not familiar with Scott Shannon or Lipscomb, humor me for a few moments.

From 1987-1991, Shannon was a hard-throwing right hander for legendary college baseball coach Ken Dugan and the Lipscomb University Bisons. (And, yes, that’s Bisons with an “s.” That’s how they did it in the South in the mid-late 1800s. They did a lot of things wrong in the South in the mid-late 1800s.)

Shannon, 6-foot-4 and about 180 pounds (even though he was listed at 195), had a gift for a right arm. Part of that gift was the ability to throw in the 90s. Another part was the ability to throw just as hard in the late innings of a game as he did in the first two.

During his career at Lipscomb, Shannon compiled a career 27-9 record and a 3.87 earned run average. As a junior, he walked only eight batters in 70 innings. During his senior season of 1991, Shannon helped lead the Bisons to the NAIA District 24 baseball championship and a berth in the Area 5 tournament.

That season, the NAIA All-American Shannon had a 10-1 record with a 2.85 ERA, and was the NAIA Player of the Week at the end of March. Several major-league scouts talked to him, but he wasn’t drafted, which was a huge disappointment, even though he brushed it off to most people and used it for motivation.

Really, in terms of overall athletic ability, he was incredible. He may have been the best athlete, or at least the best conditioned, at Lipscomb. (And, keep in mind this was Lipscomb at a time when the men’s basketball teams, under Hall of Fame coach Don Meyer, were setting records for points and wins.)

Stories about Shannon around campus were near legendary, or at least that’s how my aging mind remembers. He ran five or six miles a day. On several occasions, he even ate an entire pizza late at night and then ran five miles a few minutes later, clocking a pretty good time. (For the record, though, at least a couple of times a week, he’d order the pizza, go for a run, and then eat.)

When he wasn’t pitching, Shannon was involved with the Bison Radio Network. That’s where we really got to know each other. We were partners for nearly three years with Lady Bison basketball and Bison baseball broadcasts, plus we each worked the men’s basketball games. In all, we probably broadcast 200-250 games together during that time.

We didn’t know each other very well before we started broadcasting together, but from the first women’s basketball game that we worked in 1989, he welcomed me as an old friend. Even though I could take away some of his play-by-play and other on-air time, there never was any type of jealousy or apprehension or ego or anything like that. He might’ve felt it, but he never showed it.

It doesn’t matter the line of work, people oftentimes see or feel jealousy or feel unwanted as the “new guy.” It’s human nature. That wasn’t Scott’s nature. He didn’t allow me to feel any of that. He helped me learn everything I needed to know about the broadcasts because, to him, it was a matter of being members of a team, doing the best job we could do putting on the best broadcast each game, and having fun along the way.

Largely because of his attitude, we developed a fast and close friendship.

In fact, he was the instigator in me getting up the guts to introduce myself to the pretty girl who’d become my wife.

That’s the way he was. Shannon had an uncanny ability to make friends and be friendly with a wide range of people. He personally touched hundreds of lives. There are plenty of people with great Scott Shannon stories, I’m sure.

The summer after his senior season, 1991, Scotty and I spent quite a bit of time together, at least as much as we could between jobs and girlfriends. As August approached, he was complaining about being tired. He looked it, too. It seemed understandable, considering he was working two jobs, plus he was preparing for a couple of major-league tryouts.

As an athlete you know your body. You know the aches, pains and normal fatigue and recovery. Even as a young, invincible athlete, you know when something just isn’t right. In early September, Labor Day weekend to be exact, Scotty reached that point and went to see a doctor at a Nashville hospital. The doctor suggested that he go, almost immediately, to nearby Vanderbilt  University Medical Center.

It was cancer. Damn cancer!

The American Cancer Society estimates that nearly 1.5 million Americans will face cancer this year. And approximately 560,000 people will die from some type of the disease this year. Additionally, look at the person next to you. At status quo, according to the ACS, either you or that person will get cancer during your lifetime.

Next Friday, Nov. 11, undoubtedly, I’d be calling or texting Scotty and giving him a hard time for turning 42, especially since his birthday was three months before mine. But I won’t make that call or send that text.

You see, 20 years ago today, Nov. 5, 1991, two months after being admitted to the hospital at Vanderbilt, and having not left it since the Sunday night before Labor Day, cancer and all the drugs used to fight it, took Scotty’s life. He was six days shy of his 22nd birthday.

Call it morbid. Call it sentimental. Call it whatever. I really don’t care. But I could count on one hand the number of days during the past 20 years that I haven’t thought about Scotty at least once. Although it’s usually a quick, funny story, many of those thoughts center on the unanswerable: “Why?”

Why would God (or whatever higher power in which you believe) allow this to happen? Why did parents have to go through this with one of their children? Why is it that someone my age — and in incredible shape — get cancer and die so quickly?

I haven’t learned the answer to any of those questions. I suspect I never will.

A lesson I’ve learned through the years, though, is that friends come and go. There are some that we wish would go sooner, but they don’t. Then there are those who come into our lives and we’re forever grateful, even if the time spent with them is cut short. Obviously, Scotty is one of those.

Another reason he’s in my thoughts so often is because our youngest son, who happened to be born two days before Scott’s birthday in 2004, takes one of his names from Scotty. Coincidentally, he’s ornery, a little stubborn, loves the girls and they love him, and he makes me laugh every day. That same sentence could be used to describe Scott Shannon.

Scott’s family has told me that they know of at least three other little boys running around with the name Scott because of Shannon’s influence. It goes back to how he dealt with people.

Ultimately, for Scott Shannon, it was about team; it was about doing things – doing life – the right way; and, just doing our best job.

And along the way, we had some fun.

For more information on Matt Fulks’ books, or to suggest a “Behind the Stats” topic, visit Matt at MattFulks.com.

“Chat with Matt” … Jim Sundberg

Former Royals catcher on 1985 and the best slide in a World Series game

One key for the Royals beating the St. Louis Cardinals in the 1985 World Series was catcher Jim Sundberg, who was a six-time Gold Glove winner during his 16-year career. His veteran leadership helped counter the young pitching staff that season. Sundberg, who works in the front office for the Texas Rangers, spoke with Matt Fulks on “Behind the Stats” radio last year. Considering worlds have collided, with Sundberg’s Rangers facing the Cardinals in this season’s World Series, plus Sundberg’s Game 6 dive happened 26 years ago yesterday, this seemed like an appropriate time to re-post this. (Don’t worry, Cardinal fans, I’ll re-post one geared for you later today.)

Matt Fulks: You came here in January 1985 from Milwaukee as part of a six-player, four-team trade. … This was still a hard-nosed club with an outstanding pitching staff, but they needed a catcher who could work with a great mix of guys, young and experienced, with different dispositions on the mound. What were you able to do to help them along that season?

Jim Sundberg: It was a good mix. We had three left-handers and they were all different. Danny Jackson, for instance, was an extreme power pitcher with a sinking fastball and hard slider. Bud Black used three to four pitches, and then Charlie Leibrandt was a finesse guy who moved his fastball around. Then on the right side you had Bret Saberhagen and Mark Gubicza, who were both power guys. Sabes probably had the best fastball I ever caught. It was an accelerator. It gave the impression that it popped at the end. Gubie had a hard sinker and a hard slider. They all competed internally against each other, but they all pulled for each other. It’s also the only time in my major-league career when the entire staff remained intact the entire season.

MF: Was anyone on that staff hard to catch?

JS: Danny Jackson was one of the hardest guys for me to catch in my career because of his explosive fastball. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d cut it or sink it, so that was tough because I had to set up and be ready to go in either direction.

The key to that season for the pitching staff was that they all went into high gear at the same time in early September. Sometimes you have two or three pitchers throwing well at one time, but seldom do you have all five guys throwing well at the same time, and to be doing so in the second week of September in the real drive to catch the California Angels. They stayed that way throughout the World Series.

MF: I’ve talked to most of that pitching staff, as well as the infielders. I keep hearing stories from guys like Frank White and George Brett about how intense Jackson and Gubie were, and if you made an error behind Gubicza, for instance, you’d get the “Gubie stare.” Whereas, if you made an error behind Saberhagen, he’d turn around and laugh. As a catcher, is that something you saw and had to help harness?

JS: The temperaments of the pitchers were very different. Danny was probably one of the more intense guys I’ve caught, and he could get very angry between innings and be hard on himself. Gubie might get mad at other guys. But keep in mind that Jackson, Sabes and Gubie were all young guys with great confidence and poise on the mound. Sabes was very happy-go-lucky. Pressure didn’t affect him. In the seventh game of the World Series, he was so good that I came in after the first inning and told the guys in the dugout that he was throwing so well that if we got one run, we’d win. Those last four innings — with our big lead and how well he was pitching — were probably the most fun I ever had on the field, just knowing we were going to win.

MF: A listener to our “Behind the Stats” show, Bryan Skelton in Nashville, sent this question through our Facebook page. What’s the best World Series slide you’ve ever seen?

JS: [Laughs.] I would say mine in ’85 in the sixth game. It’s interesting because there’s part of me wondering if Dick Howser was going to pinch-run for me. I was the winning run at second with the bases loaded. I remember thinking that I wanted a big lead and to get a good jump. As the play happened, I saw (St. Louis catcher) Darrell Porter move in front of the plate, so that caused me to slide headfirst to the backside of the plate. It was the fastest I ran at that age. [Laughs.] It was fun. Lonnie Smith and Buddy Biancalana met me at the plate and I jumped up in their arms. Of course, Dane Iorg got a bloody nose because guys were pounding on him so much after he hit those two runs in.

MF: That trip to the postseason in 1985 was the only one in your 16-year career. Can you put that experience into words?

JS: You never know if you’ll get that chance. Some incredible players never get that opportunity. It was remarkable. I remember that as we continued to win, the pressure for me was released. The most pressure to me was just trying to get to the postseason. Once we got there, it was easier to play. Once we beat Toronto in the playoffs and were headed to the World Series, I felt like a 10-year-old giggly kid with the honor of being one of the two teams left playing. The greatest thrill was playing in the World Series, and the greatest fun was the last four innings of the seventh game against St. Louis. That World Series ring that you get on opening day of the following season is what you play this game for. The bonus check is nice, but you play for that ring.

MF: Every boy who plays this game dreams of being on the field for a World Series celebration. As the final fly ball was headed toward Darryl Motley, what was going through your mind?

JS: It was suspended animation. The ball goes up and you know that as soon as it’s caught, the game is over. The ball was hit so high that George (Brett) ran to the mound as the ball was in the air, and I started to run out there. Once it was caught, it’s just mass chaos. It’s such a tremendous feeling. The cover of Sports Illustrated was of six or seven of us celebrating at the mound. I have that framed in my home office, and it’s just a wonderful feeling and memory.

MF: Jim, I can’t thank you enough for sharing those memories and feelings.

JS: Thank you, Matt.

 

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Behind the Stats: Remembering not to be one of THOSE parents

On Saturday, my youngest son had his final “machine pitch” baseball game of the fall season. His team was facing a club that’s basically that … a club, an organization, a franchise at the youth level. Immediately I noticed that the coach of this opposing team was the same coach (and, yes, the same franchise) that I wrote about a couple of years ago for Metro Sports. His antics were basically the same. So, I wanted to dig out this column and re-read it. Decided to re-post, as well.

LONG LIVE SHOWMANSHIP!

A memo to the Mallory Holtmans and the NAIAs of the world. Sportsmanship is dead. Take it from a parent who’s now one of those parents. Sportsmanship is being replaced by showmanship in our smack-talking, highlight-driven sports society.

Maybe you remember the story of Holtman. She was a power-hitter for Central Washington’s softball team. Late last season, Central Washington, which had never reached the NCAA Division II tournament, trailed Western Oregon by one game in the standings. Holtman and her Central Washington teammates happened to be playing host to Western Oregon for a doubleheader.

During the second game, Western Oregon senior Sara Tucholsky, who had yet to hit a collegiate home run and who was 3-for-34 on the season, hit her first homer. Only problem is that out of excitement or euphoria or whatever, she missed first base. When she turned around to go back and touch, she tore her ACL.

The possibility of her scoring was bleak. If she were to be replaced, the runner couldn’t finish rounding the bases for her. She’d have to do it. Holtman stepped up and offered to help carry her opponent around the bases for the home run. Tucholsky touched every base with Holtman’s help and recorded her first — and only — collegiate home run.

Sorry, Holtman, that type of sportsmanship is no longer acceptable.

Same with the NAIA and its “Champions of Character” program. As the name suggests, “Champions of Character” promotes sportsmanship on and off the field or court for players, coaches and fans.

Sorry, NAIA, I’ve failed in my quest to help your initiative. I’m now officially one of those parents. You know the ones, the ones who constantly yell at the umpire because he called the pitch to little Johnny a strike. Clearly, from the stands, you could tell that it was outside the black of the plate. Those parents also bemoan to the coach about why little Johnny isn’t playing. After all, if he played more, he could have a college scholarship in eight years.

There’s no telling how many times I’ve made fun of those parents at a game.

Last week, I pretty much reached the verge of being one of those parents.

Here’s the scenario: my son plays on a team in 3&2. During this one game, they weren’t playing so well. In the third inning of a game, they were down something like 17-0. Offensively, they were hitting the ball right at the defense. And, defensively, at times they looked like Buttermaker’s Bears.

It didn’t help matters that the other team’s third-base coach, who was a short, um, stocky fella (no offense to shorter, stocky fellas) sent the runners as far as they could go any time my son’s team overthrew the ball or dropped the ball or otherwise just weren’t ready to make a play.

Hence the scoring imbroglio.

Needless to say, one of my son’s coaches, who understands the concept of “station to station baseball” — when you’re scoring at will and you have a comfortable lead, as a coach you just send runners from base to base on each play — was questioning this shorter, stocky fella.

After the inning, our coach tried to explain his stance. (Keep in mind, this is a little league complex. From the stands you can hear when a kid dips into his Big League Chew.) A minute or so into the discussion, the shorter, stocky fella said how he’s just teaching his kids how to play baseball “the right way.” And then, as he walked back toward his team’s dugout, he delivered a sarcastic line I never would’ve expected.

“Hey, I’m sorry your kids can’t catch.”

What? “Sorry your kids can’t catch”?

Really, coach? “Sorry your kids can’t catch,” is the best you can come up with?

Oh, by the way, we’re not talking about high school players here. Or sixth grade. Or even third grade. No, we’re talking about first graders!

So, this rotund coach is sorry that my kid and his first-grade teammates can’t catch?

Sportsmanship — or lack thereof — rearing its head.

Of course, at that moment I became one of those parents, at least deep down. (Sportsmanship, huh.) So did everyone else around me who heard those words: “Sorry your kids can’t catch.” So did my son’s coaches. I believe our team scored the maximum seven runs in the inning. Seems, when pressured with runners running, the other team’s first graders weren’t the second coming of Frank White and Amos Otis, either.

After all, they are kids. Young ones just learning how to play the game. And, kids, who, through their coach’s words, are missing at an early age the message of people like Mallory Holtman and the NAIA’s “Champions of Character.”

It’s much better to embarrass the other team and talk smack. Long live showmanship! Just ask the short, stocky fella.

2011 and Royal shades of 1976

Watching games on Wednesday night (although I mainly watched the Royals since it was their season finale), and the incredible finish to the regular season, it reminded me of a season the Royals had a dramatic finish. Actually, it was 1976, 35 years ago today, that the Royals punched their ticket for the organization’s first trip to the postseason.

So, in honor of that, here is a reprint of an article that appeared in the Kansas City Royals’ Gameday magazine.

1976: Overcoming the A’s…Finally

In a championship season, especially in baseball, it’s usually difficult to point to one game as a turning point or the key contest. That’s not the case with the 1976 Royals.

Ask nearly any member of that club their memory of 1976 and, without hesitating, they’ll point to a late September game against the Oakland A’s.

“That game truly was a defining moment in Royals history,” says broadcaster Denny Matthews. “It’s probably second only to Game 3 of the 1985 playoffs in terms of importance in franchise history. If we don’t beat Oakland in that game, we probably don’t win the division.”

That game happened on Wednesday night, Sept. 29, in Oakland. The A’s had been dominant since, basically, leaving Kansas City. They’d won the Western Division, 1971-75. The Royals had been competitive for a few years, but they were young and still learning how to win.

“Oakland always beat us and they knew they could beat us,” said Royals Hall of Fame shortstop Fred Patek.

“We had a really good team in 1973, but Oakland slapped us down,” club Hall of Famer Amos Otis added of the ’73 team that won 88 games. “The A’s were such a dominant team that they slapped us down a few times.”

Most recently, in 1975, when the Royals finished with a then-club-record 91 wins, but finished second to Oakland.
1976, though, seemed to be different. The Royals grabbed their first lone lead in the division on May 19. They stretched it to as many as 12 games as late as Aug. 6, behind great pitching from Dennis Leonard, Al Fitzmorris, Doug Bird and Paul Splittorff, plus a tough lineup that included Otis, George Brett, John Mayberry, Hal McRae and Al Cowens.

But something happened. The Royals struggled mightily down the stretch. After a five-game winning streak in the middle of September, the club fell apart. Heading into the final road series, at Oakland, the Royals had lost four out of five. Then, they dropped the first two against the A’s.

Suddenly, that 12-game lead in the division was down to 2 1/2 with four remaining.

So, on Wednesday, Sept. 29, manager Whitey Herzog pulled a couple rabbits out of his cap. He started pitcher Larry Gura and back-up catcher John Wathan. He also started Otis in centerfield. Otis, who had been beaned in the head two weeks earlier by Oakland pitcher Stan Bahnsen, was benched for those first two games.

Along with a four-hitter by Gura, Otis had an RBI double and a two-run home run as the Royals won 4-0.

“I was fortunate, as always, that the pitcher hit my bat with the ball and it went all the way out of the ballpark,” Otis said, laughing, of the home run.

The win clinched at least a tie with the A’s for the division title. They went on to earn the championship outright a couple nights later.

“Even though Oakland was our major nemesis, once we got the lead and were going into Oakland,” said Leonard, “we didn’t think we’d get swept, but we didn’t think we’d win only one, either. Luckily, Gura pitched one heck of a game.”

Getting past rival Oakland helped start a new rivalry with the New York Yankees, which began during that postseason. In the best-of-five American League playoffs, the Yankees beat the Royals in a heartbreaking fifth game, when Chris Chambliss hit a walk-off home run over the outstretched glove of Hal McRae.

“There was a sense of relief getting to the playoffs, but as the series went on, and we were tied two games to two, we felt we could win it,” Leonard said. “Of course that came to a crashing halt with Chambliss. But, playing in that series, and playing even with the Yankees with the exception of that one pitch, fueled our fire going into ‘77.”

In spite of the disappointing loss to the Yankees, the 1976 season set the Royals on a decade-long stretch of championship baseball. From 1976-85, the Royals won the Western Division six times and made two trips to the World Series, including the championship over St. Louis in 1985.
And, in many ways, it all started with that one September game against Oakland in 1976.

“Winning that game and the division,” Patek says, “was the big thing that gave us confidence the next year and following. After that, we felt that when we walked in the clubhouse, we couldn’t be beat.”

If, for whatever reason, you want to follow Matt on the Twitter, you can: @MattFulks. Or, feel free to visit his website, www.MattFulks.com. There’s even a “Matt Fulks – Author” page on Facebook that Matt actually didn’t start. And, even more amazing, it has 4 fans!

“7 Questions” with Nick Lowery

In case you missed it, yesterday was the 18th anniversary (yes, I like bizarre dates) of a big win in Chiefs’ history. On September 20, 1993, on Monday Night Football, the Chiefs defeated the Denver Broncos, 15-7. All 15 points for the Chiefs were scored by one man, Hall of Fame kicker Nick Lowery. During that game, Lowery hit three field goals of better than 40 yards, including a 52-yarder in the second quarter.

So, that made me think now might be a good time to post this “7 Questions” segment that Dave Stewart and I did for SportsRadioKC.com a couple days before Lowery was inducted into the Chiefs Hall of Fame in 2009.

 Behind the Stats: My hero growing up was…

 Nick Lowery: Well, it was also Mickey Mantle, but I need to say Sandy Koufax. He was a player known for what he did on the field, but then he sat out a game of the World Series because of Yom Kippur, and then he walked away from the game in his prime. It’s hard to give it up. He had such class. I was a pitcher in college, too, so I had a great admiration for what he was able to do.

BtS: If not for football, I would have been a/an…

NL: I had a job in the Senate Commerce Committee when I signed with the Chiefs, so I probably would’ve continued there and who knows where that would’ve led.

BtS: My greatest day in football was…

NL: Certainly my first few field goals in the NFL with the Chiefs. My last game in Arrowhead against Pittsburgh, and hitting the game-winning field goal as I turned around and saw nearly 80,000 people in red going nuts — that was pretty cool. But, most importantly, it was being part of a winning organization.

BtS: My favorite vacation spot is…

NL: Hotel San Pietro off theAmalfiCoast inPositano,Italy. It is the most romantic spot in the world. Of course,Hawaii isn’t too bad, either.

BtS: My favorite music or musician is…

NL: We’re talking about some old stuff here, but I’ll say the Beatles. I read a book talking about their 10,000 perfect hours. It brought it back home for me just how special the Beatles were. And speaking of history, I think the kids today can learn a lot by listening to how amazingly complex and diverse the Beatles were — their harmonies, their production values, how they played together. 

BtS: My favorite food is…

NL: The first thing that comes to mind is my favorite restaurant, which is the Plaza III here. It’s awesome. But my favorite food is something I fix when I’m going to spoil friends. It’s a swordfish with Cajun seasoning. Swordfish, when it’s fresh and done right with a little Cajun edge to it, is fantastic.

BtS: You’ve met some incredible people during your lifetime, so this may or may not be difficult, but the one person in history I’d love to meet is…

NL: Jesus Christ, for sure. I want to see the real person, divorced from all of the stuff we’ve heard. To me, he’s somebody who embodied love beyond all of the rules and regulations that we’re told are important in the Christian faith is ultimately the grace and love that he affected everyone with. After Jesus Christ I’d say Winston Churchill because, to me, he is one of the greatest, most inspiring people in the way he used the English language. If he hadn’t been the leader inEngland at the end of World War II, we might very well be speaking German today.

By the way, I’m relatively new to this blogging thing. I’ll try to post what are, basically, columns, feature articles, reprints of previously published material (mine, of course), and so on. It might take some time, but just hang with me. Remember, you can find out more at my website, MattFulks.com.