As a fan of the Mets since the early to mid-2000s, I have long known the name Gary Carter, though I must admit that I knew relatively little about him until recently. I knew that he was a member of the World Series champion 1986 Mets, that he was a catcher, and that he wore the number eight. Thus, I was unable to feel his loss several years ago nearly as profoundly as those who had grown up watching him, those who were able to see him as an individual apart from the epic group that has defined Mets fandom for three decades.


For me, the recently released SNY documentary “Kid: A Gary Carter Story” served as a well-paced, efficient, and balanced introduction to Carter as both a Met and a father. Through interviews with a range of individuals, the film juxtaposes highlights of his life as a New York ballplayer with excerpts from a blog kept to document his battle with brain cancer. The former is assembled through the words of people such as former teammates (like Keith Hernandez, Ron Darling, and Mookie Wilson), Mets broadcasters (like Howie Rose and Gary Cohen), and journalists. The latter is narrated by one of Carter’s daughters and supplemented with interview footage with each of his three children.


While it would have been simple either to depict Carter in a heroic light or to play up the drama that existed in his life off-camera, “Kid” manages to blend elements of each with thoughtful commentary throughout. It was plain to see that his children deeply loved and appreciated him, and it was equally true that his former teammates had more complicated perceptions of him. Memories of the excitement his presence caused after being traded from the Expos (Darling remembers a palpable difference during spring training) are juxtaposed with less-complimentary anecdotes (Hernandez recalls he was known as “Camera Carter” for his on-screen personality and love of the spotlight).


Ultimately, this documentary was aptly titled as “A Gary Carter Story” because it is far from a complete picture of him as either a player or a man. However, in choosing to narrow its focus, it succeeds in highlighting and humanizing Carter. For any Mets fan too young to truly remember him — or old enough to mourn his passing — watching “Kid” should be an hour well-spent.

A couple days ago marked the 48th anniversary of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline," released as a single in 1969. I happened to be thinking about the song this morning as I awoke, wondering why there is a connection between the song and the Boston Red Sox. I theorized that perhaps Diamond was from Boston, but that's not true: ironically, he was born in Brooklyn. My other best guess was that it started as someone's walk-up music, but to the best of my knowledge after researching, it was not.

It turns out I was wrong about a number of points, including when it is played. For whatever reason, I seemed to remember that it was the soundtrack of the seventh inning stretch, but again, this is not so: it is played during the eighth inning of all Red Sox home games.

It also turns out that I'm not the only one with misconceptions about the song's use. Indeed, there is an apocryphal tale about former public address announcer Ed Brickley arranging for the song to be played on the occasion of the birth of a Fenway Park employee's daughter -- she was named, of course, Caroline ("Good Times...).

The writer for a Winston-Salem Journal column suggested the connection between Neil's last name and the shape of a baseball infield, which is a sharp observation that I didn't consider but, alas, also unrelated ("Ask SAM...").

Both the Journal and the Boston's Pastime articles point to Amy Tobey, the Red Sox employee who heard "Sweet Caroline" used at other sporting events and decided to roll it out during the later innings of games at Fenway starting around the turn of the millennium -- initially, when they were winning and, eventually, as a sort of fan-favorite good luck charm. The Boston's Pastime website adds the interesting note that Megan Kaiser, another Red Sox employee, more recently added the variation that the music be dropped during the parts that fans sing along to, such as the "so good, so good, so good" echo.

All in all, it seems the connection between "Sweet Caroline" and the Red Sox serves as a reminder that baseball fans enjoy their traditions and enjoy winning. Regardless of the score, I imagine that being at Fenway and singing along to this Neil Diamond classic as the home half of the eighth inning approaches conjures a sense that victory is possible, or at least the memory of victories of the past during which this same song was sung.

(I recommend the aforementioned articles -- linked below -- for anyone interested in concise takes on the topic, and for anyone looking for more, I came across an NPR piece from a 2005 episode of Morning Edition, also linked below.)


SOURCES:
- "Ask SAM: The origin of 'Sweet Caroline' at Red Sox Games." Winston-Salem Journal. Posted: April 20, 2013. Available: http://www.journalnow.com/news/ask_sam/ask-sam-the-origin-of-sweet-caroline-at-red-sox/article_9c8b8c56-a93f-11e2-9b23-0019bb30f31a.html.
- "Good Times Never Seemed So Good For Red Sox Fans." Boston's Pastime. Updated: February 24, 2008. Available: http://www.bostonspastime.com/sweetcaroline.html.
- Orlean, Susan. "The Mystery of 'Sweet Caroline' and the Sox." Morning Edition. NPR.com. Posted: September 30, 2005. Available: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4930465.
- "Neil Diamond" & "Sweet Caroline." Wikipedia. Available: www.wikipedia.org.

Having grown up in a family where sports played no significant part in our daily lives, I have for several years now been working to fill in the gaps of my historical and cinematic baseball education. For the most part, I find the history of baseball fascinating, but baseball films seem to me to be hit and miss. In some cases, the "misses" are poorly made, contain a flaw in some element of casting or production, etc. In others -- perhaps in more than I realize -- the passage of time has rendered them opaque. To a degree, that is a statement on the films themselves though it is also a mark on me and my inability to see through a slower pace, less advanced visual effects, and other features to recognize what makes them truly excellent.

This being established, I came across Major League on Amazon Prime several months ago and decided to give it a try. Expecting a cheesy eighties flick chock full of young stars whose fame extended far beyond this movie, I was pleasantly surprised to find much, much more than I could have predicted.

For one, this film presents the world of baseball in a manner that is equal parts cheeky and respectful. Each scene, even the serious ones, contains some nugget of slapstick or sarcasm, and yet the film is fastidious in its representation of the look, sounds, and feel of major league baseball. From the locker room to the field to the fans to the booth, there is a sense that viewers are being treated to a little bit of all parts of the game.

Of course, Major League is hardly a documentary, but it succeeds in selling the viewer on the premise that every character on the team loves the game and thereby invites those of us who also love baseball to invest in this story. This characterization begins early in spring training as each player has his own approach to preparing for the possibility of the dreaded "red tag," a crimson mark placed in your locker if you're being sent to the minors. (Watching the Netflix documentary The Battered Bastards of Baseball (2014) a short time after this, it was difficult not to have this entire spring training sequence from Major League close in mind.)

Incredibly, the pacing and humor of Major League translate smoothly nearly thirty years on, most likely due in large part to the outstanding casting: Tom Berenger seeks one final playoff run in the majors as protagonist Jake Taylor; Wesley Snipes is electric as Willie Mays Hayes (and whose physicality plays for both humor and athleticism); Charlie Sheen becomes a hard-throwing local celebrity known as "Wild Thing" Vaughn; Dennis Haysbert strikes a balance between enigmatic and endearing as Cerrano; Corbin Bernsen is Dorn, a flawed but vital corner infielder; James Gammon is the quintessential no-nonsense baseball manager Lou Brown; and real-life Brewers broadcaster Bob Uecker as fictional Cleveland Indians announcer Harry Doyle is the voice of the team as well as the film. Are these characters all well-developed, fully fleshed-out individuals? Well, no. There are certainly archetypal structures throughout, but they never seem to matter. If you don't find yourself rooting for these players and this team as they make a run at 32 wins down the stretch, then perhaps you've never endured a losing season with your favorite team and reveled in the minor victories or indulged in an irrational hope that they could -- contrary to all sense -- go all the way.

CALL ON THE FIELD: Major League is a leadoff homer, still filled with punch and vivacity several decades after it was first released in theaters. Grab some popcorn, kick back, and enjoy the laughs.

While commuting to and from work, one of my favorite albums to listen to, particularly when I'm in a baseball state of mind, is the Baseball Project's Volume 2: High and Inside.  The band is comprised of one half of R.E.M. (Peter Buck and Mike Mills), Scott McCaughey (who has done great work with R.E.M. both live and in the studio), Steve Wynn, and Linda Pitmon.  Their topics range from recent to historical, and they bring a serious interest in baseball, as well as a great sense of humor and clever song construction, to their work.

I also realized recently that there are not one or even two but three additional albums by this band for me to discover.  What I'm waiting for, I have no idea.  

To get to the point, one of my favorite details on the album comes from the second track, titled "Panda and the Freak."  It is both a fun song about the signature talents of the then-San Francisco Giants' Pablo Sandoval and Tim Lincecum, and a tip-of-the-hat to some of baseball's more memorable nicknames.  The moniker that immediately stood out on first listen for me was "Death to Flying Things," referred to in the song as "the greatest nickname of all time."  At one point, I wondered if this was a reference to Randy Johnson for his pitch that an unfortunate bird happened to fly into, but this was not the case.

In fact, I realized recently that there are not one or even two but three total baseball players who have worked under this nickname.

Jack Chapman is the oldest player to earn this nickname; he played baseball from 1874-1876 before managing from 1876-1892.  According to Wikipedia, he played on three teams and managed six, overlapping as a player-manager for the Louisville Grays.  In his fascinating Baseball History Daily article, Thom Karmik digs deeper into the career, mindset, and post-majors career of Chapman, even sharing Chapman's (brief) statement regarding the four men on his 1877 Louisville Grays team who were involved in the first major league baseball gambling scandal, long before the infamous 1919 Chicago "Black Sox" scandal.  

Bob Ferguson, though about two years younger, also earned this nickname (before Chapman?), and given the greater length of his career (1871-1884 as a player, 1871-1887 as a manager) and number of accomplishments listed in his Wikipedia entry, it would appear Ferguson is the more memorable "Death to Flying Things."  Citing BaseballLibrary.com (which no longer appears to be available), the origin for Ferguson's nickname is explained based on his excellence in fielding his position.  Indeed, in an article for MentalFloss.com on baseball nicknames, Ethan Trex lists this nickname as "Death to Flying Things Ferguson," noting his "unprecedented prowess as a fielder."  His Wikipedia entry also recognizes Ferguson as the first player to work as a switch-hitter (batting from both sides), citing The Complete Armchair Book of Baseball.  Thus, Ferguson was not only famous for his fielding but also a notable innovator at the plate!

Although the Baseball Project was most likely referring to Bob Ferguson​ when singing about "Death to Flying Things," there is one final -- and much more recent -- man who has been referred to by this nickname.  He is Franklin Gutierrez, who began his major league career with the Cleveland Indians (2005-2008) and has since played for the Seattle Mariners (2009-2013, 2015-2016).  Longtime play-by-play announcer for the Mariners Dave Niehaus bestowed this honor upon Gutierrez following an excellent play.  Although I could not find the video replay of this catch that gave Gutierrez a nickname linked to baseball history, I can only imagine it must have been a beautiful sight to behold... unless, of course, you were rooting for the other team.


SOURCES:
- Baseball Project. Volume 2: High and Inside. 2011. 
- "Death to Flying Things," "Jack Chapman," "Bob Ferguson," "Franklin Gutierrez." Wikipedia.org.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_to_Flying_Things
- Karmik, Thom. "Death to Flying Things." Baseball History Daily. April 3, 2013.  https://baseballhistorydaily.com/2013/04/03/death-to-flying-things/ 
- Trex, Ethan. "From Hippo Vaughn to Shoeless Joe Jackson: The Origins of 17 Classic Baseball Nicknames." Mental Floss. http://mentalfloss.com/article/25762/hippo-vaughn-shoeless-joe-jackson-origins-17-classic-baseball-nicknames