We spent about nine hours in the HOF yesterday, soaking up baseball lore. We were overwhelmed with the vast amount of history before our eyes. Many names here were familiar to me, through what I'd read or heard about as a boy, and what I saw firsthand growing up. There they were, the greatest of the great- Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Ty Cobb, Cy Young, Joe Dimaggio, Sandy Koufax, Dizzy Dean, Jackie Robinson, Roger Maris, and my boyhood idol, Mickey Mantle.
These men were larger than life to me as a kid. More than superstars, they embodied everything I understood as the best of baseball. I wanted to be like them- heck, we all did- so I patterned myself after them, mimicking Mantle's batting stance, trying to field like Brooks Robinson and be as tough-nosed as Yogi Berra. Never mind that I couldn't hit like Mantle, field like Robinson, or be as resilient as Berra. To try to be like them was enough.
Another aspect that rang out as we wandered room to room was the vast number of men and women whose names we didn't know. Names unfamiliar to most, yet their stories were chronicled alongside the more prominent players of the game. Often their stories were parts of accounts I had never read. Stories like the place of women's teams and leagues formed as early as the 1800s. Or the development and struggle of segregated black and Caribbean leagues along the east coast from the 1870s. Although they were every bit as talented as white players and teams, they would not begin to find a place in the Major Leaues until Jackie Robinson's courageous career with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947.
I have some more thoughts about how my experience reminded me of another Hall of Fame, but I'll save that for tomorrow. RIght now, a few pictures of our experience:
At the HOF entrance
Minnie Minoso eyeing Josh's beard
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