Players Love the Game

I’ve had a long relationship with the Newport Folk and Jazz Festivals, having worked both for and with them for many years. This year, I leveraged that relationship to wangle an invite to participate as the third base coach in the second edition of the Newport Folk All-Star Game, held at Cardines Field, the local semi-pro ballpark there in downtown Newport. Featuring artists from the festival, the game raises money for the Newport Festivals Foundation’s music education programs, a very worthy cause. Learn more and/or donate here.

In my pitch to Jay Sweet, the festival’s executive director and organizer of the game, I did explain that I was eminently qualified for the position having played for the last 25 years or so in a weekly pickup softball game in Silver Spring, MD with the punk rockers of DC, a coed game officially registered with Montgomery County Parks and Recreation as ASSBOIL (Association of Silver Spring Ball Oriented Indie Leaguers). As a longtime player and fan, I knew to drift out to the third base coaching box when I wasn’t due up at the plate for a while. And like several of the Newport Folk artists, some of our players really need the coaching. A lot of bases get overrun and the nuances of a force play or tagging up are sometimes lost on our players, many of whom more likely spent their hours at school in the band room far away from a ballfield. Also, at my advanced age, I look more like a baseball coach than player. (That’s me in the background of the above photo.)

I showed up early to the game at Cardines Field, toting my bucket of balls which I had been using to work on my slow-pitch chops, in an effort to extend my career in the Silver Spring game, what with my increasingly creaky knees. The only other people showing up that early were a video crew and Bill “Spaceman” Lee, the pitcher for one of the teams and a legend, at least in my eyes. Bill and I immediately connected which I’m guessing had mostly to do with our similar ages and hair color. While we were waiting for the “players” to show up, we got into all sorts of baseball and music discussion.

Honestly, it wasn’t hard to get Bill Lee talking about baseball, music, politics or just about anything. He readily declared himself a socialist and a Marxist. “I don’t even have a driver’s license,” he proudly claimed. I asked him about the famous Warren Zevon tune written about him, and Bill told me that in fact he, not Warren, wrote those words. He then recited the lyrics. “You’re supposed to sit on your ass and nod at stupid things, man that’s hard to do.” Wait, what? I then told him, “Well, Bill, you could have written another verse or two because the song clocked in at way under two minutes.” He laughed. From then on, it was open sailing, conversation wise.

I also asked him about Jane Leavey’s recent book Make Me Commissioner and he just raved about Jane and the book and was so proud that he had a starring role in her discussion about how baseball could and should be more fun. He told me that he loved playing with the Savannah Bananas and he even wore their pants during this game. That same spirit of fun was certainly present in this game.

I told Bill that I was at last year’s game and was amazed when he came up to bat and hit a towering home run over the right field fence. But then I realized he was probably one of the last pitchers to bat in MLB with the designated hitter instituted in both leagues. He said that he was proud of his hitting and that in one of his last years as a player, he led the Montreal Expos in both ERA and batting average. I said, “Wait, over Andre Dawson?” Bill said, “Oh yea, and Andre wasn’t happy about it.” He said that the Expos released him after that summer simply because he was the union rep during that time when players fought with ownership over pay and benefits.

Our “relationship” continued during the game. For one, I heckled him as we do freely in our ASSBOIL game back in Maryland, telling Bill that his ERA was in the low double figures (he gave up 16 runs in about five innings). And that he shouldn’t throw too hard, lest he have yet another heart attack. He countered that most of the runs were unearned and that he had a new pacemaker. At another point between innings, he started yelling out Cuban cities to me, a clear reference to my Cuba baseball jersey and Industriales cap. Bill then explained that he spent many years playing ball there and I told him about my experiences promoting jazz trips to Cuba. We talked about the horrible economic situation in that magical country. As a guy who not only played in Canada but also lived just across the border from our Northern friends, Bill had hopes that Canada would somehow intervene to save that treasured island. Now, it seems that Canada has challenges of its own with the US.

What was odd about all my interaction with Bill is that he really didn’t connect with the artists playing on his team or the other. I think it was in part because of the age difference. And so it was likely that few of the players knew who he was. Also, it had to be tough for a lifetime ballplayer like him to watch some of the artists field balls like they were swatting flies. Real flies, not balls in the air.

I, on the other hand, did connect with the players, despite our age difference. At the ripe old age of 72, I was old enough to be a grandparent for several of them. As the artists arrived at the stadium, I encouraged them to start throwing, which they all appreciated. I didn’t offer a ton of instruction, other than for some of them to use more than their arms to throw. Chris Wallace, a charismatic gospel singer who performs as Brother Wallace, was particularly grateful for the input, as was the singer-songwriter Leif Vollebekk. I got to see each of them perform later that weekend and was really knocked out by their talents on the stage, if not as much on the field.

I also threw a little with John Stirratt, the Wilco bassist who was performing at the festival in a band fronted by actor Michael Shannon performing the music of R.E.M. John was a little worried about playing because he had a torn rotator cuff, which made throwing the ball difficult (but which he said somehow did not affect his bass playing). I told him to make sure they put him at first base and to simply throw the ball underhanded when needed. Thankfully, he made it through the game without further injury and fielded his position well.

The two teams were managed by singer-songwriter Joy Oladokun and John McCauley of Deer Tick, who had decidedly different approaches to the job. Joy was all over the lineup planning, diligently checking her players’ names, numbers and capabilities. In a pre-game interview with the video crew, Joy said that she picked the lineup by what pants her players wore. The more their pants looked like they were ready to play, she explained, the higher they went in the batting order. Interestingly, Matt the Electrician from Austin was the only one who showed up wearing baseball pants, which when you really think about it is a very specific and even weird choice of apparel. But MtE, as was written on the back of his jersey, proved to be a very good player and Joy smartly positioned him at shortstop. Matt was likely the third oldest guy on the field after Bill and me, and he represented us baby-boomers quite well.

Opposing managers, Joy Oladokun and John McCauley

In contrast, Joy’s opposing manager John, had a much more laissez faire approach to coaching his team. As he told the on-the-field announcer, he coached his team like he leads his band: By picking the best people and letting them be. Unfortunately, the results didn’t reflect well on his managerial style because his Team McCauley lost 16-4. To be fair, Team Oladokun had several players who could really hit, field and throw (anyone can run). As my friend Ian and I like to declare halfway through a one-sided game back in Silver Spring, “Who picked these teams?” We can’t blame Jay or his staff. How could they know which artists could play well or not? Bats and gloves are unlikely to show up on any artist’s rider.

Remi Wolf and Courtney Barnett

Now we know. The guys from the band Flipturn were especially outstanding and one of them, like Bill Lee last year, hit a ball out of the park for a legitimate home run. And Matt from the Philadelphia-based band Mt. Joy also kicked ass. Aussie Courtney Barnett certainly had game and not just because she wore gym shorts. The lefty could indeed hit, field and throw. I didn’t know they played baseball in Australia. Okay, I just googled it and apparently they’ve been playing the game in organized fashion for more than a century. The national team is called Southern Thunder, which is an excellent name for a team in any sport. And several Aussies have made it to MLB. Good on you, Courtney and your country.

Most of the players were able to hit the ball readily, which impressed me. I guess the hand-eye and motor coordination required to play an instrument transfers somewhat to swinging a bat at a moving ball. And it was slow-pitch and a softball is pretty large. Last year, Big Freedia, despite looking like one of the most athletic players on the field (twerking must help), really struggled to make contact and was given at least a dozen strikes before being retired. Getting the Big Freedia award this year was Louis Cato, who likewise is in great shape. But being able to both play multiple instruments and sing didn’t translate to an effective hitting stroke and Louis had to be given more than a few bonus strikes before slashing a grounder to third and beating out the throw to first. He ran much better than he hit.

Louis Cato, celebrating his hit

Later, I jokingly told Louis, whom I first met years ago when he was the drummer in Marcus Miller’s band, that I was going to share with his former bandleader a video of him at bat. He laughed and said that Marcus would never let him forget that. Truthfully, I don’t know that Marcus would have done any better. I didn’t share it.

But again, for people who hadn’t played the sport, either in a long time or ever, the players acquitted themselves quite well. Most importantly, everybody had a great time. And, as far as I know, no one got hurt. When I go off on Tuesday evening to my weekly game, my wife Irene always says, “Have a good time…AND DON’T GET HURT!” For artists who were about to perform in front of thousands of fans during the next few days, that admonition was no small matter.

Jay and his staff worked hard to provide many details that make a baseball game special. Last year, actor (and musician) John C. Reilly, who has been a warm and ubiquitous presence at the festival in recent years, was the play-by-play announcer on the field and did a great job. This year, Jordan Klepper of The Daily Show handled those duties and likewise kept the crowd entertained with his droll quips and somehow managed to keep track of all the players’ names.

The national anthem was played by Jeff Dazey, saxophonist for Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats, as well as other soulful groups. His robust tenor playing reminded me of Sonny Rollins and after the game I mentioned that to him and we then talked about the tenor titan who was in fact an influence on him. Jeff said that Sonny’s Way Out West album was one of his all-time favorites and that he even has that album cover on a wall in his home. This old jazz guy got some indie cred by telling him of my friendship with Sonny, as well as the backstory of that album and photo shoot.

Yet another faithful homage to the national pastime was the communal singing of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” led mid-game by McCauley who introduced the song with a firm reminder to the crowd that Cracker Jack is singular, not plural. Geoff Mayfield and my friends in the Baseball Buddies group would have been proud. Another maxim from Geoff and that gang is “Give the ball to a kid,” anytime a ball goes into the crowd. But no balls went into the crowd. Just some Newport Folk t-shirts shot (and sometimes thrown) into the stands by Jay himself.

Brother Wallace, acknowledging the crowd

Two of my fellow workers at the festival – Steven and Kai – were at the game and were very jealous of my involvement as a coach. Steven, who is a professional referee, albeit for track and field, suggested that an ump was needed in the field, but he just didn’t see the one that was there, maybe because the ump was in street clothing rather than the usual black suit or maybe because he had an understandably light hand on the calls. Kai, who is in his 20s, actually plays organized baseball on that field in an adult hardball league. Both of the guys asked me to put in a good word with Jay and the softball powers that be for next year. Truthfully, there was room for another third base coach because I was coaching both teams, which is a little unusual. And the first base coaches were often distracted by personnel and logistic issues. So there may be a few open slots.

I loved the whole experience. For my part, just being out on a baseball field with creative and fun people on a warm and sunny evening was all the reward I needed. So, sorry Steven and Kai, I first have to hope that I’m invited back next year. I told Jay that I’d even be willing to bring a player or two from our game in Maryland. No, it won’t be Eddie Vedder, who did make a guest appearance one year (he too could really play). Or H.R. from Bad Brains, who has been an appreciative spectator from time to time, but not a player. Jay’s hoping it will be Ian, or as we call him, No. 2, a solid ballplayer who also has a combo called the Evens. Get to work on our jerseys. I prefer the number 15, like my childhood hero, Dick Allen.

The ‘Mergner He Wrote’ logo is by Nan Parati, the Queen of Music Festival Signs, including those at the Newport Folk and Jazz Festivals. For a custom sign of your own, contact her at Nan@nanparati.com