Induction Day: Santo, Hodges Passed Over Again
Every year this ritual brings tears of joy for those embraced by the gods, and sighs of resignation for the lame, the forgotten and the suspiciously anabolic. It is hard to argue with the Veterans' choice of 1984 World Series winner Van Halen, despite the team's history of internal rivalry and quasi-legal roster changes. Grandmaster Flash? First ballot. No question--if only for the signature pre-game back flips that always brought a smile to youngsters whose dads brought them early to catch BP.
And the case can be made for REM; while never quite as popular as Jesus, their output has spawned at least two generations of myopic textual interpreters, keeping the holy and arcane (read: unreadable) "writ" in creative writing classes for a quarter of a century. Not everyone's coup d'etat, but--whatever.
In this day of slipping standards and sayers of the unsooth, however, someone must draw a line in the sand, between workmanship and art, between service and transcendence. After two promising AA seasons in the Downstairs Grubby Bar League, Patti Smith exploded in the majors like a flashbulb, with "Horses"--exactly like a flashbulb. This self-styled Field Marshall brought passion and pizazz to the position of short-stop, briefly reminding fans of Ozzie ( the "other" Smith) in his prime: the wheeling guitar solos, the burnout vocal intros, and especially the mane of unkempt hair.
But the keyword is "briefly," for unlike Oz, this wizard could not control her magic and wound up raising two sons in Michigan. An uncredited AP story speculates that voters, confused by the name, thought they were lauding the waif-like "Warrior" (that's Patty Smyth, two Why?s), who will in fact be inducted next year.
How soon we forget the golden age, and the golden ageless: Ron Santo (known backstage as The Saint, for reasons best unrehearsed in a family blog) not merely carrying his lunch pail to work every day, but flipping the switch to Genius when the spotlight shone upon him. How many of us spent our childhood summers playing "Innagaddavida" over and over and over again, just to savor his magisterial nine-minute drum solo? And carried the secret knowledge into adulthood . . . that like the humble Hodges, he knew that greatness always stands on the shoulders of others. Contrary to playground rumor, the song had nothing to do with Eden's garden at all. Rather, it was Santo's and his mates' tribute to the legendary pitcher Vida Blue.
Blue got elected to the Hall, rightly and properly. But let's not make it the Hall of Blues. Think before you vote!
And the case can be made for REM; while never quite as popular as Jesus, their output has spawned at least two generations of myopic textual interpreters, keeping the holy and arcane (read: unreadable) "writ" in creative writing classes for a quarter of a century. Not everyone's coup d'etat, but--whatever.
In this day of slipping standards and sayers of the unsooth, however, someone must draw a line in the sand, between workmanship and art, between service and transcendence. After two promising AA seasons in the Downstairs Grubby Bar League, Patti Smith exploded in the majors like a flashbulb, with "Horses"--exactly like a flashbulb. This self-styled Field Marshall brought passion and pizazz to the position of short-stop, briefly reminding fans of Ozzie ( the "other" Smith) in his prime: the wheeling guitar solos, the burnout vocal intros, and especially the mane of unkempt hair.
But the keyword is "briefly," for unlike Oz, this wizard could not control her magic and wound up raising two sons in Michigan. An uncredited AP story speculates that voters, confused by the name, thought they were lauding the waif-like "Warrior" (that's Patty Smyth, two Why?s), who will in fact be inducted next year.
How soon we forget the golden age, and the golden ageless: Ron Santo (known backstage as The Saint, for reasons best unrehearsed in a family blog) not merely carrying his lunch pail to work every day, but flipping the switch to Genius when the spotlight shone upon him. How many of us spent our childhood summers playing "Innagaddavida" over and over and over again, just to savor his magisterial nine-minute drum solo? And carried the secret knowledge into adulthood . . . that like the humble Hodges, he knew that greatness always stands on the shoulders of others. Contrary to playground rumor, the song had nothing to do with Eden's garden at all. Rather, it was Santo's and his mates' tribute to the legendary pitcher Vida Blue.
Blue got elected to the Hall, rightly and properly. But let's not make it the Hall of Blues. Think before you vote!
posted by MM at 5:55 AM
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