Remember the days when athletes actually signed autographs?
 Bob Beamon (not me) |
When I was 10, I won the broad jump at a city event and Olympic gold medalist and world record long jump holder Bob Beamon gave me his autograph (his jump of 29 feet, 2 1/2 inches, bested mine by measly 24 feet). It was my most cherished possession for years... though I have since lost both the autograph and the athletic ability.
In 1978, Lou Whitaker and Rusty Staub both signed my Tiger game program in Detroit. Even ex-con stolen base leader Ron LeFlore (jailed for stealing something other than bases, I'm sure) gladly added his signature.
But those days are long gone. Today athletes' signatures are a commodity sold in sports shops or as an endorsement on magazine ads. They aren't for kids at a ballpark.
You could see it all change during the eighties.
My writing partner's nephew, Mark, was dying of leukemia, and he went to a special "Meet the Players" day at Angel Stadium in Anaheim, California. Mark was too weak to leave the stands. Reggie Jackson was asked to come over and take a picture with Mark. But Mr. October, surrounded by autograph-hungry kids on the field, said it was too far to walk. (It's a lot harder for a kid dying from a blood disease to walk, you ass.) Happily, there were still a few old-school players at the event: Doug DeCinces sprinted over and proved to everyone why he deserved to be a hero to school kids like Mark. (He even visited Mark in the hospital.)
These days, athletes sign more court documents than they do autograph books. They make thousands of dollars doing it at card shows and for product endorsement appearances, but they never do it for free.
It's not just today's athletes that are bad about signing autographs. The money has gotten too good for them to give their signatures away for free.
 "Fifty bucks, please." |
A few years ago, my father and I attended an autograph signing at the Major League All Star game in San Diego, California.
Baseball Hall of Fame legend Bob Feller, by almost all accounts an extremely unlikable man, was signing autographs for a line of hundreds of people.
A young boy and his father approached his table. The boy handed Feller an All Star program. Feller signed it. The child then offered up an old baseball card. But Feller shook his head. The father interjected, then Feller yelled. The boy started to cry. Feller still refused. A heated shouting match ensued that nearly came to blows. Outraged, the father took the program and card, ripped them up, threw them at Feller, grabbed his son's hand and stormed out of the room.
Feller slowly got up and walked over to my father. He pointed over my father's head, where a sign said: "ONLY ONE ITEM PER PERSON WILL BE AUTOGRAPHED."
"Some kids can't read," said an angry Feller, looking straight at my dad. Satisfied that he had made his point, he turned away and walked back to his seat.
My father turned to me and, with all the mock pride he could muster, said: "How about that? I just talked education with Bob Feller!"
But you know what? I stayed in line for Feller's autograph. Still have it! Sure, I contemplated drawing devil horns and a tail on his photo and then handing it to him to autograph, but I didn't. I'm still that geeky kid at heart that forgives athletes for all their failings.
Unless you're talking about Mr. October. Screw him--it's too long a walk.
8/25/2000
The Most Unhappy Feller
