Good morning!
A few summers ago in Oakland, a young college biology teacher named Brad Balukjian set out to find 14 players that were inside a pack of 1986 Topps baseball cards.
He could’ve dressed up the narrative by claiming he’d found the pack in his parents’ attic or at a tag sale, but owned up to ordering them online. As a sendoff he put the 30-year-old slab of bubble gum in his mouth and “a thousand crumbs dissolved on my tongue, delightfully gross.”
Balukjian hit the road in 2015 and the resulting book is titled “The Wax Pack: On the Open Road in Search of Baseball’s Afterlife” (University of Nebraska Press; $27.95). The colorful dust jacket is made from the same wax paper that Topps used to package its cards, bubblegum not included.
A native Rhode Islander, Balukjian is an adjunct professor at Merritt College and when he’s not teaching he’s watching the A’s. “The Oakland Coliseum is my church and the upper deck my pew.”
Being an unknown in the writing business, he had to work part-time for five years to raise enough cash to afford the journey. He drove a 2002 Honda Accord, stayed in cheap hotels, ate Big Macs and listened to Whitesnake CDs.
Other than being blown off by Doc Gooden, Carlton Fisk, Gary Pettis and Vince Coleman, the mission was a success. In California he watched former Blue Jays infielder Rance Mulliniks give hitting lessons for $70 an hour and in Arkansas he heard Gini Cocanower tell how the Milwaukee Brewers made her husband Jaime go to a hypnotist to cure his wildness. “We wanted them all to die,” she says, “slowly and painfully.”
Steve Yeager and Garry Templeton both quit drinking after they retired. Yeager played for the Dodgers, posed for Playgirl and was Charlie Sheen’s pitching coach in Major League. Now he owns a Jersey Mike’s sub shop and drinks Starbucks coffee. “I’m 66 years old,” he says. “I don’t do a whole lot of anything.”
Templeton remembered St. Louis manager Whitey Herzog ignoring the fans’ racial insults from behind the dugout. “Whitey stabbed me in the f****** back,” he says. He was traded to San Diego for Hall of Fame shortstop Ozzie Smith, but finds the racism as bad in SoCal as it was back home in Texas where “you didn’t cross them railroad tracks unless you had permission.”
Balukjian grew up outside Providence and got straight A’s in school. He thought of himself as a nerd and developed hyperscrupulosity, a common form of OCD. His favorite player was Dan Carman, a lanky left-hander for the Phils who had a career record of 53-54.
“I was drawn to players who resonated with my quirky personality,” he explains. “I felt an intrinsic kinship with Don — a cerebral type in a world of jocks.”
Tired of answering the same questions, Carman once posted 37 answers on his locker for reporters to use when they came looking for quotes. Take your pick, he’d tell them.
Balukjian found Carman in upscale Naples, Fl., where he’s a sports psychologist. Learning psychology, says Carman, helped him understand his own behavior. “My intensity came out of fear of not making it, fear of having to go back to Oklahoma, which was the biggest fear of my life. I hated farming. I hated working cattle. I hated pigs.”
In Sarasota, Balukjian got a tip that Carlton Fisk likes to golf on a private course called the Founders Club and drink in the clubhouse afterward. He talked his way past the security guard at the gate by saying he was buying a house, then ditched the sales rep and went looking for Fisk.
Balukjian tells readers that the reclusive Fisk had father issues. One night in high school he scored 40 points and grabbed 36 rebounds and afterward his father Cecil told him, “You missed four free throws.”
Fisk wasn’t at the bar and the sales rep was getting suspicious and so Balukjian returned to the parking lot. “You drove here from California?” the sales rep asked, looking at the 13-year-old car filled with empty coffee cups.
One of the perils of getting up-close to our heroes is our naivete, and Balujkian had a misguided notion that he and Fisk were kindred spirits. At an autograph show in Cooperstown, Balukjian paid $69 for a 30 second sit-down. After Fisk signed the baseball card, Balukjian pulled out an 8 x 10 autographed photo of himself, together with a card embossed with Fisk’s favorite flower the orchid (“Dear Carlton, I know you like orchids that’s why I picked this card…”) and included his phone number, “Give me a call if you’re so inclined.”
Balukjian’s still waiting for Pudge to give him a jingle.
Tracking down Doc Gooden proved to be another wild goose chase. Gooden ascribes to Wade Boggs’ philosophy that “baseball fans are like green flies” meaning flies that land on cow manure. Gooden was living on Long Island with four of his grown children, including his son Lil Doc who told Balukjian he’d find his father for $200.
Balukjian handed him the money and while they waited Lil Doc told him about the time he and his father were both arrested and thrown in jail on the same day — Lil Doc for slinging dope and his father for drunk driving.
Gooden never showed up but Lil Doc kept the $200. If he had shown up, it would’ve cost Balukjian another $500 for the interview.
After getting stood up by Gooden, Balujkian drove to Richie Hebner’s hometown of Norwood, Mass. Hebner is part townie, part baseball lifer, and returned during offseasons to help his father and brothers dig graves. “I’ve always wondered — do you really dig six feet down?” asked Balakjian.
“No,” answered Hebner’s brother Dennis, “we try to go at least three-and-a-half feet.”
Hebner was a first round draft pick in 1968 and though he never came close to winning a batting title, he lasted 16 seasons, hit 203 home runs and had over 7,000 plate appearances. Now he’s the 67-year-old hitting coach for the Triple-A Buffalo Bison, managed by 65-year-old former Red Sox catcher Gary Allenson. “They can’t seem to flush the game from their system,” writes Balakjian, “preferring the grind of the road to returning home.”
They met before a game in Pawtucket, where Hebner spoke about being a young kid and sitting next to Roberto Clemente and Willie Stargell in the Pittsburgh locker room. The quote rang a bell. “Later I check my notes and find the same quote in an article in the Buffalo News. I want to push past the cliches, dig deeper, but Richie has his guard up.”
After visiting former Mets center fielder Lee Mazzilli in New York, Balukjian drove to Independence, Missouri, and met Rick Sutcliffe outside Dixon’s Famous Chili. While they drove around in Sutcliffe’s Ford Expedition, the 1984 Cy Young winner gave a tour of his hometown. “My parents divorced when I was 11. My dad was a race car driver, so they were gone all summer. There’s the house we lived in…”
One player in Balukjian’s deck of cards, former Royals right fielder Al Cowens, died in 2002. Cowens was raised in Watts and went to high school in gang-ridden Compton. “For some reason, they left athletes alone,” remembered his cousin Billy. “We’d go down by the railroad tracks and throw rocks. Al, he had an accurate arm too.”
Cowens was 51 when he died of heart disease. Balukjian visited the cemetery and put Cowens’ card on top of his gravestone for a picture. After seven weeks, 11,341 miles and 123 cups of coffee the long journey had ended.
Balukjian’s writing has shades of Pat Jordan and Roger Kahn. Jordan was a Milwaukee Braves bonus baby and his book “A False Spring” chronicled his failure to reach the big leagues. His writing is perceptive and brutally honest.
Kahn’s 1972 classic “The Boys of Summer” recounted his years covering the Brooklyn Dodgers for the New York Herald Tribune and visiting the players in their homes after they retired.
Both are titans of their genre, and Balujkian’s book is up there with them. Not on the same shelf, but in the same bookcase.
Chip Ainsworth is an award-winning columnist who has penned his observations about sports for four decades in the Pioneer Valley. He can be reached at chipjet95@yahoo.com