more rickey? twist my arm

A little late on this, but hey it's called Rickey Month for a reason.

I left Oakland on Saturday morning, headed to Albany with a stop at Midway Airport in Chicago.  This would be my second venture to the gorgeous city of Cooperstown, as so eloquently described by jeffro.  I was there to see Eck's induction in 2004.

Part of me was dreading the long trip, considering how little time I was actually spending there.  I departed on time, at 10:15am, significant because I had just spoken to my brother-in-law Michael (who flew in the day before with my oldest sister Tonianne), and he described it as the flight from Hell.  While they experienced delays leaving both airports, I arrived at Midway with fifteen minutes to spare.

I brought some snacks in my carry-on bag, which is pretty good since I am a notorious poor planner, at least for myself.  So when the flight attendant came around with her box of goodies, and asked if I cared for anything, I respectfully (and somewhat proudly) declined.  But the brunette with the pretty smile insisted.  OK, demanded.  "Come on, Sparky.  Eat up."  To humor her, I grabbed a package of cheese-sandwich crackers, but she wasn't convinced.  "You kidding me, Sparky?"  And she began to toss packages of peanuts and pretzels and animal crackers- past the two women next to me- and into my lap.  "And you better eat all of it, Sparky; it's a long flight."  For the remainder of our time together, my stewardess girlfriend made sure I was being a good boy, and eating all of those delicious, though hardly nutritious snacks. 

Alas, at the thirty-third minute of the third hour, we touched down, thus ending our affair (for the record, it was only my second-shortest relationship).  The bubble officially burst when I heard her call out to a young boy, no older than five, "Do you like airplanes, Sparky?"

Sigh.

Anyway, the Hall-of-Fame.  Right.

***

After a delay in Chicago, I landed in Albany at 9pm, enough time for dinner with Michael and Tone.  The next day we got kind of a late start, so decided to do the ceremony before the Hall, which was the opposite of our original plans.  We boarded a shuttle filled with Red Sox fans, and for a second, I felt right at home; if home is an A's-Boston game at the Coli.  We switched buses near the Hall-of-Fame, and on the way to Clark Sports Center, passed many people on foot, a lot of them hauling lawn chairs and umbrellas.

My oldest sister Tonianne is still waiting for her call from the Hall.

The friendly bus driver dropped us off, and we parked our behinds on the lawn, some two hours before the big event at 1pm.  I called devo, who had e-mailed me the week before, and said he'd be there.  He must have arrived much earlier than us, because he was just a wee bit closer to the stage than we were.  As I chatted with devo, who was there with family, I received a call from gigglingone, who was on the opposite side of the field.  I caught up with her and Wes7, and soon we were off to chase down LongTimeFan.  At some point, the three of them took off, and I was left talking to some random A's fanatic.  He was a really nice guy, and we shot the bull for some fifteen minutes.  Somehow Michael spotted us and snapped this:

A more familiar face was at the ceremony, banjo and all:

The festivities began, as it does every year, with a reading of "Casey at the Bat".  (Spoiler alert: Casey channels Cust).

Then more than fifty returning Hall-of-Famers were introduced, including former Oakland A's Reggie, Rollie, and Eck.  Finally, this year's inductees were called: Joe Gordon (represented by daughter Judy), Jim Rice, and Rickey, who as you all know by now, "stole" the show with a magnificent speech.

Rickey is the one at the podium. Hey, I never claimed to be Flashfire.

Not even the rain that eventually fell could dampen our spirits, as A's fans from all over cheered the greatest of them all.  And with many of the Red Sox Nation gone after Rice's speech, we were able to have this moment to ourselves. (More on Rickey later). 

Mother Nature's attempt to rain on Rickey's parade went the way of opposing catchers.

We decided to walk back to the Hall-of-Fame; for me and Michael it was our second time to the museum, and for my oldest sister, who turned 50 the next day, it was her first.  Tonianne was every bit as responsible for my A's fandom as Rickey, and to see her reaction was a thrill in itself.

I loved the Philadelphia A's display but was saddened, though not at all shocked, at the modest amount of wall space reserved for the 3-time World Champion A's of the 1970's, at least when compared to the other two great teams of that decade, the Reds and Yankees.

Tired and hungry, we decided to stop at some random diner in Duanesburg that caught Michael's eye on the way in.  As we ate, a vehicle pulled up in front of our window, though I was unable to see the driver.  Seconds later, I was told that a former A's player had walked in.  At first I thought my brother-in-law and sister were pulling my leg.  They weren't, and before the Fremont native had a chance to order, he posed with the birthday girl:

And then it was over, and at 8:30am eastern time Monday morning, I was headed back home.

***

Rickey broke into the majors in 1979, Lou Brock's last in a big-league uniform.  The torch was passed, and soon the competition was torched.

Billy Beane, who was at the HOF for his former teammate had this to say.

"Rickey transcends a lot of careers," he said. "He's like Benjamin Button. You look around the room and everybody's older, but Rickey still looks the same."

Beane may have been alluding to his own career.  Rickey won his first stolen base crown the same year (1980) that Beane was drafted by the Mets.  Oakland's favorite son returned home in 1989, and lockered next to Beane, who was in the swan song of his playing career.  The same season that Rickey led the league in steals for the twelfth- and last- time (1998), Beane was behind a desk, in his first year as general manager,

Ah but Rickey did more than connect careers.  He did likewise with fan bases.  Old-timers and newbies alike love Rickey.  He is truly one-of-a-kind, whose legacy will be felt in these parts for years to come.  I mean, how else can you explain my nephew Xavier who was born more than a year after Rickey retired so expertly mimicking Rickey's movements off first base, right down to the wiggling fingers?

It's a trick question, folks.  Rickey cannot be explained, only enjoyed.

Far from having my full of Rickey, I was at the Coliseum on Saturday to see his Number 24 retired.  I had to fight back tears as a sold-out crowd chanted and cheered, taking me back to those wonderful summers of my adolescence when Rickey really did run.

All the way to Cooperstown.