Willie plays all fields

11:29 p.m. update -- The Daily Show interview was great, of course, and Jon Stewart's New Jersey roots made it unique, when Stewart mentioned Mays' days with the Trenton Giants in 1950. Back when the Trenton Thunder came along in 1994, the coverage of the city's baseball history had featured that connection, but I'd completely forgotten it. Mays was the first black player in the Interstate League, which was noted on this baseball signed by Mays that year.

Willie Mays is making the rounds in New York this week -- he's even on The Daily Show tonight -- to promote a new biography, the first that he has authorized. Last night's sit-down with Bob Costas on "Studio 42" was a joy to watch for someone who wasn't born until after Willie ended his career with the Mets in 1973.

My favorite Mays story has always been his afternoon stickball games on the streets of Harlem before he'd head up to the Polo Grounds for the game. In this day of SUVs with tinted windows and underground players' parking lots, you're not going to get that kind of interaction anymore. Though with blogs and Twitter and camera phones, who can blame the players?

Another thing that struck me during the two-hour program was that New Jersey's own Larry Doby was the runner when Mays made the catch on Vic Wertz's drive to center field in the 1954 World Series at the Polo Grounds. Mays said that he was more worried about making the throw to the infield -- knowing that he had scored from second on fly balls to the ballpark's vast center field -- than making the catch, but Doby had already rounded third, so by the time the ball got back to the infield, Doby was just getting back to second.

Two more segments of the interview are here and here, but they don't include one moment from early in the show when Costas refers to Mays' "classic Giants cap" on his head. It's bothered me for several years now that Mays regularly wears the hideous batting practice cap at his public appearances. But he must like the feel of it, because he wore the Mets version at the closing ceremonies for Shea Stadium. But Costas' reference to it as "classic" was grating. A cap with the SF logo would be nice to see, and a New York Giants replica lid would be truly classic.

I'll update this post tonight with the Daily Show clip -- if Willie's able to get there in all this snow. And though I have dozens of unread books around the house, someday I may have to get the Harry Potter-sized bio that has prompted this look back at Willie's career.

The Cobb Field story

Cobb Field (top) by trimworksconst; Dehler Park via Baseballparks.com

I put the Golden Globes on the backburner last night to watch Cobb Field: A Day at the Ball Park on MLB Network. Part of the Reel Hardball series ("Movies Out of Left Field"), the documentary chronicled a game day at the home of the Billings Mustangs in Montana back in 2007, Cobb Field's final year after six decades of American Legion baseball and six decades minus six years as a minor league park. The production offered much in the way of history and insight to the field's contribution to the national pastime.

The Cobb name in baseball usually prompts thoughts of the Georgia Peach, but perhaps not for students of Hollywood history. The Cobb name on the Billings ballpark came from Bob Cobb, a Billings native better known as the Tinseltown-based owner of the famous Brown Derby and the inventor of the Cobb salad. He had baseball in L.A., too, as the owner of the Pacific Coast League's Hollywood Stars. To raise money for the ballpark in his hometown, Cobb turned to his Hollywood connections for investments, getting money from Bing Crosby, among others.

A ballpark built in the '40s, however, doesn't offer much for the 21st century. By 2007, Cobb Field was the only ballpark in the eight-team Pioneer League that had not been replaced or renovated. The visitors' clubhouse consisted of little more than a bench beneath a high shelf along three walls. The visiting manager's "office" was nothing more than a plywood table attached to a wall, the cramped shower room contained a mere six units and the bathroom consisted of one sink, one urinal and one toilet -- all for a team of 20-plus players, coaches and traveling staff.

The nature of the short-season circuit, which starts play near the end of June and finishes just over a week into September, allowed for a unique circumstance for the Mustangs. Cobb Field was demolished in one week in September 2007 and its replacement, Dehler Park, was ready for the 2008 season -- on the same spot. Those fans who had been coming to N. 27th St. in Billings to watch baseball as children will continue to come to the same spot with their kids and grandkids. There may be no easier snapshot of the great distance from short-season A-ball to the Major Leagues than this Cobb-to-Dehler transformation of that plot of land.

Dehler Park shows up at the end of the movie for a comparison. Fans and staff are asked their thoughts and some wide shots provide a chance to compare and contrast. The photos above are the best I could find that showed a similar vantage point. Dehler is visibly smaller than its predecessor. The grandstand doesn't rise as high as Cobb's did, and the press box (not visible) fits into the concourse behind the plate rather than sitting perched atop the roof over the fans. Dehler, though, spreads out more down the lines, including grass berm seating. While Cobb fit 4,200 on its bleachers, Dehler has 2,571 seats and 500 bleachers to go along with the berm seating.

Over the years, Billings has seen the likes of George Brett, Paul O'Neill and Trevor Hoffman, and the movie features Toms River's own Todd Frazier. The game featured in the film was actually Frazier's professional debut after he was drafted from Rutgers. He singled in a run in his first at-bat, helping the Mustangs on their way to a victory on the featured night.

For those of us who have never seen a game in Billings (or Batavia or Greensboro or any other number of low-minor league towns), the film's relevance is in the fans' relationship with the ballpark and its team. As historic and quaint Cobb Field was, Billings probably needed a new ballpark to remain viable (here's the oft-used comparison) in an age where digital movies, the internet and increasingly technical leisure-time pursuits provide a less interactive entertainment experience. Dehler Park gives Billings what Cobb Field couldn't, just as Lakewood, N.J., did for the BlueClaws, who before 2001 were playing on a community field (it could hardly be called a stadium) in Fayetteville, N.C., as the Cape Fear Crocs. Fayetteville wouldn't approve a new ballpark, Lakewood did, and new ownership bought the franchise and moved it north. Billings won't have to worry about that now.

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Callan Films' Cobb Field: A Day at the Ball Park airs again this morning at 10:30 ET on MLB Network and Thursday at 2:30 a.m. It's also available for purchase.

Firing up the DVR for Cobb Field

Cobb Field by trimworksconst on Flickr

As I have shown with Tiger Stadium, I'm always a bit saddened when a historic ballpark becomes obsolete and the only viable option for teams that want to remain relevant in their communities is to replace it. This goes both for places I've visited and those I never got to see -- or even knew existed.

That is the case with Cobb Field, formerly of Billings, Mont. I never knew about the place, and from the looks of things, it was what you'd expect from a Depression-era field -- little more than a grandstand stretching from first to third base, a rickety press box perched on top. Tonight, the field (named for the owner who brought the Billings Mustangs to town in 1948) will be featured in a documentary on MLB Network (preview) that will give an inside look at a day in the life of the old ballyard in its final season, 2007.

There's always something that draws me to these little fields, often tucked into the community, sometimes merely across the street from people's homes -- only a long foul ball away from a thump on the roof or a cracked window. I've visited two of them: Dwyer Stadium, home of the Batavia Muckdogs in upstate New York, and World War Memorial Stadium, the former home of the Greensboro Bats in North Carolina. The latter, dedicated in 1926, memorializes the first World War and was used in both Bull Durham (the bus pulls up in front during a road trip) and Leatherheads. (Photos to come in a future Photo Friday post.) I guess it's the whole "humble roots" aspect of the game and the quaint image of minor league life in the middle of the 20th century -- you know, back when ballplayers juiced themselves on little more than liquor and greenies.

Stories of Seaver and Ryan on the Network

I've been watching MLB Network here and there, both at work and at home, and I really should start keeping it on in the background or as my default channel for idle loafing. ("Idle loafing" -- not oxymoronic, just hyper-loaf-like.)

First, there was the second part of an interview with Tom Seaver on "MLB Tonight" in which he talks about the Hall of Fame's Induction Weekend. The best part -- his favorite part, he said -- is the Sunday night dinner. There are only three types of people allowed into the room: Hall of Famers, the Commissioner of baseball and the president of the Hall of Fame (and, presumably, the catering staff, so I guess that's four types).

If I could have access to any room anywhere in the world -- perhaps at any time in history -- that room would be in the top five. Off the top of my head, I'd add: Independence Hall when they were hashing out the Declaration of Independence; the Oval Office at some seminal moment in history, perhaps when FDR learned about Pearl Harbor (or when, if the legend is true, he learned of a possible attack ahead of time and decided to let it happen to justify entering the U.S. into World War II); a pop-culture moment or two, like when Bruce Springsteen met Clarence Clemons or played "Thunder Road" for the first time, or when Jack Kerouac met Allen Ginsberg or Neal Cassady; and the ballroom or wherever Martin Luther King Jr. gave his "Mountaintop" speech the night before he was killed.

But back to the Hall of Famers dinner. Can you imagine that room? Seaver, Bob Gibson, Stan Musial, Reggie Jackson, Mike Schmidt, Ralph Kiner, Hank Aaron. And so many more. But maybe I wouldn't want to be in that room some day -- because it would mean I'd have to leave.

Later on the Network -- now, actually, as I wrap up at the office -- is a re-airing of Nolan Ryan's seventh no-hitter, from May 1, 1991. I remember reading about it the next morning. In New Jersey, of course, we didn't get the game on TV, and there was no MLB.TV or Extra Innings package on cable (not that my family had cable in 1991). It doesn't even appear that it aired locally in Texas. I've only been half-listening, but I got the impression that this was the Blue Jays broadcast. Part of what led me to that conclusion was one announcer -- the color commentator, so presumably a former player (he sounds young, and not like a veteran TV/radio man) -- noted how Ryan grunted when he threw his fastball. "Nolan only grunts on the fastball. As a hitter, if you can pick up on that, you know it's a fastball. He doesn't grunt when he throws a curveball."

But then there's the matter of physics -- light travels faster than sound, so by the time the batter hears the grunt, it's too late to catch up to the fastball.