“Sound of the Drums, Beatin’ in My Heart”

Posted on June 23, 2025 by Double K

“The thunder of guns, yeah
Tore me apart” – AC/DC

Yesterday (Sunday morning) just before church service began, our pastor’s wife came up to me and said something along the lines of it’s an important night tonight. For a moment I was caught off guard and a little confused. After a moment, I realized what she was saying and so I simply asked her to pray for thunder, pray specifically for THE Thunder right around 7 pm CST Sunday night.

Well, prayers or no prayers (don’t think God is particularly interested in who wins a NBA title), at approximately 9:49 CST, the Oklahoma City crowd erupted and the Oklahoma City Thunder won their first NBA title as an Oklahoma City franchise.

Thunder sensation Shai Gilgeous-Alexander (only 26 years old) became just the fourth player in NBA history (and first in the last 25 years) to win the NBA scoring title, the NBA regular season MVP, and the NBA Finals MVP award joining these three other decent players – Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Michael Jordan, and Shaquille O’Neal.

It was July of 2019, when the Thunder acquired Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and started stockpiling draft picks that led to the drafting in 2022 of Chet Holmgren (#2 out of Gonzaga) and Jalen Williams “Jay-Dub” (#12 out of Santa Clara). And just like that, a new, very formidable “big three” was born. With subtle and smart picks and acquisitions over the following years (trading Josh Giddey to the Bulls for Alex Caruso, acquiring Isaiah Hartenstein from the Knicks, etc.), the Thunder slowly built themselves into a contender and ultimately into a NBA championship team.

This photo below is from Christmas 2015 give or take a year.

I know it was Christmas because I bought all three of those Oklahoma City Thunder hats as Christmas gifts to myself, my brother-in-law Nick (center), and my dad. Living in Norman for many years after retirement, my mom and dad became big Thunder fans upon the arrival of the Thunder (thank you Seattle) in 2008. Success was almost instantaneous as the Thunder made their way to the NBA finals in 2012 behind their original “big three” of Kevin Durant, Russell Westbrook, and James Harden. They lost in five games that season to a better big three in Miami – LeBron James, Dwayne Wade, and Chris Bosh. The Thunder traded Harden before the start of the following season, Durant left via free agency in 2016, and Westbrook was the last to go – traded in July of 2020 officially ending that initial era of success.

My dad and I always had Thunder basketball to talk about through the years. How they needed to get Kevin Durant more shots and Russell Westbrook needed to turn the ball over less. How Serge Ibaka couuld be the X-factor. How fun Steven Adams was to watch and was for a soundbite, and how Kendrick Perkins was making way too much money for the Thunder. He would see many of the Thunder players in the Poker Room at the local casino he frequented and report back to me – “Durant was playing the big stakes tables today… Perk was there with his bodyguard so no one would bother him I guess… stood next to Russell Westbrook getting poker chips. He’s not very tall…”

I once typed out a full-page letter and mailed it to my dad which laid out how much money Perkins was making per point and per rebound, compared him to some of the other “true stiffs” around the league, and called my dad “a crazy old fool who just didn’t understand basketball,” and then I signed it “Big Perk.” My dad, the lifelong basketball coach, got a kick out of it, and I think it only fueled his passion for Perk-bashing. We went to a Thunder game one time with my best friend from high school, Barry. The three of us sitting there watching the Thunder that night and Barry (also by then fully aware of my dad’s disdain for Kendrick Perkins), would jump out of his seat and give a standing ovation every time Kendrick Perkins made a shot or did something really well. Granted, it only happened a couple of times the whole game, but it made my dad laugh each time. And to my dad’s defense, Perk finished with somewhere around 4 points and 2 rebounds that game, which just further solidified his whole point of him being grossly overpaid.

The irony of it all is that Kendrick Perkins was on hand last night in Oklahoma City as part of the ESPN crew broadcasting the game. At halftime, Perk let some of his former OKC Thunder allegiance step in when he said “Chet Holmgren and J-Dub, ya’ll gotta step the hell up.“

Better “step the hell up” they did in the second half, and this Thunder team became an instant legend. There’s only one first in the history books and this group of guys will always be “the first” OKC NBA champion team.

This August will mark four years since my dad passed, and I miss him and I miss our conversations about the Thunder. He would love this Thunder team right along with the hundreds of thousands of fans that do at this very moment. So last night as the post-game coverage wrapped up, Big Perk said his final words and I turned off the television, I rubbed the same OKC Thunder ballcap that I had on my head that I’m wearing in the photo above, and with eyes slightly welling up I looked and pointed upwards and simply said…

“Dad, we’ve been Thunderstruck.”

Several hours later, the song still lingers in my head. Released in 1990, it became a top five U.S. Rock Tracks song for AC/DC off of their “Razor’s Edge” album. One of their most famous and beloved songs, “Thunderstruck” became the official song of the OKC Thunder in 2017 edging out “The Thunder Rolls” by Oklahoman Garth Brooks. I love Garth, but the fans made the right decision on this one as the 2024-25 Oklahoma City Thunder etched or shall I say thundered their their way into the history books.

Thanks for reading and ThunderUp!

sincerely,

the80s

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“If I Leave Here Tomorrow”

Posted on May 5, 2025 by Double K

“Would you still remember me?” – Lynyrd Skynyrd

I think most every family has that relative. The one who you’re never quite sure where fact and fiction deviate. The one with a slight aura of mystery who lives in a general location and has a job in a generic industry (insurance, construction, real estate, etc.), but you’re never one hundred percent of the factual basis of any of it. You just shrug your shoulders and kind of blindly accept as reasonable what you’re told from others.

My Uncle Ricky was that person for my family. He passed away in his sleep late last Sunday night in Texas at the home he shared with his longtime partner, Michele. Receiving the message early Monday morning that he had passed was jarring. He was only 66.

He was my mom’s brother and the youngest of the four Duke children (by several years) growing up in Pawhuska, Oklahoma. He was the “surprise” of the family for my grandpa Kay, a rancher, who was in his 50’s and my grandma who was nearly 43 by the time she gave birth to Ricky Reed Duke in June of 1958. Athletic and handsome, Ricky was an all-sports star at Pawhuska High School, With just 12 years separating us in age, my Uncle Rick served more like a cool older brother than an uncle. When I was growing up, I read a few of his newspaper clippings and he became an early sports idol for me reading about his time playing quarterback, running point guard, playing baseball and golf and everything in between for the Huskies.

Rick Duke, Point Guard and Homecoming Queen escort
Rick Duke, QB

A lot of us were never really sure where he lived or exactly what job he was working, never entirely sure of his relationship status or his exact whereabouts at any given time. But he also was not an absent relative, dutifully showing up at any and most family holidays and events. He loved family. He loved getting together with his mom, brothers, sisters, and relatives for family reunions and hearing the same old stories and laughing like they were the first time he’d ever heard them. He was there for Easter and Thanksgiving dinner. He was there on Christmas eve to (as tradition dictated) pitch in his singing voice on “We Three Kings” with the other men in the family, but performed only after some frantic last-minute shopping and/or the wrapping of gifts in a back bedroom somewhere with minutes to spare. He was cool. He was funny. He had an easy laugh and kind eyes, and yes, he was a complete enigma at times, but we could always talk about family and we could always talk about sports. He loved being around my dad the basketball coach and talking and watching hoops. He’d watch football or baseball with you. He had a John Daly-esque backswing on the golf course and still had a smooth jumpshot on the basketball court well into his 30’s. And Ricky loved his OSU Cowboys from his days and time spent in Stillwater frequently meeting up with old pals and fraternity brothers at football games and an annual calf fry every year.

Rick, my dad and I after our golf tournament that saw dad come away as the winner.

It’s funny the things you remember about relatives or friends for seemingly no particular reason, but I remember one time in my teens that Rick asked me what kind of music I was listening to. I responded with the mainstream stars of the day – Van Halen, Journey, Prince, Michael Jackson. After nodding along he asked, “What about Lynyrd Skynyrd? You should listen to some Skynyrd!” I knew of “Sweet Home Alabama,” was kind of familiar with some song about a bird being free, but surely couldn’t spell the name of the band nor tell you one person in the band. Was Leonard Skinnard the lead singer? So upon his recommendation sometime along the early 90’s I bought “Skynyrd’s Innyrds: Greatest Hits” cd. It was then that I learned how to spell Lynyrd Skynyrd, learned that no one in the band was named Lynyrd or Leonard or Skynyrd or anywhere close to the group’s name. I listened to the cd several times and dutifully reported back to Uncle Rick that “they have several pretty good songs,” which I’m sure was obviously a proud moment for him. I still have that cd, and it has obviously gained just a little more meaning for me this week.

Go Pokes

Famously known for never being on time, Ricky Duke was as cool to me as Ronnie Van Zant was to his legions of fans, and anytime I’d hear a Lynyrd Skynyrd song through the years, my mind would often drift to my Uncle Rick and to wondering where he was and what he was doing. He lived most of his adult life in the Dallas metro area, but he did live with my parents at their house in Norman for a period of time before my parents moved closer to me in Arkansas in 2017. I never was really quite sure what precipitated the need to live with them temporarily, and I never asked. I just figured I probably wouldn’t like the answer and like the saying goes, sometimes ignorance is bliss.

The last time I saw Ricky Duke was at my mom’s funeral last July where I tasked him with reading mom’s obituary, and he did. Our last correspondence was last Christmas Eve when I texted him a link to a YouTube video of an old VHS tape I had recently uploaded. It was a short video from our time together as a family at my parents’ house in Norman, Oklahoma on Christmas Eve, 1988. It featured Ricky and his siblings, their spouses, nephews, nieces, and his mom (my grandma Ruby). It was about 3pm and I told him in the text that I was thinking about him and wished him well imagining that he was probably just starting his Christmas shopping. I told him I was going to get him a Blockbuster gift card for Christmas as a thank you for all of the Blockbuster Video gift cards he got me and the rest of my cousins over the years when we were younger, but that I was having trouble finding one. He responded via text that evening laughing at the memory, thanking me for the video link, and that it “made my Christmas!” He hoped we were well, wished us a Merry Christmas, and signed off with a “Love ya.”

I’m thankful those were the final words I have from him. I love ya too, Uncle Ricky.

Uncle Ricky and I sometime in the ’90’s.

For I must be traveling on, now
‘Cause there’s too many places I’ve got to see

It may have been more appropriate for me to tie this post to Skynyrd’s “Simple Man,” another favorite of mine. But to do that would have also unintentionally created (while maybe appropriate) a too simplistic analogy of my Uncle Rick. He was a simple man, simple at heart. He was “a little country and also a lot of class,” as Michele described him. But like all of us, he was also a flawed person who made some poor choices along his path. He was in and out of favor with family members and friends for different periods of time, but one thing I never questioned was that he loved me and that he loved his family. Flaws, mistakes, regrets… that’s what make us human, but ultimately love can conquer all. Love will ease pain and cleanse guilt. It’s the greatest commandment, and I think about love when I hear this song, even moreso now. Even though the lyrics themselves point to a man leaving a woman, maybe a lost love even, the music itself is soaring and reflective and rocking and limitless and beautiful, “Free Bird” is Skynyrd’s nine, sometimes ten, sometimes eleven plus minute lovely masterpiece.

With Gary Rossington making his guitar sing in this video, using it to imitate the sound of birds chirping, Lynyrd Skynyrd was at the height of their fame and one of the most famous bands in the world in 1977 when this was filmed. It would have been just a year or so after Ricky graduated from high school, and I like to think that he could have been there with his friends on that sunny afternoon probably shirtless, in cutoff jean shorts with his long brown hair dancing in rhythm with the rest of the Skynyrd Family to the emanating sound of the time, with no cares, no worries and a whole life of limitless possibilities hanging before him on a blank canvas.

Performed at a packed Oakland Coliseum just three months before the tragic plane crash that claimed the lives of Ronnie Van Zant, guitarist Steve Gaines and his sister and backup singer Cassie Gaines, here is classic Skynyrd with “Free Bird”…

Be free and fly high Uncle Rick. I’ll miss you.

sincerely,

your nephew

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“Josie’s On a Vacation Far Away”

Posted on April 26, 2025 by Double K

“Come around and talk it over” – The Outfield

This post is several months overdue, but now that the boys of summer are back, it seems an appropriate time to make it up.

I love baseball, and so the next few months are really great for me. I don’t really care about the trivial complaints – “too boring,” “too slow,” too whatever. I just politely nod along and smile, but inside, secretly, I’ll be thinking something is wrong with you or whomever raised you. Judgmental? Perhaps, but in the middle innings of my life, I’m too secure in myself to really care much either way. I don’t have the desire to debate the beauty of a sacrifice bunt during a day game at Wrigley, or the euphoric feeling of a late inning home run cutting through the thin air in Denver, because I know the final innings are approaching, and I have more important things to focus on rather than whether or not you care for America’s past time.

But there is something missing this season, or better yet, someone missing this season. With due respect to Joey Votto, I truly only miss one player who retired with very little fanfare at the end of the 2024 season. His name is Charles Cobb Blackmon, aka “Chuck Nazty” for those of you in the know.

Drafted out of Georgia Tech University in the second round of the MLB draft in 2008, a baby-faced Charlie Blackmon broke into the major leagues with little notice in June of 2011 just shy of his 25th birthday. He played left field and batted seventh behind the likes of Todd Helton and Troy Tulowitzski. Blackmon got his first major league hit, a single, in his second game as a pro the next day in his first at bat off of San Diego Padres’ pitcher Dustin Moseley. He bounced between the big club and their AAA squad in Colorado Springs over the next two seasons, but from 2014 on, Charlie Blakmon was a fan favorite and fixture in the outfield and on the base paths for the Colorado Rockies.

Fast forward to 2024, and a now grizzled 38-year-old Chuck Nazty, hair flapping in the wind as he rounded first base, singled up the middle off of Los Angeles Dodgers’ pitcher Landon Knack last September. After that hit on a sunny afternoon in front of the home crowd, Blackmon called it a career. The dash in between 2011 and 2024 represented a career spent entirely with Colorado, which saw Charlie garner over 1800 hits including 227 homers, and a very solid lifetime OPS of .832. The years also included four all-star appearances and a 2017 season where Charlie finished 5th in the MVP voting.

I was not a huge Rockies fan, but I spent two weeks every summer in Boulder for banking school (it’s a real thing, I swear. Shoutout GSBC). While there for those six cumulative weeks between 2017 and 2019, I attended five Colorado Rockies’ games and came to love the ballpark and the chance to watch Charlie Blackmon. His style reminded me of a modern-day version of Pete Rose. Batting from the left side like Charlie Hustle, Colorado’s own Charlie was a grinder as well, working every pitch, every at-bat, and hustling his way around the bases while tracking down fly balls and line drives in the outfield. But unlike the clean shaven, clean cut Rose, an aura of coolness surrounded Blackmon that seemed to allude Rose. And where Rose seemed aloof, the unassuming Blackmon seemed more likely to join you and your pals at the bar for a beer or two.

Charlie Blackmon is not a hall of famer, and I don’t think anyone is arguing he is, but Charlie Blackmon was at a bare minimum very good and at other times, a great player. I appreciated his game. I appreciated his dedication. I appreciated his demeanor. Charlie Blackmon was solid, and there’s nothing wrong with that when you’re a professional athlete.

The final innings are coming at all of us whether we care to see or it not. And while most of us might dream of finishing out our game like a triple-digit throwing closer, or hitting a towering walk-off 400 foot blast into the upper deck, I have absolutely no problems being that guy who blisters a grounder up the middle between short and second base and hustles his way down to first base before taking my curtain call. And there’s a way to define that moment. Solid.

“I just want to use your love… tonight!”

Ahh, the outfield or The Outfield. The iconic walk-up song for outfielder Charlie Blackmon was just another reason that I loved watching Charlie play at his home ballpark. The Outfield was a band from London (who knew very little about American baseball) that formed in 1984 and found immediate success like homering in your first major league at bat. I’ve long loved this song, and apparently Charlie has also been a fan for many years…

The Outfield peaked with this song, which was their first release from their 1985 debut album, “Play Deep.” Reaching #6 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 in 1986, here is the band that early on was actually known as The Baseball Boys (a nod to the gang in the movie “The Warriors”), before changing their name to The Outfield. It’s their biggest hit and one that played over the loud speakers at Coors Field for many years. May you always think of Charlie Blackmon when you hear… “Your Love” by The Outfield.

A tip of the cap, and a thanks for the memories, Charlie.

sincerely,

the80s

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“Words Are Meaningless and Forgettable”

Posted on April 17, 2025 by Double K

– Depeche Mode

As another birthday rolled by several weeks ago, I was asked by a colleague at work for some words of wisdom or a life motto that I ascribe to. For the life of a 54-year-old man, I had no reply. I had no words to impart. No immediate wisdom to instill into future generations. Nothing. Not even a clever or sarcastic remark. All I had was a half-hearted stupid smile, a shaking of the head, a shrugging of shoulders, and an air uncomfortable silence.

Uncomfortable silence. Which begs the question or questions – should we all have something to contribute to this question? Does it even matter? Should I regurgitate a common phrase or motto I’ve heard a hundred times elsewhere? Am I possibly just overthinking an innocuous question? Maybe. But if so, why does it keep perpetually popping into my head at random times like a song that plays on repeat in your brain at 2 a.m.? As Dave Gahan’s recitative singing suggests in today’s post, are words simply trivial, unnecessary, truly meaningless, and forgettable? Maybe it is simply context related – the theme applies to situational relationships as today’s song seems to imply.

While I could have easily reached into my 80’s bag and suggested that “life moves pretty fast…” or “stay gold,” or “always do the right thing,” I guess by now, I’ve apparently taken a more contemplative, thoughtful approach much like I’m writing my own obituary or preparing a speech for a high school or college graduating class. Surely the question is not worth nearly that amount of reflection, my mind says. Yet, here I am, some 270 plus words into a post that has gone nowhere to this point except maybe to one of great philosophers of the 80’s and early 90’s – Beer Professor Norm Peterson with one of his most profound statements on the final episode of “Cheers”…

Surely love is a beautiful and worthy answer. But we obviously know and inherently understand that words are not meaningless and forgettable, because we have endless amounts of data supporting this. Some of us have more to say than others, but as a society, we rely on words… we hang onto words for generations. Jesus even stated some 2000+ years ago that “Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will never pass away.” Proof that words will never be forgotten.

But sometimes the problem with words is that they produce noise. And there can be a lot of noise when you open yourself up to it. The noise can be perpetually endless, and it can be aggravating and messy and ugly and toxic and yet the noise can also produce a beauty you never saw coming, but getting there can be the difficult part. It should be the goal, but as I read recently in an article about Paul Skenes, the pitching phenom for the Pittsburgh Pirates, Skenes said that a coach of his reminded him that “You can’t master the noise until you master the silence.” Is his secret pitching coach Dave Gahan? Unknown at this point, but the statement made me pause for thought. Master the silence.

Maybe I’ve succumbed to Proverbs 17:28 which says “Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent, and discerning if they hold their tongues.” Skenes finds solace and meaning and sometimes answers to his art in the silence, which is interesting to me. Silence, stillness, both often perceived as passive laziness or indifference are often, in my opinion, misconstrued conclusions. Silence and stillness can be active signs of strength and even as a powerful act of surrender, of letting go. Maybe we all can’t let go a 100 mph fastball like Skenes can do, but we can let go of the problems, of the difficulties, and yes even of the noise.

And so we carry on through the ages with words that may be remembered and many which will be forgotten. Yet for most of us, we may constantly find ourselves challenged to produce more of… and sometimes only at a moments’ notice. So, as I prepare to fulfill the request of my coworker and address her harmless question from weeks ago, I will steel my resolve and prepare to relay a monumental, surely life-altering unforgettable moment, one that she will surely never forget as I walk the 10 steps, stop by the office door, peer in, and ironically utter noise from my mouth about being still and about mastering and yes, even enjoying the silence.

“All I ever wanted, all I ever needed
Is here in my arms ”

Depeche Mode began recording their “Violator” album in 1989 which included today’s featured song. When the song and video hit mainstream in 1990, the band suddenly became a spark of interest in my musical journey that had (up until that point) been comprised largely of top 40, rap, R&B, and hard rock genres. Considering this song peaked at #8 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 in July of 1990 and has been Depeche Mode’s highest charting single to date, one could argue I was still stuck in top 40 music, but it did unleash a certain curiosity into the older catalog of Depeche Mode which in turn led to my purchase of the Depeche Mode 101 live double cd, which had been released in 1989. I also purchased DM’s follow up cd/album “Songs of Faith and Devotion.” And honestly after that, my Depeche Mode “phase” had run its’ course as I stuck to pre-1993 Depeche Mode anytime I was in the appropriate mood.

I’ve forgotten how much I actually enjoy the video featuring “King” Dave cloaked in a royal robe, wearing a crown and carrying a foldable deck chair marching through the Scottish Highlands, along the coast of the Algarve and finally into the Swiss Alps in search of a suitable place to “Enjoy the Silence”…  

Words are definitely necessary to prolong the life of a writer, so carry on my writing friends.

sincerely,

the80s

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“I Love You Guys”

Posted on March 17, 2025 by Double K

– Coach Norman Dale

A very kind St. Patrick’s Day wish to you all in this fine month of the calendar.

I am very fortunate having had three really good basketball coaches in my life, four if you count my dad (and I do). Arguably the fifth best basketball coach I ever had passed away at the age of 95 a few weeks ago. I never met him in person and I never actually played basketball for him. His real name was Gene Hackman, but his portrayal as the tough but tender Norman Dale, coach of the fictional Hickory Huskers in the 1986 film “Hoosiers,” was a very real coach for me and for many of us who grew up in the 80’s and who have carried their love of this coach and this film for nearly 40 years.

Sure he may have been a fictional coach with well written lines read off of a script, but it didn’t make him any less real to those of us who couldn’t and still can’t get enough of his one season and the miraculous run to the Indiana State high school basketball championship in 1952.

I was a sophomore in high school in November of 1986 when “Hoosiers” was released into theaters. The very first viewing I had was with my Norman High School basketball teammates several days after its’ release. With apologies to Dr. J and “The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh,” “Hoosiers” was (and still is) the finest basketball movie ever made. I remember watching it and thinking “I am ready to run through a wall to win a state basketball championship.” The Norman High Tigers were a really good team that year, but unfortunately we lost in the Area championship in spring of 1987.

Coach Dale was a coach not unlike thousands of other coaches of that era – a hard-nosed, passionate, teacher of the game unafraid to stand on his principles with a “my-way-or-the-highway” authoritarian leadership. It was certainly a different time and high school basketball was not a democracy. Basketball teams were run by coaches who demanded effort and required loyalty. Was it always a perfect system? Of course not. Times change, philosophies and style change, but I can’t say it’s better or worse. That is a matter of opinion. But it sure was different from today’s game that hails the “players’ coach” and finds nothing unusual about players who transfer from one year to another, from one high school to another, from one college to another all in search of something they themselves can’t quantify. Most don’t know what they want or what they need in a coach or school. Today makes 1952’s Hickory Huskers even more bizarre and peculiar when viewed through the lens of those who are barely old enough to drive or vote. Yes kids, coaches were once very demanding, yelled at you, and didn’t care a whole heck of a lot what you wanted. But if you cared, if you became part of a team, and if you put forth maximum effort then sometimes the reward was met with a gold trophy at the end of the season. Even when it wasn’t, there was still a reward just in the journey of trying to get there.

If you put your effort and concentration into playing to your potential, to be the best that you can be, I don’t care what the scoreboard says at the end of the game, in my book we’re gonna be winners”

The 1952 Hickory Huskers were based upon the 1954 Milan Indians. The Milan coach (Marvin Wood) was only 26 years of age and not a middle-aged coach with one last chance as was Hackman’s portrayal. Milan also had 10 players compared to Hickory’s seven (and a half if you include manager/hero Ollie; an event that was fictionalized by the movie). Milan was also coming off of a 1953 final four appearance at state the previous season. They didn’t exactly come out of nowhere to win the title in 1954.

“Five players on the floor functioning as one single unit: team, team, team – no one more important than the other.”

Milan did have a real life Jimmy Chitwood. His real name was Bobby Plump. Though he didn’t tell Coach Wood “I’ll make it” at the end of the real life championship game in 1954 against the larger, powerful Muncie Central Bearcats, the final 18 seconds did unfold just like in the movie.

Here is the real life Jimmy Chitwood, Bobby Plump, with his game winner in 1954…

Bobby Plump went on to play college ball at Butler University in the same Hinkle Fieldhouse on Butler’s campus where the championship game took place. After his time at Butler, Plump played three seasons (1958-61) in Bartlesville, Oklahoma for the AAU powerhouse Phillips 66ers. In one of those “small world” coincidences, my dad Jim Kerwin also played for Phillips for six seasons beginning in 1964. I’ve always thought this to be a great connection knowing that my dad met and knew Bobby Plump from the numerous Phillips reunions which used to be held every year after the team disbanded following the 1968 season.

(Note the “Standing” and “Kneeling” are backwards above. My dad, Jim Kerwin, kneeling #30)

RIP Gene Hackman. RIP Coach Norman Dale.

God needs you on the bench.

sincerely,

the80s

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R.I.P. Rickey

Posted on December 22, 2024 by Double K

A repost from two years ago in honor of the greatest leadoff hitter in MLB history…

“I’ve Been Caught Stealing”

Posted on July 4, 2022 by Double K

“Once when I was five.” – Jane’s Addiction

Jane’s Addiction frontman Perry Farrell was apparently caught stealing once when he was five. Big. Deal. There was a man who was a master when it came to getting caught. In fact, he was caught stealing 334 more times than Farrell! His name is Rickey Henderson.

“People say I stole a lot of bases. I stole bases for a reason. I crossed the plate.” – Rickey Henderson

I was a big fan of those late 80’s/early 90’s Oakland A’s teams and I loved watching the all-time king of thefts swipe bags and hit bombs. But I am ashamed to admit that I traded Rickey Henderson. Twice. It was early 1984, and judging by the photo above, Jane’s Addiction is disgusted with what I did too. Obviously, I didn’t trade Rickey literally, but in the world of sports card trading instead. I was 12 and we were still a few years away from “The Bash Brothers” (unless you consider Dave Kingman and Dwayne Murphy the ’84 version), and the dominating run of the Oakland A’s when I dealt away TWO perfectly fine 1980 Topps Rickey Henderson rookie cards.

The 1980 Rickey Henderson rookie card.

The handful of magic beans I received that day for my two Hendersons is still a hazy memory, and I’m probably better for that fact. I would like to think I received something of equal or better value that day, but the memory of my friend Tim showing one of our friends the value of the Henderson cards in my Beckett Price Guide after our trade that day leads me to believe I was probably suckered by a few later year Bobby Murcer or Rod Carew cards (two of “my guys” back in 1984; Carew because he was a future Hall of Fame hitting machine, Murcer because I had his autograph and he was a native Oklahoman like myself). Whatever the transaction, I am almost positive I was on the losing end of it then and now.

My actual official price guide from 1984 still in my possession.
Back in 1984, the Henderson cards were worth $3-$5 each, which is practically a thousand dollars when you’re 12.

By 1984 Henderson was about four seasons into his major league career. Prince and Tina Turner were blowing up the charts and “Ghostbusters” and “Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom” were leading the way at the box office. Henderson was a young rising star then, but we didn’t really know how bright his star would shine or how his career would finish. We do now. He finished as the all-time leader in steals (1,406), runs (2,295), and leadoff home runs (81). His rookie card is now worth in upwards of $400 in mint condition – a mere 9,900% increase (approximately). Rickey was a 10 time all-star, two-time World Series champion, and is widely regarded as the greatest leadoff hitter in the history of baseball, and also one of the greatest to ever refer to himself in the third person.

“Rickey was never motivated by stats. He was motivated by numbers. Wins, runs, steals.” – Rickey Henderson

Rickey stole his first base ever in his first game in the big leagues on June 24, 1979 off of the Texas Rangers’ battery of John Henry Johnson and Jim Sundberg. And it would be in just Rickey’s third game on June 26, 1979 when Paul Splitteroff of the Kansas City Royals picked him off from second base marking the first official caught stealing of Rickey’s 24-season, nine-team major league career.

And thus, began Rickey’s long illustrious career of being caught stealing.

“Don’t worry, Rickey, you’re still the best.” – Rickey Henderson

(AP Photo/Eric Risberg, File)

“Hey all right! If I get by, it’s mine. Mine all mine!”

As I referenced at the beginning of this post, the opening line of this classic song is grounded in fact as Jane’s Addiction lead singer Perry Farrell was caught trying to steal a rubber bouncy ball called a Pennsy Pinky at a local candy store in Queens back in the mid 60’s when Perry was just a young pup.

Farrell’s story reminded me of a time when I was also about five myself in the mid 70’s in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I was an enrollee of Mrs. Collins’ Kiddie College preschool, and there was a boy that convinced me to sneak into the front hallway where all of the coats were hung. He proceeded to start checking the coat jacket pockets so I did the same thing and I remember my little fingers grasping onto a Hot Wheels car that he and I took turns playing with. Crime pays! I don’t remember getting caught but thankfully my moral compass pointed me away from a life of kleptomania. Thus, a life of stealing or getting caught was not in the cards for me.

“When I want something,
I don’t want to pay for it
I walk right through the door. Walk right through the door.”

Formed in 1985, Jane’s Addiction is regarded as one of the early frontrunners for 90’s alternative rock bands. Drugs and dissent tore this volatile group apart shortly after their most well known hit captured the hearts and minds of rebellious youth in 1990. With Farrell’s dog Annie barking out the intro, here is Jane’s Addiction and their Modern Rock Chart #1 hit from 1990, “Been Caught Stealing”…

If Rickey Henderson owns this song just remember: “Rickey doesn’t have albums. Rickey has cds.“

Thanks for reading, and remember thou shalt not steal… unless you’re Rickey Henderson.

sincerely,

the 80’s

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“Look in the Mirror”

Posted on December 16, 2024 by Double K

“And you see how you’ve been taken
You won’t surrender
But now your heart is breakin’.” – John Waite

There’s a poignant scene in the 1989 holiday classic “Christmas Vacation” where Clark gets locked in the attic while the rest of the family goes to town. While in the attic, he becomes misty-eyed watching old videos of days gone by as Ray Charles provides a beautiful backdrop with his overlooked 1985 song “The Spirit of Christmas.” Clark is of course watching videos on an old reel to reel projector and reflecting upon simpler times from nearly 30 years ago from when his parents and grandparents were younger and Clark, just a boy in 1955, wanted nothing more but to play with his sled in the snow and examine the contents of his presents under the tree.

In a movie known mostly for its outlandishness, it’s a quiet, soft, wonderful moment in the movie. I was Clark Griswold recently only I wasn’t trapped in an attic bundled in ridiculous attire to stay warm, but instead I was seated in a fold-out camping chair in my garage, aka my makeshift video studio. Over the past several months I have been converting old VHS tapes to digital. I think twenty something years of lugging around boxes and tubs full of old VHS tapes is long enough. My back surely thinks so. In one corner of my garage, I have an old television, a combo VHS/DVD player, and an old Macbook Air loaded with conversion software that transfers the physical video to digital. As I convert one VHS tape to digital, I toss the old VHS tape into the trashcan nearby. I admit though, it is difficult to let that physical piece of history go. Even though I’ve preserved it onto digital medium, a little part of me feels the past slipping away with every tape that gets thrown into its’ new forever home destined for a city dump somewhere.

So as the late Sunday sun was setting and darkness was taking hold inside the garage, I sat misty-eyed watching an old VHS tape slowly come to life featuring my wife and daughter and myself 23 years younger. There were scores of cameos from friends, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts, cousins, grandpas, and grandmas which made it all the more endearing and meaningful as the grandparents are no longer with us. The year of our Lord 2001 mine as well have been 53 years ago instead of 23.

“Do you remember
When you got your lucky break
You’re looking back now
And it seems like a mistake”

And John Waite singing “Change” in 1982 mine as well have been a million years ago…

The one constant through the years has been baseball. No, Ray, actually the one constant through the years has been change. It doesn’t matter who you are. And I’m thankful for that. I love change… quarters, nickels, dimes… hey-oh! (pause for laughter). Seriously though, who wants to be stuck in a time and age never to grow or change? The irony of this little blog is that it may seem to be stuck in an era of big hair, neon colors, and music that never dies but it’s also an ode, a tribute to the passing of time and to that change within us all no matter the difficulty or circumstance that may have proceeded it.

I was watching another old VHS tape a few days earlier. This one was from 1988 and it was nearly Christmas in our household in Norman, Oklahoma. It was an evening where it was only my dad, mom, sister, and myself (oh, and our dog Krissy). I watched as we hung lights and ornaments on the tree in our living room all carefully orchestrated by our mom. I watched as I sat on top of my struggling sister laying on the couch as every big brother must do at least once a year. I watched as her and I frustratingly tried to tell my dad how to work the video recorder that he was using (“Dad, there’s a button that you can push for the time and date, you don’t have to say it outloud!”) Then, I watched as my sister and I sat side by side reading Luke 2 from The Bible (as was always custom at Christmas growing up). I also watched in sadness and shame as my sister (just weeks shy of turning ten years old) mispronounced the word “espoused” (meaning engaged) in Luke 2:5 where it says Joseph was to be taxed with Mary, his espoused wife, being great with child. Instead, my sister said his “exposed” wife, which to be fair was pretty funny, and so we all laughed. Except her. My sister cried. She was embarrassed. She was hurt. I took The Bible from her and continued reading while my sister quietly wiped the tears from her face all preserved by my dad’s filming onto a 36 year old VHS tape. Watching that moment unfold, I felt embarrassment and shame but not for her, but for myself. An older, wiser, changed brother that could travel back in time would have put his arm around her and told her it was ok, that I was proud of her for reading the greatest birth story ever, and that I love her and we all make mistakes. Who ever uses the word “espoused” anyway? Why didn’t King James just say “engaged?” Then, when the tears started to dry up, I would have told her that the story could have taken a very dramatic turn though were Mary riding into Bethlehem exposed on the back of a donkey. We would have laughed together then, and continued on.

The feelings of guilt, shame, and insignificance are woven throughout the whole birth story though when you think about it closely, verse after verse. They are not exclusive feelings for just you and I to take ownership of and display like some sort of twisted crown of grief won through competition. No, they were the same feelings a pregnant virgin teenager must have had upon miraculously being conceived with child before being wed to her man, Joseph. The same thoughts and feelings this young couple of teenagers fleeing Nazareth must have had, riding on a donkey and carrying the Messiah who will one day save the world. Just for fun, where did God have them for the birth of a King? A comfortable bed in a warm, well-lit inn with attendants by their sides. No, in a stable, a cave, an old wooden shack, whatever imagery you like, the fact was they weren’t staying in a Holiday Inn Express. All was planned accordingly and foretold, but it had to all be beyond the scope of Mary and Joseph’s human minds. As a man, I think immediately about Joseph. Can you imagine Joseph’s thoughts? The King of all Kings is being born right now… in this place? Really? As a father myself, a provider, a protector, I would definitely have thoughts of shame and embarrassment at this scenario if it were me. Nowhere does it mention this is what Joseph thought, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that these thoughts crossed his mind a time or two. After all, he too was like us – a fallible human father with limited understanding.

“We always wish for money
We always wish for fame
We think we have the answers”

It’s so easy to think we have the answers, and sometimes we do, but sometimes our answers change as we grow. And hopefully those answers lead us to change for the better especially in a time and age where it seems everyone has an answer for everything – answers mostly on how “to improve things”… your health, your wallet, your home, your work, yourself. It is so easy to become cynical and bitter in our world today when people fail us, because people are not perfect. And the imperfections and the failings and the triumphs and the successes will change us because life commands it of us. But please don’t let events from 1988 or 2008 or 2020 continue to bring upon you crashing waves of guilt or shame. Treat them like an unwanted Christmas gift – please return to sender. It’s too easy, especially this time of year, to pick up that shame, that embarrassment, that feeling of insignificance and lug it around with you. Remember, those events have helped shape you and who you are today, but guilt and shame are not meant as burdens to be carried throughout life like a box of VHS tapes or better yet like a heavy old wooden cross. No, they are meant to be carried to the cross and left there.

“Some things ain’t ever gonna change (change)”

You and I will change mentally, emotionally, physically (I’ve got to stop eating the green and red Christmas M&M’s!), but I am also glad that there are some things that “ain’t ever gonna change” like this music video. This wonderfully, corny video was in heavy rotation on MTV upon its’ release, and features then actress/model Tina Gullickson in a leading role and carrying a bit of a cocaine habit apparently. Those of you with a love of Jimmy Buffet may recognize or know her as a long time singer (since 1995) in Jimmy’s band “The Coral Reefers.”

From 1982 (and also again in 1985 from the “Vision Quest” soundtrack), a song that peaked at #16 on the Billboard Hot 100, this is former Babys lead singer John Waite (make sure you make it to the end of the video for “the big reveal”) carrying us through “Change”…

Thanks for reading. Thanks for being you. And Merry Christmas.

sincerely,

the80s

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“We’re Soul Alone”

Posted on December 7, 2024 by Double K

“And soul really matters to me.” – Darryl Hall & John Oates

Too much.

Some people, some words just tap into your inner soul like a long lost relative grabbing hold and refusing to let go. Somewhere, maybe a place you’ve long forgotten about, screams “thank you” as an inspiring voice triggers happy endorphins within your brain that rise through your veins at the very prospect of releasing words hidden out of sight perhaps in a barricaded box under lock and key.

Geez, I don’t know where that paragraph came from. Perhaps it came from the reading I’ve been doing lately – interesting books, news sites, sports and entertainment blogs, and Americana travel pieces (check out A.M. Hickman’s “Falling Back in Love With America” project if you like well-written Americana travel pieces). Maybe it’s a cocktail of the former with a splash of the nonsensical lyrics of my favorite 80’s duo, Darryl Hall and John Oates. Or it could also be that it’s just the holiday season with the lights and the decorations and the sounds that open up wormholes of creativity that have been closed since January.

Whatever the case…

Manic moves and drowsy dreams
Or living in the middle between the two extremes

As my wife and I meandered through downtown Springdale, Arkansas, I thought about the extremes of the city we’ve called home for over 20 years now. Springdale is now a city on the verge of 90,000 and the signs of progress and commercialization were everywhere. Literally. “Pictures with Santa,” “Christmas on the Creek,” “Free Pony Rides,” “Hot Cocoa,” “Train Rides,” “25% Off Sales!” Commercialization for holidays continues to grow like that potato vine you planted to occupy a few square feet in a bed but has now grown over the bed and threatens to take way more space than you originally planned. I may or may not have experience in this particular department.

Originally called Shiloh, around 1838, Springdale became Springdale in 1878 once it was incorporated by Washington County. Soon after progress followed with roads and a railway following the Civil War. The roads paved the way for numerous trucking companies including Springdale-based Harvey Jones’ Jones Truck Lines. Willis Shaw, Joe Robinson, and JB Hunt followed suit in the NW Arkansas region in the years after. Agriculture with apple and peach orchards were an important part of growth in the area as well as poultry when CL George and his sons began transporting live chickens to Kansas City and St. Louis around 1929 before expanding into the chicken feed business 10 years later. Missouri native John Tyson saw the potential in NW Arkansas and moved his family to Springdale in 1931 where he started delivering chickens to larger markets in Missouri. Tyson Foods is now one of the largest processor and marketers of chicken, beef, and pork in the world.

Classic Christmas music was ringing and children were singing… or maybe they were just playing in the creek in their matching pajamas after getting their photo taken with St. Nick, because it doesn’t get much better than playing in water when you’re a kid.

The holidays can be difficult for many, but I’d surely encourage you to get out to your local establishments, your favorite park, or maybe just drive around and look at the lights in the warmth of your vehicle. Soak in that Christmas spirit even if you do it begrudgingly. You’ll be better for it. Appreciate the decorations, the lights, the music… let it exist in and around you and take some time to reflect on where you are, where you want to go, what your community is about, and how you can make this season better for someone else, because I guarantee you someone you know is having it worse than you are right now. Make it better for someone else like I’m making this post better for you by ending it and giving you another classic 80’s tune below.

A very Merry Christmas season to you all.

Broken ice still melts in the sun
And times that are broken can often be one again

From the “Big Bam Boom” album, here is the number one song on this week 40 years ago, which was also the duo’s last #1 hit. I’ve always been a big fan of John Oates and his vocals on the word “time” throughout the song. Just something about seeing him chime in with “time” on this song always makes me smile. Here is the Philly duo, Hall & Oates with another 80’s classic, “Out of Touch.”

Thanks for reading.

sincerely,

the80s

Luke 2:11

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“I’m On My Way”

Posted on November 25, 2024 by Double K

“I’m on my way. Home, sweet home.” – Motley Crue

photo by Ross Marino, 1985

“I had to run away high, so I wouldn’t come home low.”

With the holidays upon us, much will be made in the coming weeks about the word “home.” You’ll hear it all the time, everywhere. It will come up in conversation with friends and neighbors and co-workers. You’ll see it and hear it with every sappy Hallmark Christmas movie you watch or don’t watch depending upon your stance regarding such movies. You’ll hear “home” sung about over holiday-themed speakers in restaurants and retail shops everywhere you go… “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays,” “Christmas, Please Come Home,” “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Home is everywhere and yet, home is nowhere. Home tends to meander through life like a chameleon blending into whatever surroundings the time and season dictate. Do we even know where or what home is anymore?

Growing up, home was pretty easily defined for me as where mom and dad and my sister were, in whatever house we occupied. Home also meant grandma’s house for holidays because that was home for mom. As I aged, home became the place where I grew up the most – the formative years shall we say from 8th grade through high school. Then, home became where the jobs took me, becoming at times a conflicting mirage of towns and cities of where my parents lived and the places I where I lived. Homes from the past changed, faded, and became distant memories. Then one day, home becomes a spouse and a child and before you know it, 22 years has passed and you’re left wondering how this particular place, this house, became your home and you’re left pondering how quickly it has all passed.

But alas, times change, homes change, we grow older, softer. After all, we are but flesh, a passing breeze that does not return. Music does the same. It grows older and softer yet it remains long after our physical bodies. Maybe that’s the appeal of being a musician. Maybe that’s the appeal of being a writer. The leaving of a legacy through music, through word. Something “permanent,” whatever that means. What was once “loud” or “hard” or “dangerous” listening in 1985 doesn’t hold much the same punch in 2024. Kind of like Mike Tyson’s punch in his recent fight against Jake Paul. “Iron” Mike looked older, softer, less dangerous. No longer the baddest man on the planet, much like music, his punches didn’t land with the same power, the same ferocity as they did in 1985. And why should they? Why did we even have expectations of such? Time is always the true champion.

And, this seems like the appropriate time in this post to pause for a non-paid commercial break…

First of all, that is one bad ass Canadian Goose! Audi is appealing to me with this commercial (though my wife really wants a Tesla). And did you catch the tag line – “There’s no place like the road home.” The road home.

As a profession, I work at a bank, and have been at the same bank for 11+ years now. We have one of those subscription music services that plays over our speaker system in the bank lobby and throughout the offices. The music is intended as background noise to help provide a little privacy to customers conducting business or to employees on phone calls. The musical choices change on occasion. There may be country music for a few weeks or Christmas music during the holiday season. Many times though we’re playing non-threatening, safe-for-work “oldies”music… you guessed it… 80’s music!

Occasionally, I’ll walk out of my office, shake my head in mock disgust and say something like “you know you’re getting old when Def Leppard is playing in the lobby.” Sometimes I’ll time my entrance into the lobby just so I can play the air drums to Phil Collins “In the Air” and sometimes I’ll walk out and announce to the punk twenty-somethings (if you’re reading this, you’re not really punks) I work with and say something like “a million dollars if you know who’s singing this song right now!” I haven’t lost a million dollars I don’t own yet. They never know unless on the rare occasion when their mom or dad made them listen to it when they were really young. I do have one co-worker though whose mom has been to somewhere around 20 Rolling Stones shows, so that’s cool, and she knows her Stones’ music. But, groups like Poison, RATT, Bon Jovi, or Motley Crue. These kids, they don’t know.

Of course these artists and these songs are happening more often in commercials as demonstrated above with The Crue providing a soundtrack for Audi. Honestly though, it could have been a commercial to legalize heroin and I still would have been like “yeah!” That’s how much I love this particular song. It’s on every favorites playlist I have that contains 80’s music. Maybe it’s the commonality of longing for “home.” Maybe the song taps on my heart strings like Tommy tapping gently on the ivory keys making my only want is for these pillars of rock and roll to make it home to loving embraces from family and friends after months of months of a grueling tour schedule. Maybe it’s just because I see the music video in my head every time I hear the song, and I love the music video almost as much as I love the song.

“Just take this song, and you’ll never feel left all alone.”

And I do so love the video. Scoff if you will, but the time lapses of the bus rolling down the highway and the “Theatre of Pain” tour set going up, Vince Neil kissing the posters pre-show, Tommy’s stick twirls, Nikki’s beckoning finger, Mick’s steady guitar, and of course, the slow motion crowd and concert shots – the screaming, the singing along, the girls running on and practically crawling onto stage only to be hauled off by security. And of course, the girl on the shoulders of her boyfriend at the 2;24 mark. If you know, you know. As a 14 year old in 1985, I watched this video in anticipation that just maybe one time someone at MTV would slip in an unedited version of the video late some night when no one was suspecting, and I would be a vigilant benefactor. They never did. I do wonder if the girls in the video are still out there, somewhere in their own homes occasionally watching this video from nearly 40 years ago smiling to themselves while their children and/or grandchildren shake their heads in bewilderment giggling and laughing at the silliness of it all as they watch mom or grandma forever immortalized in the best power ballad song and video of all time.

In an utter travesty, much like Vince Neil’s pink tiger-striped spandex in the video, today’s song barely cracked the top 100 in 1985 on the first go round of its’ release, but then managed to crawl to #37 the second time around when it was remixed and re-released in 1991. Still, the music industry should be ashamed. Heck, a cover version by well renowned hair metal fan Carrie Underwood hit #21 on the Billboard charts in 2009, and then another version which was a duet between country music singer Justin Moore and the Crue’s Neil peaked at #28 on the hot country single charts in 2014. The Crue had to go country to break into the top 30 with this song. Blasphemous!

Directed by Wayne Isham, and featuring now 76 year old actor Michael Berryman in the albeit unnecessary opening scenes of the video (he also appeared in The Crue’s “Smokin’ in the Boys Room” video), here is Vince, Tommy, Nikki, and Mick with a video that topped MTV’s daily request chart for over three months. Here is Motley Crue with their last song to crack the top 40, “Home Sweet Home”…

Thanks for reading, and may your home be wherever you are this holiday season.

sincerely,

the80’s

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“Everyday, the Game is Ours to Play”

Posted on October 19, 2024 by Double K

“Oh tell me why, there are no alibis.” – Sammy Hagar

I have a new favorite New York Yankees’ baseball player.

He’s no relation to Sammy Hager, and trust me, I don’t like using the words “favorite” and “Yankees” in the same sentence together either. I’ve never been a fan of the Bronx Bombers, but today I will make an exception for one solitary player in pinstripes. With no apologies whatsoever to those of you who want to hail Aaron Judge or love robo-pitcher Gerrit Cole or are mesmerized by the bulging biceps of Giancarlo Stanton, my favorite Yankee is a six-foot-four slender, sidewinding southpaw pitcher named Tim Hill.

Who?

If you’re a Yankees fan, then you know. If you don’t, Hill is a middle innings to late innings reliever the Yankees deploy for an inning or so in tight games, many times to face tough opposing left handed hitters. But the toughest left handed hitters don’t compare to the nasty heater the game of life has already thrown at Tim Hill. The toughest left handed hitters don’t hit as hard as cancer, and Hill knows. Losing a father at any age is tough, and Hill lost his father to colon cancer when he was only 17.

Tim Hill was a decent baseball player, and I use the word “decent” because his best scholarship offer to play after pitching for Granada Hills Charter High School in Los Angeles was Palomar Community College in San Marcos. Not exactly SEC baseball. He only played at PCC one year before bouncing to another junior college in Colorado. That short stint didn’t work out and he found himself back home and working for a local moving company before being persuaded to take another stab at baseball.

He joined Bacone College in Muskogee, Oklahoma for two seasons where he pitched admirably enough earning NAIA All-American honorable mention. It was good enough to draw the attention of the Kansas City Royals, who drafted him in 2014 with the 963rd pick in the 32nd round. The MLB draft is now only 20 rounds if that tells you anything. At 25 years of age, Hill was the oldest player selected in the first year player draft so not much was expected of him, and just a short time later Hill was dealt another blow.

Nine months after being drafted, and nine years after his father had passed, Tim Hill was diagnosed with colon cancer.

The doctors removed half of his colon and put him on eight months of chemo. By the time he had completed eight months, the six foot four Hill had dropped to 150 pounds. He was given a clean bill of health in January 2016 and began working himself back into baseball shape. He gained 65 pounds in two and a half months and was back in minor league camp a year after his diagnosis.

In 2016 and 2017, he spent good chunks of time with the Northwest Arkansas Naturals, a AA affiliate of the Royals located about five miles from my house in Springdale, Arkansas. There’s a good chance I even saw Tim Hill pitch at some point during one of those seasons, but I don’t specifically remember him. He earned a spot on the Royals’ 40 man roster in November of 2017 which earned an auto invite to spring training. Hill made the Royals major league opening day roster and promptly made an inauspicious debut with the Royals on opening day, March 29, 2018, by hitting the first batter he ever faced in the major leagues, the Chicago White Sox’ Leury Garcia.

From there, Hill was traded to the San Diego Padres in July of 2020. Hill became a free agent in 2023 and signed a one year deal with the White Sox before being released on June 18th this season following a 5.87 ERA with 13 strikeouts in 23 innings. Two days later the Yankees signed him, and four months later Hill may be the surprise of a shaky Yankees relief staff that has done just enough (as of this writing) to put them on the verge of a trip to the World Series. A career 3.99 ERA pitcher, Hill’s ERA is a career-best 2.05 over 44 innings pitched since joining the Yankees.

Whether he’s pitching over his head right now, or he’s just figuring things out in a Yankees uniform, one thing has become apparently true to me. Where can I get a Tim Hill jersey?


“Winner takes it all
‘Til he breaks the fall
In time, he’ll make it over the top”

In 1987, Giorgio Moroder was hired to be the music supervisor of a Sylvester Stallone movie called “Over the Top.”

The phrase “over the top” refers to an arm wrestling technique used to gain leverage against your opponent. It’s also a term for a traditional baseball pitcher who’s mechanics of throwing a baseball are sometimes referred to as throwing over the top. Tim Hill is not your traditional pitcher. Tim Hill is not your traditional baseball player. He’s a sidewinder, a submarine style pitcher. A pitcher that releases the ball at a point and angle many players are not accustomed to seeing, because there aren’t many big league pitchers that throw like he does. Hill doesn’t run a triple digit fastball by hitters. In fact, he has a very average to below average fastball usually topping out in the low 90’s. He has some good breaking balls, but more than anything he’s fun to watch and he’s fun to cheer for.

“Hey
You listen when I say
There’s a dream
Oh, that’s coming true today, yeah”

Moroder offered today’s song to then Van Halen lead singer Sammy Hagar after original choice, Asia’s John Wetton didn’t sound “mean enough” when he sang it. The song made a little noise on the U.S. Rock Tracks chart (#3), but only peaked at #54 on the Billboard Top 100.

If you’ve never seen this Stallone movie that bounces somewhere between a father-son action drama and an anthem for the world of arm wrestling, then do yourself a favor and watch it sometime. You’ll need some intestinal fortitude to survive the first part of the movie, because the kid in the movie is about as annoying as any kid in any movie ever made, and this is not Stallone’s finest work, but at least you get a decent payoff when it hits the arm wrestling championships in the latter half of the movie. And how many movies have you ever watched with arm wrestling subject matter in it? Ok then.

In the meantime, with a little help from Sly, here is the video with some footage from the movie for the song, “Winner Takes it All”…

Thanks for reading, check out Tim Hill pitching for the Yankees before the season ends, and just remember: “The world meets nobody halfway. When you want something, you gotta take it”

sincerely,

the80s

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