Thanks A Lot, Mike Gallego

I’ve always been a big baseball fan, going back to 1968 when the A’s moved from Kansas City to their new home in Oakland. They sported the same colors (green and gold) as my beloved Packers. Plus, they wore white shoes. Super cool. In Central California, you were a Giants (hideous black and orange uni’s) or A’s fan (stylish and hip). Easy choice for this guy.

As a child, I idolized the players, larger than life icons on an idyllic field of green. Initially, it was guys like Campy Campaneris and Joe Rudi, Reggie and Catfish. Those teams won three World Series in a row, made the playoffs five consecutive times. I loved those guys.

Even when the team tanked in the late 70’s, I still found favorites, guys like Mitchell Page. Nicknamed The Swingin’ Rage, Page was both strong and fleet. (Don’t even get me started on how he was robbed for Rookie of the Year in 1977). The Rage was a glimmer of hope in dark times. Those teams were awful, but I still climbed atop the roof to listen to Monte Moore broadcast the games.

The love of the game ran deep in my veins. I didn’t understand salary issues, scheming owners, or TV revenues. I learned, as we all must, that players are mere mortals playing a kid’s game. Some are deeply flawed, some are even criminals. Back then, I just loved the green and gold and anyone who wore it.

The A’s of the late 80’s matched the success of the 70’s teams by going to the World Series three consecutive years. It was easy to be a fan, even when I moved to Chicago. Pre-Internet, I’d catch my news from The Sporting News or USA Today or ESPN. My dad frequently sent me clippings from California papers. Man, I was hooked!

In 1990 I got sick. Really sick. Double ear infection, sinus infection, strep and pink eye (I’ll skip the other details). I took lots of meds, but the infections were stubborn. One antibiotic gave me a severe allergic reaction.

Rooting though my stuff one day back then, I found a Mike Gallego baseball card. Gallego was an reserve infielder for the A’s, a try hard guy with a fantastic first name. He somehow stayed on a major league roster for thirteen years, despite his weak stats and slight build (5’8″ and 160 lbs). From Whittier, CA, right next door to where I lived in La Habra for a few years, we probably both shopped at the Brea Mall. We were even born the same glorious year–1960. Me and Gallego, twin brothers from a different mother!

Wouldn’t it be cool, I thought, if Gallego would sign my baseball card? Gags (I figured I could use his nickname) wasn’t a star (like Canseco or McGwire), so what did he have to do? I imagined him lounging in the locker room, probably dressed in shorts and a stained t-shirt, his #9 jersey hanging in the locker behind him above his white cleats. He’d receive my request, smile broadly, sign the card, and gladly fire off his autograph, maybe tucked in short personal note.

I found a team address, wrote a short message showcasing my knowledge of his skills and our kindred spirits. I dropped it (and the baseball card) in the mail. I waited. And I waited.

I’ll cut to the chase. No reply. Nada. Bupkis. Zilch, nil, zero. You’re probably not surprised.

There are, I realize, plenty of valid reasons for him to steal my card and stomp on my heart. Maybe he never got the letter, stolen by some petty clubhouse lackey. Maybe McGwire or Canseco tore it up in a steroid-infused jealous rage. Or he stuffed in his locker and it became encrusted with mold from his poorly maintained shower shoes. Possibly, overcome with emotion, he was too verklempt in the moment (ala, Linda Richman). The adulation was just too much.

Most likely, he savored my request, pondering all his possible replies. The card and note served as daily inspiration; thus, he was reluctant to relinquish it, since it was probably the only one he ever received. By the time he signed the card and wrote back, I had moved and his gracious response was returned to sender, address unknown (sing it, Elvis!). It wasn’t a big deal. Really. I’m over it.

The end of the story? He earned a World Series ring that year and earned over 7 million as a player, which ain’t too shabby. Eventually, he moved on to coaching, bouncing from team to team as coaches do. If Wikipedia can be believed, he’s still employed by the Angels today.

I beat my illness and lived a great life, still going strong, writing and teaching and hanging with fam. And if anyone ever asks for an autographed book, I happily oblige and drop it in the mail. Immediatley

There is that one empty, dust-covered frame on my wall… If you ever run into Gags, tell him I want my card back. Signed.