This is kind of a loose connection to the golf trip, but Scott and I were talking about this guy this morning. Read to the end to find the connection.
The point is that this is the way life should be lived and sports should be played. It rings true to me, since I’m the only person I know who was stupid enough to leave himself in a baseball game when he was hurting and then break his arm throwing a pitch. The really stupid thing is that I did it twice. What’s the definition of insanity again?
Harold Patrick Reiser was born in 1919 in St. Louis, and by 1941 had become the National League's batting champ with the Brooklyn Dodgers. He's not in the Hall of Fame, but at least one of our country's most prominent sportswriters, W.C. Heinz, says Pete is his “all time guy,” a man who is “what professionalism is all about.” Heinz said, “A professional is someone who makes every play. There's no compromise.” For Reiser, there was no compromise. Carried off the field on a stretcher at least 11 times, given his last rites at least once while playing, concussions, dislocated shoulders, torn muscles, bruises, and scars were all a part of the Pistol's game. He ran a 9.8 second 100-yard dash, he sprinted down the first base line no matter what he hit, he flew into second base blocking out double plays, no matter what big lug was there, he was among the very best in his league in stolen bases, he dove for balls in the outfield, and he crashed into those outfield walls more times than anyone has dared count. As Pete might say, "I'm gonna catch that ball no matter what."
. . . he died in 1981 in Palm Springs, California.
Scott and I will find his grave on the golf trip and put our college spikes on it as a token of our appreciation for guys like this. You can join us if you’d like to.
The point is that this is the way life should be lived and sports should be played. It rings true to me, since I’m the only person I know who was stupid enough to leave himself in a baseball game when he was hurting and then break his arm throwing a pitch. The really stupid thing is that I did it twice. What’s the definition of insanity again?
Harold Patrick Reiser was born in 1919 in St. Louis, and by 1941 had become the National League's batting champ with the Brooklyn Dodgers. He's not in the Hall of Fame, but at least one of our country's most prominent sportswriters, W.C. Heinz, says Pete is his “all time guy,” a man who is “what professionalism is all about.” Heinz said, “A professional is someone who makes every play. There's no compromise.” For Reiser, there was no compromise. Carried off the field on a stretcher at least 11 times, given his last rites at least once while playing, concussions, dislocated shoulders, torn muscles, bruises, and scars were all a part of the Pistol's game. He ran a 9.8 second 100-yard dash, he sprinted down the first base line no matter what he hit, he flew into second base blocking out double plays, no matter what big lug was there, he was among the very best in his league in stolen bases, he dove for balls in the outfield, and he crashed into those outfield walls more times than anyone has dared count. As Pete might say, "I'm gonna catch that ball no matter what."
. . . he died in 1981 in Palm Springs, California.
Scott and I will find his grave on the golf trip and put our college spikes on it as a token of our appreciation for guys like this. You can join us if you’d like to.
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