I grew up in Fayette County and, until moving my 8th grade year to Fayetteville, that meant Oak Hill, West Virginia. Dad hadn't gone into ministry yet and still worked in Beckley keeping books for Lucas Tire.
My dad has always been larger than life. His nickname is Sugar Bear to many who know him. It has always been difficult to meet my dad and not love him right away.
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Mom was not as much out front. She was, to my memory, the disciplinarian in the house and wasn't afraid to confront us when our behavior was out of line.
One thing mom and I had in common was sports and especially the Atlanta Braves. The Braves had started playing on TBS in 1977. By 1982 they were commonly referred to as "America's Team" because so much of rural American at that time followed the Braves because they were the only team you could regularly watch. They were TERRIBLE.
In 1981, they showed some promise by finishing 50-56 in a strike-shortened season. As usual, my mother and I were really looking forward to the Braves starting up on TBS for the 1982 season. I was 11 years old. Barely.
The unthinkable happened. The Braves won 13 straight games to start the season, a major-league record. They started by sweeping San Diego in two then swept Houston and Cincinnati in 3 apiece. After sweeping Houston again, the Braves came home to face those same Reds.
I would rush home every day to get something to eat and ask mom if she thought the Braves would win again. It was 11 straight going into that series. We would excitedly talk about what might unfold. By the time I came inside to sit down and watch the game on April 21 the temperature was hovering around 50 degrees there in Oak Hill, pretty typical for that time of year.
The Braves sent Rick Mahler to the mound again Mario Soto of the Reds, and the Reds took a 3-2 lead into the 9th inning. I still remember mom saying that 12 was a great streak and that we should be happy, basically resigned to the fact that the Braves were about to lose.
Bob Shirley came back out for the Reds in the 9th. Our 12 straight wins to start a season tied us with the 1884 Giants and breaking that record now seemed unlikely.
Backup catcher Matt Sinatro walked to lead off the inning and our shortstop Rafael Ramirez followed with a bunt single. The Reds retired the next two. With two runners on the Reds brought in Jim Kern who promptly threw a wild pitch and advanced Butler and Ramirez to 2nd and 3rd. Biff Pocoroba was intentionally walked which loaded the bases.
Two outs. Bases loaded. Claudell Washington coming to the plate. The Reds replaced Kern with Joe Price.
Mom said, "Well, Craigy, do you think they can do it?" I was 11. She was 39. "I don't know, I hope so", was my brilliant answer.
One week earlier, Price had hit Washington in the head, a beaning which led to Claudell's hospitalization. Mom wondered if they did that on purpose. I was convinced of it. And when it came to sports, mom and I held grudges.
On the second pitch of the at-bat, Claudell Washington lined a shot up the middle.
Ramirez scored. 3-3.
Butler slid in. 4-3. Braves win.
I can still hear Skip Carey, the Braves play-by-play man, "Here comes the throoowwwww.......SAFE! BRAVES WIN!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?"
Mom and I would have rushed the field if we could have gotten there from our couch on Woodbridge Road in Oak Hill. Our Braves had just won 13 straight games to start the year. Nobody had ever done that! (Milwaukee would do it 5 years later)
The point of this post is to say that Braves baseball was part of the fabric of our home. It was something my mother and I shared in common. There was Church of God youth camp, campmeetings, revivals, and all other things church, but there was always the Braves.
Later that season the Braves got swept in the NLCS by the Cardinals and the season ended in disappointment (a recurring theme for the Braves and their fans).
From 1984 to 1991 they were terrible, but we watched anyway, mainly because we loved Dale Murphy, although mom complained every single night about how he swung at too many bad pitches and struck out too much. (all true, by the way)
By 1991, I was dating the person who would be my wife two years later, but we still watched the Braves go worst to first and make it all the way to the World Series!!! (They lost). They lost it again in 1992 and didn't even make it in 1993. Mom and I were mad. In 1994 there was a strike that canceled the season.
By 1995, I was married and living in East Kermit, WV. I was pastoring a small church and lived a good 2.5 hours from mom and dad. They lived in White Sulphur Springs. He was pastoring a church too.
The Braves won the World Series that year, 4-2 over the Cleveland Indians. I cried. I called mom at least 5 times per game. We would celebrate, complain, question the manager, and lament how good the Indians seemed and how we didn't think we could beat them.
We did.
Mom doesn't watch the Braves as much these days. TBS no longer carries them and not everyone is stupid like me and willing to pay $189 per year for the privilege.
We won that World Series after nearly 17 years of watching them. It has now been 29 years since that win. I'm 53. Mom is in Heaven.
People probably quietly judge my passion for Braves baseball. And yes, I'm still a passionate fan. We loaded the truck in 2021 and actually drove to Atlanta to watch games 3 and 4 of the World Series in person. Braves vs. the Houston Astros.
This weekend would make or break their chances in the series. I was nervous. I told Debbie all the things they should do during the game. I got mad. I cheered like crazy. But you know what? I' was also thinking about mom. The games ended too late for me to call her, but as I sat at Truist Park, surrounded by 42,000 people, I was mentally sitting in that little living room with orange carpet in Oak Hill, WV. I was sitting with a thousand memories of mom.
The Braves won games 3 and 4 but lost game 5 at home. They returned to Houston for turned out to to be the decisive Game 6. Jorge Solar hit a homerun in the 3rd inning that hasn’t landed yet, and I went absolutely crazy. The outcome wasn’t in doubt after that. Our Atlanta Braves won 7-0 to win the series 4-2.
The final out was recorded after midnight. I sat in a recliner sobbing like someone who needed medical attention. I thought, “I wish I could call mom. I’ll just talk to her tomorrow.” Just about then my phone rang. I looked down. “Mom” popped up on my iPhone.
“How ‘bout that?!” was the first thing out of her mouth. Remember, I told you that mom didn’t watch the braves religiously anymore due to having to pay for it. Well I know she watched every out of that World Series thinking about the same thing I was thinking about…that 13-game winning streak in 1982.
And that's why I love baseball. It's not an event. It takes place slowly over the long haul. Like life. And I'm thankful to have had a great mother for 52 of my years teaching me to love Jesus and showing me how fun it is to love the Braves.
The Boys of Summer will kick off the 2024 regular season this weekend. I’ll be watching, as always. We play the dreaded Phillies. Mom is gone now, so it won’t be quite the same. But it will be another season of memories made, now with Debbie, my wife. Mom will be there too, though. Probably complaining about the umpiring.
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