As a lifelong Indians fan, thought living all but six years of that life away from the Cleveland area, I never really knew anything about Terry Pluto until I recently read "The Curse of Rocky Colavito" (which you might read about here). After I read that book I sent it to my oldest brother. He and I had our birth into sports fandom in our youth back in Bedford, Ohio, on the outskirts of Cleveland. We would lie in bed listening to Pete Franklin talk sports, or Joe Taite telling us what was happening in an Indians or Cavalier's game. Neither of us has very foul language, though we really liked Pete Franklin. We also don't have official "I hate the Yankee" hankies. Ah, well.
Where was I? Oh, yes.
When I sent that book to my older brother, he pointed out a few other books which Pluto had written. Finding that they were primarily Cleveland-based, I dug into it a bit and reserved some at my local library. The first to show up was "Our Tribe", a heart-warming story of not only Mr. Pluto's youthful sports fandom, but of the connection with his dad that it created in his youth, as well as the vibrancy that it brought between he and his aging, stroke-victim father in their later years.
This isn't just another sports book. Mr. Pluto demonstrates, by his own relationship with his father, some of the beauty of the connections that can happen between fathers and sons in connection with sports, and how those relationships can be kept enduring through those same events and commonalities. Obviously such relationships can be kept enduring through other means, but "Our Tribe" shows it specifically in the connection that is made by being fans of a particular team for a lifetime. Together.
A delightful read (even for this grown male who also, like Terry Pluto, cried when Jose Mesa blew it in game 7 of 1997).
This book appealed to me as an Ohio baseball fan. I cut my baseball teeth in 1975, the first of two World Series victories by the real Big Red Machine. While the rest of my family visited with my grandparents, I was in their bedroom watching the games one night after another. I don't recall whether I watched any games from our own home, three hours to the north. I only remember watching my favorite players from that bedroom.
I had my own Joe Morgan twitch. Second base was my position at the time, though my hard-throwing arm led me to third eventually. But, as a second baseman, my hero was very clear. I also loved the stolen base, and who, on the Reds anyway, was better at that than Joe Morgan?
Well... maybe Davey.
Hmm... I'm getting distracted.
"They Call Me Sparky", by Sparky Anderson and Dan Ewald was a fun read for me mostly due to my Reds fandom, but also because Sparky was such an interesting character. That character comes through in this book!
For the first few chapters, I had the impression that only a Sparky fan could endure the book. It felt choppy. But, as I continued reading, I found the format kind of fun, and began looking forward to the variety. Every other chapter is written clearly in Sparky's voice (even down to the grammar), the other chapters being in the voice of Mr Ewald, narrating the stories of Sparky's life. The more narrative chapters fill in some gaps in the stories, whereas the chapters in Sparky's voice seem like interviews.
Miss those interviews with Sparky? Those chapters are definitely for you. Heh heh heh.
Fun read, especially for Reds or Tigers fans.
