Cardboards Gods: Ross Grimsley

The following piece was written by Josh Wilker and originally appeared over at his site Cardboard Gods on June 25, 2010. The Hall of Very Good would like to thank Josh for his continued support of the celebration of the 40th anniversary of Ross Grimsley's Major League debut.

Two nights ago, I punched a bag of pretzel nuggets. I needed to punch something but the thing I really wanted to punch, an air conditioning control box, would have broken if I’d punched it, and then I would have had to explain to my wife and then the landlord that I had punched and broken an electronic device, and then I would have had to pay for its costly repair. It was a very hot, humid evening, and I just wanted to turn on the air conditioning, but this device, my nemesis, is extremely complicated. You can’t just turn on the air conditioning but have to program it to turn on; however, all the options for programming make no sense to me: wake, return, sleep. Return? Which one gets the thing to turn on? I could not figure it out and eventually resorted to pushing all the buttons randomly in hopes that I’d luck into turning it on, but that didn’t work, so I stalked around the apartment sweating and hurling obscenities until I came upon the bag of pretzel nuggets sitting on the counter and I punched the shit out of it.

Goddamn bag, fuck you!

And oh, it knew it had been punched. Many of the nuggets inside the bag were instantly pulverized into dust upon impact with the human TNT encased in my right fist, and the structural integrity of the entire bag was also ruptured significantly, so much so that I had, while tidying up the mess from the incident, heart still pounding from battle, to move the surviving pretzel nuggets into a Tupperware container. Even the surviving pretzel nuggets felt my wrath. They were traumatized crumbling versions of their former selves. I know this because yesterday evening when I got home from work I ate a few of the pretzel nuggets out of my cupped hand and my wife chastised me for scattering pretzel crumbs all over the floor. I hadn’t told her that I’d punched a bag of pretzel nuggets. She wouldn’t necessarily get a thrilling charge out of imagining her 42-year-old husband stomping around our apartment assaulting snacks. But the point is this: don’t fuck with me, pretzels.

***

The point is this: I have been trying and failing all week to write something about this 1974 Ross Grimsley TRADED card. I had six pages of really shitty material even before getting into it about the pretzel nuggets, which, in case you were wondering if you missed something, do indeed have nothing whatsoever to do with the 1974 Ross Grimsley TRADED card except maybe that I bought both of them, one item a few days ago and the other thirty-six years ago.

***

The point is this: I started buying packs of baseball cards when I was six. It was near the end of the summer of 1974. A high percentage of those first cards I ever obtained were from this disquieting 1974 TRADED cards series, those first packs rife with these indelible testaments to transience and rejection. Maybe Topps slapped together the cards late in their production cycle that year. This makes some sense—the cards depicted relatively late-breaking events from the previous year. Or maybe the gods were trying to tell me something. It was, after all, a summer of trades. You could say that I had been traded from New Jersey to Vermont, or that my New Jersey friends had been traded for Vermont strangers, but the biggest transaction involved my dad. He had been with the club from before I’d joined via the family’s expansion draft in 1968, but just before the move to Vermont he’d been traded elsewhere. There was no TRADED card explaining the trade.

***

The point is this: During this week’s failed attempt to use words for some clear purpose, I read a fair amount about Ross Grimsley. He was known as Scuz and Crazy Eyes. He believed a witch helped him win games. He refrained from bathing while on winning streaks. He is shown here just before he was allowed, upon being freed from the constrictive, conservative Reds, to grow a mustache and let his hair bloom into a big greasy bush in which, some argued, he secreted ball-altering substances. The back of the card has a fake newspaper story from a fake newspaper, “The Baseball News”:

GRIMSLEY TRADED TO ORIOLES

“The Baltimore Orioles, shopping for another starting pitcher, today obtained Ross Grimsley . . .,” the story begins. It then notes some highlights from Grimsley’s time with the Reds and mentions that he’d be joining two other lefties in the Orioles’ rotation. If things were going a little smoother inside my mind or soul or whatever, maybe I could find a way to connect Ross Grimsley’s interesting story (related entertainingly in a good recent post by crack baseball historian Bruce Markusen) to my own life. I don’t know, it has been one of those weeks when things don’t really come together. I have gone to my job and come back from my job. My interaction with other humans has been minimal. I have a portable satellite radio with ear bud headphones. I jam the buds into my ears as I am walking out the door and take them out when I get to my cubicle, then several hours later I shut off my computer and leave my cubicle and shove the buds back into my ear and don’t take them out until I get home. Were birds singing? Did anyone call my name? I don’t know.

***

The point is this: I can picture a 1974 TRADED card for my father. I can see the headline on the back:

DAD TRADED TO NEW YORK

“New York added another solitary today,” the story would begin. The image on the front of his card would feature some doctoring, as all the traded cards did. Of course, my dad did not wear a baseball cap, then or ever, so it’s unclear what could be doctored in or out. Maybe a pair of large headphones, which he began to use extensively as soon as he moved into his studio apartment in Manhattan. He listened to Bach. He shut himself off from the sounds of the present to envision patterns of perfection beyond time.

***

I shut myself off from the sounds of the present but am mostly just looking for distraction. I listen mostly to chatter, Howard Stern or sports talk. Sometimes I mix in some music, too. Yesterday on the way home from work to my wife and my terrorized Tupperware container of pretzel nuggets I listened to some “classic alternative” music from the 1980s and thought about myself from that time and my friends from that time and the feelings from that time, which seemed in retrospect, backed by the poufy-haired British music in my ears, to mostly amount to a sort of swelling romantic melancholy. I started missing the way I was sad in the 1980s. It was somehow larger and more heroic than the measly lowgrade glumness I often slog around in these days. Plus I was thinner. Such is the way of the world. We get older and softer and weaker and fade. There are no TRADED cards marking the changes. There are no stats to analyze. There aren’t even any words.

Josh Wilker is the author of Cardboard Gods: An All-American Tale Told Through Baseball Cards and writes about his life and childhood baseball cards at cardboardgods.net.

Cooperstown Confidential: Ross Grimsley and the Swingin’ ‘70s

The following piece originally appeared over at The Hardball Times on May 21, 2010.  The Hall of Very Good thanks author Bruce Markusen and his continued support of the celebration of the 40th anniversary of Ross Grimsley's Major League debut.

With all of the attention paid toward the best-selling biographies of Willie Mays, Hank Aaron and George Steinbrenner, another worthy new book is being overshadowed. Terrifically titled Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride Through Baseball and America in the Swinging ‘70s, the tome is the work of Dan Epstein, an expert on popular culture during the decade of decadence. In honor of Dan’s colorful volume, let’s put the 1970s strobe light on one of the era’s most emblematic characters.

Though lesser known than icons like Dock Ellis and Bill Lee, former big league left-hander Ross Grimsley was the consummate free spirit. He lived according to his own set of rules—and those rules supposedly included some intriguing involvement with witches and some strange choices regarding personal hygiene.

So it was with a rather large helping of irony that the offbeat Grimsley was drafted in the first round by the Cincinnati Reds, one of the most straight-laced organizations of the 1960s and '70s. Personality quirks aside, the Reds liked Grimsley’s left arm and tall, 6-foot, 3-inch build. He threw high, hard fastballs that made him a rapid riser in the Reds organization. On the heels of winning the National League pennant in 1970, the Reds brought him to Cincinnati the following May.

Early in his major league career, Grimsley established himself as a pitcher who felt governed by more than fastballs and curveballs; he felt regulated by the laws of superstition. During his rookie season of 1971, a television reporter introduced Grimsley to a witch, believing that she could bring the struggling neophyte left-hander good luck. The witch gave Grimsley a charm—a greenish-blue stone put into a setting and linked to a chain. After receiving the charm, Grimsley pitched well and won four games in a row. He then lost the charm. Soon after, Grimsley lost his next two games. He telephoned the witch, who sent him another charm. Grimsley proceeded to lose the replacement charm; when he tried to contact the witch again, he realized he had lost her number, as well.

Grimsley’s manager, the old school Sparky Anderson, learned about the left-hander’s communications with the witch and called him into the office. Anderson advised him to forget about the charm and the witch, warning him that continued publicity about his superstition might result in him being branded by the rest of baseball. “You’re crazy,” Anderson told Grimsley face-to-face, according to an article in The Sporting News. “You’ll be known as the clown of the league once this gets around.” Grimsley didn’t care. He defended his belief in the charm. “If I think it’ll help me win,” he told The Sporting News, “why shouldn’t I keep in touch with the witch?” Remaining steadfast in his superstitions, Grimsley collected pocketfuls of lucky pennies, coins and charms of various sorts during his career.

Good luck charms aside, Grimsley enjoyed early success with the Reds. Employing a herky-jerky windup and an exceedingly slow but deceptive change-up (once clocked as slow as 42 miles per hour), Grimsley won two games in the 1972 World Series against the Oakland A’s. Yet, he didn’t feel comfortable under Anderson and certainly didn’t fit in with the corporate image preferred by the Reds’ front office. The Reds enforced strict rules about grooming, insisting on short hair, no mustaches and absolutely no beards; Grimsley preferred to wear his black hair long and curly, and he didn’t always like to shave. In general, the Reds existed as a conservative organization; Grimsley existed as a free-spirited radical. Inevitably, the two could not co-exist. After the 1973 season, the Reds traded the left-hander to the Baltimore Orioles for backup outfielder Merv Rettenmund.

With the Orioles, Grimsley sported a bushy mustache and grew his hair out. He liked to keep his locks long and greasy, perhaps for more than just reasons of fashion and habit. Throughout his career, opponents suspected Grimsley of loading up his pitches with a foreign substance that he might have been keeping in his hair and even in his eyebrows. Whether it be grease or jell or oil of some sort, Grimsley’s full head of curly hair (a white Afro, as some have called it) would have provided a comfortable hiding place.

Grimsley’s hair wasn’t his only distinctive physical trait. He also featured large green eyes—accentuated by turquoise contact lenses—which tended to bulge, giving him a piercing expression. When his face locked into a stare, other players took notice. Early in his career, baseball people began referring to Grimsley as “Crazy Eyes.”

Grimsley’s teammates probably didn’t mind his eyes, or the length of his hair. But they took notice of another one of his habits. Grimsley supposedly didn’t like to take baths or showers, or wash his hair on a regular basis. He particularly didn’t like to do so when he was pitching well, another example of his well-worn list of superstitions. According to some teammates, Grimsley left a memorable impression in the clubhouse and dugout, where quarters could be especially close. Some argued that his first name should have started with the letter G.

As his career progressed in the 1970s, Grimsley made the transition from a high-power pitcher to a change-up specialist. He threw change-ups at three different speeds: slow, slower and slowest. The style of pitching proved maddening to opposing hitters and helped him cash in on the newly created free agent system. After the 1977 season, Grimsley signed a lucrative deal with the Montreal Expos. Pitching in his first season with the Expos, he became the franchise’s first 20-game winner. In fact, he remains the only pitcher to ever win 20 games in a season for the Montreal franchise.

Grimsley could be a paradoxical figure, both in terms of temperament and relations with the media. Though known as a laid-back free spirit, he gained unwanted notoriety when he famously lost his temper with a fan. During a game in September of 1975 against the Boston Red Sox, Grimsley found himself on the receiving end of some heckling from fans while warming up in the Orioles’ bullpen. At the conclusion of his bullpen session, Grimsley acted as if he were going to make one final warm-up toss, then suddenly spun around, and fired the ball in the general direction of the Fenway Park stands. Traveling about 80 miles per hour, the ball missed its intended target, instead hitting an innocent fan standing by. Though formal charges were dismissed, the fan later sued Grimsley and the Orioles.

In general, Grimsley meshed well with the media. Friendly and talkative, he made himself an approachable figure to writers and broadcasters. Strangely, Grimsley changed his tune as a member of the Expos in the middle of the 1979 season. Without warning or explanation, he posted a handwritten sign above his locker in the clubhouse. The sign read, “STAY AWAY. THAT MEANS YOU!!” When reporters asked Grimsley about the turnaround, he said the sign was self-explanatory.

Several years later, by now retired from the game, Grimsley played a practical joke on longtime Cleveland sportswriter Terry Pluto. A respected writer, Pluto asked Grimsley what he was doing in retirement. Grimsley responded by saying that he owned an armadillo farm, which featured 300 of the distinctive animals. He then provided Pluto with an extensive dissertation on armadillos, discussing their habits and characteristics. Pluto wrote about the armadillo farm in his newspaper column. Upon his return to the Cleveland Indians’ clubhouse, players greeted Pluto with howls of laughter. Grimsley’s story about the armadillo farm had been a complete fabrication. He had apparently made up the entire story about armadillos as retribution for some negative remarks Pluto had written about Grimsley’s struggles with the Indians. Grimsley blamed Pluto, at least in part, for the booing he received from fans at Cleveland’s Municipal Stadium. For his part, Pluto pointed to Grimsley’s 6.75 ERA during his final season in Cleveland as the true motivation for the boobirds.

Given his erratic relationship with media and management, not to mention his radical grooming habits, it might come as a surprise to learn what Grimsley decided to do after his playing days. Much to my shock, the off-the-wall Grimsley became a pitching coach—and a respected one at that. Since the 1999 season, this symbol of 1970s zaniness has worked as a pitching guru for the San Francisco Giants organization. Currently stationed at Double-A, Grimsley tutors pitchers with the Richmond Flying Squirrels.

Yes, Ross Grimsley is now a Flying Squirrel! Somehow, in the wacky world of baseball that was so evident in the 1970s, that makes picture-perfect sense.

Bruce Markusen is the author of seven books on baseball, including the award-winning A Baseball Dynasty: Charlie Finley’s Swingin’ A’s, the recipient of the Seymour Medal from the Society for American Baseball Research. He has also written The Team That Changed Baseball: Roberto Clemente and the 1971 Pittsburgh Pirates, Tales From The Mets Dugout and The Orlando Cepeda Story.

RossArt: Artists' Roundtable

As part of this week-long celebration of the 40th anniversary of Ross Grimsley’s Major League debut, three artists with three very different visions were tasked with coming up with some fresh “RossArt”.

If you haven’t already…feel free to check out the original work of Foodstamp Davis, Derek Erdman and Scott Wilke.

I’ll just sit here and wait.

Now that you’ve returned (you have returned, right?)…please enjoy this Artists’ Roundtable.

HOVG: When you start drawing a subject like Ross Grimsley...where do you start? The mustache, the hair...somewhere else?

WILKE: I started with the outline of his body and head and then I began with his face. I usually lightly draw the face because I tend to erase often. Typically, the rest of the drawing is completed…then I go back to the facial area. I saved the mustache for last because it was the signature of the illustration.

ERDMAN: Probably the hair. Or the hat. In this case it was the Expos logo. It varies, really.

FOODSTAMP: This was the second time I’ve been tasked with capturing Grimsley’s swarthy image. I can’t really tell you how I started the drawings, but I can tell you that the experience was the same each time. I barely pick up my pen before I’m overcome with the beauty and I just sort of go into a trance. When I come to, the picture has already been completed and I remember nothing. Also I’m all sweaty.

HOVG: Obviously you each have a different style, but one thing is the same…you all like drawing people. Who has been your favorite person to draw thus far?

WILKE: So far, Prince Fielder is and has been my favorite to draw. I’m a big fan and he has a cartoonish look to his stance and swing.

ERDMAN: I really like to draw Diana Ross. I love her shoulders.

FOODSTAMP: That would have to be draculas driving cool trucks.

HOVG: Any subjects you’d like to tackle in the future?

FOODSTAMP: Now that I’ve combined Ross Grimsley and Burt Reynolds, I’m not really sure where I can go from here. This could be the start of an entire portfolio of important mustaches of the sports and entertainment world. Maybe Lanny McDonald dressed like Magnum P.I. or Rollie Fingers arm wrestling John Waters.

WILKE: I plan on doing George Brett, Robin Yount and Paul Molitor in the near future. They are my favorite players of the pre-steriod era. I am currently working on a Ricky Weeks of the Milwaukee Brewers, which will be completed by next Monday.

ERDMAN: Oh geez, I dunno. I get a lot of orders from people to draw their children. I reckon I'm going to tackle children next.

HOVG: Where can people keep up with what you're working on or maybe purchase some of your art?

WILKE: You can find Wilke Art online to see and purchase prints or originals. You may also “Like” Wilke Art on facebook.

FOODSTAMP: People can keep up with my random personal and professional projects as well as my recently-begun “365 Days of Unplanned Doodles” at my very disorganized flickr page. For random links to look at while at work, adorable animal YouTube videos, random non sequiturs, occasional drunken depression, or even to contact me about commissioning some artwork (now accepting money!) you can follow/contact me on Twitter.

ERDMAN: Facebook, Tumblr, or my website. Try Google!

RossArt: Derek Erdman

A few weeks back, I hammered out a quick post for the Bowie Baysox Mustache Night promotion and when I searched the Googles for a picture of Hall of Famer Eddie Murray...I was greeted with a colorful piece by Derek Erdman.

I'm going to be honest...I had no idea who Erdman was at first.  I thought he was a pretty good artist who was able to capture the essence of his subject in even the simplest of pictures.

But dude even has his own Wikipedia entry!

Derek Erdman (born December 6, 1973) is an artist living in Seattle, Washington. Erdman is known primarily for his vibrantly colored paintings, his phone-prank CD Kathy McGinty, his portrayal of Rap Master Maurice, and his website. His work has appeared in the Chicago Reader newspaper, Roctober magazine, and on the cover of the acclaimed 2006 novel Lullabies for Little Criminals. In 2010, Erdman contributed to MTV's music website and became a regular contributor to Seattle's the Stranger.

Any way you slice it, Erdman is legit and I'm proud to have his original take on "Scuz" as part of this week's celebration.

You can check out Erdman's massive collection of work (and Lord, I suggest you do!) over at his website.

Please check out the other “RossArt” artists Foodstamp Davis and Scott Wilke as well as the Artists' Roundtable. Man…try typing that five times fast!

RossArt: Scott Wilke

I don't remember who contacted who first, but Milwaukee-area artist Scott Wilke and I hit it off pretty quickly.

I remember seeing some of his Milwaukee Brewers drawings on facebook and knew that I needed what would happen if I challenged him to put pen to paper and scribble out a Ross Grimsley drawing for the world to see.

Suffice it to say...I think Wilke did just fine.

You can check out more of Wilke's work (he doesn't disappoint) over at his site Wilke Art.

Please check out the other “RossArt” artists Foodstamp Davis and Derek Erdman as well as the Artists' Roundtable. Man…try typing that five times fast!

RossArt: Foodstamp Davis

Every good company has an iconic logo.

Nike has its swoosh.

McDonald's has its arches and that clown.

And The Hall of Very Good (and no...I'm not calling this website a "good company") has its "Grimsley".

You see, the "Grimsley" is, and has been some time, the official logo for The Hall...and to further celebrate the 40th anniversary of Ross Grimsley's Major League debut, I've reached out to some friends for their artistic interpretations of "Scuz".

But first...about the "Grimsley".

When I needed to brand this site, I reached out to my friend Foodstamp Davis and asked him about transforming one of my favorite baseball cards (the 1981 Topps Ross Grimsley) into something magical.

And he did.

Years after the later, "Foodstamp" has, possibly, outdone himself.

Initially, I wasn't sure how I felt about the Ross Grimsley-Burt Reynolds hybrid...but, honestly, it grew on me. I hope it grows on you as well.

You can check out more of Foodstamp's work, or more specifically, his “365 Days of Unplanned Doodles” at his flickr page.

Please check out the other “RossArt” artists Scott Wilke and Derek Erdman as well as the Artists' Roundtable. Man…try typing that five times fast!

Ross is Boss: Mark's Ephemera

To my surprise, there has been a pretty good response to celebration of the 40th anniversary of Ross Grimsley's Major League debut.

I received one of my favorite emails (and, subsequently, links) today.

As a Friend of the (Baseball Bloggers Alliance) I've become aware of your love affair with Ross Grimsley. I just posted a blog entry about him. You'll find it interesting, I hope.

Keep up the good work.
Mark Aubrey

Here is what Aubrey uncovered over at his site Mark's Ephemera.

I can't start to recap (Ross Grimsley's) career in a few paragraphs, especially when you can easily peruse it at baseball-reference. But one thing that caught my eye was his trade on December 4, 1973.

Traded by the Cincinnati Reds with Wally Williams (minors) to the Baltimore Orioles for Bill Wood (minors), Junior Kennedy and Merv Rettenmund.

This really isn't that amazing or interesting. Minor leaguers, players, teams. Trades like this happen all the time.

I was intrigued by the double letter sequences in the players' names.

ROSS GRIMSLEY
WALLY WILLIAMS
BILL WOOD
JUNIOR KENNEDY
MERV RETTENMUND

Five players, all with at least one double letter sequence. I know of no other trade that accomplishes this feat.

Pretty cool, man! Keep up the good work, gang...and keep the party rolling!

Twitter Tuesday: Richmond Flying Squirrels

All this week we’re celebrating the 40th anniversary of Ross Grimsley’s Major League debut and this week's Twitter Tuesday is no different.

Grimsley, of course, pitched 11 big league seasons, but did you know that in 1989, he began a second career as a Minor League pitching coach?

It’s true.

Currently, “Scuz” is in his second season with the Double-A affiliate of the World Champion San Francisco Giants…the social media savvy Richmond Flying Squirrels.

Now, I’m not sure who is doing the actual tweeting for the team, but whoever it is…they’re doing it with just the right mix of live tweeting, posting pictures and keeping their followers engaged with team promotions.

And, of course, there’s this:

Looks like a reinactment of the truffle shuffle from the Goonies more than the chicken dance. but the crowd loves it!

Want to know who is coming out to The Diamond, who won the Uncle Bob’s Self Storage raffle or the process of a player selecting their walk up music…follow the Richmond Flying Squirrels at @gosquirrels  now!

In the meantime, why not watch this "interview" with team mascot Nutzy!  C'mon...you've got something better to do?