Agnew's Mind He's got a long journey ahead of him.

Memories of Michael Jack Schmidt

    by Mike Agnew Jr.

A few weeks ago, Amanda asked me to write an email to her friend Graig Kreindler, who creates the most amazing baseball paintings I have ever seen.  You can find his work on Facebook and GraigKreindler.com.  He was planning to do a Mike Schmidt painting but wanted to get a feeling of what he meant to Philly fans since Graig himself is from New York.  The following is the e-mail I sent him.  Please feel free to add your own Schmidt comments to this post and I will be sure to point Graig to them so he can get the full picture.

Hi Graig,

Amanda asked me a while back to think about Mike Schmidt and send you an email of what I thought.  Well I finally sat down today and I thought about it.

It's tough.  When I was growing up Mike Schmidt was a giant.  Baseball was Mike Schmidt.  He was the one card that was never traded amongst my friends.  I had a plaque of him up on my wall as a kid.  In the (signed) picture he was taking batting practice.  Underneath the picture there was a gold plaque that said "Mike Schmidt: Greatest Third Basemen Ever".  I remember reading that as I would stress over homework and think, "how do you become the greatest ever of something?"  It was just a really powerful title.

I also remember the Mike Schmidt Book from the school library.  It was probably the most beaten up book in the library next to the Guiness Book.  It was one of those in-a-series books so as you looked down the shelf it would read Wayne Gretzky, Reggie Jackson, Bo Jackson, Michael Jordan... etc.   I remember doing a biography paper of him in the second grade.  The most interesting fact I found was that he was struck by lightning at 18.  Now that I think back though, can I really trust that book?

My next memory was the day he retired. I must have been 6 or 7.   I was playing in the driveway on a stupid under-sized Nerf skateboard.  My dad had the garage radio tuned to some rock station.  It was just an old receiver tied into one massive speaker that had seen better days.  They broke the news in between songs:

"Today, Mike Schmidt announced his retirement...."

Everything went quiet.  They might as well have said he died in a plane crash.  I ran inside the house and told my dad, who was watching tv.  I waited for the same disbelief but my dad just said, "I heard".  I was in shock that no one in my house felt the blow.  I went up to my room and looked at the plaque and thought, "What happens to baseball now?  Are they just going to keep playing without him?"  It broke my heart and I would not feel that same pain again until the strike of '94.

My final memory was when I was bit older, 10 or 11.  My dad and I had started going to Sunday games.  It was our thing -- wake up early and brew some tea on the stove.  Throw it in a water cooler full of ice, grab our hats, and head out.  We'd take Lincoln Drive into Philly.  It's a very windy back road that leads you out to the expressway.  There was a small stone bridge that we would travel under and everytime we would drive underneath it I'd roll down the window and yell, "ECHO!"  (I still yell it when I drive under the Echo Bridge to this day... for luck)  We'd get down to the Vet around the time batting practice was finishing up.  We'd stop at 10th Ave and get two Italian hoagies.  We would get to our seats and spill oil and mayo all over the program as we tried to keep score inning after inning.  Sometimes we would get up and walk around the concourse.  One day we were walking by the bar in the stadium.  I guess it was like the Diamond Club Lounge that Citizen's Bank has, or at least I assume they do.  Anyway, as we walked past my dad grabbed me, "Mike, Mike! Look it's Mike Schmidt."  I tuned and saw my idol sitting at the bar sipping a beer, watching the game on a tv.  I froze.  My dad pushed me toward the bar entrance.  I could feel my Chuck Taylors sliding on the smoothed concrete.  "Go up and say hi."  I swallowed and started towards him.  I felt like I was walking in wet sand.  Every step closer was harder to take.  About 10 feet away, my feet gave up.  I decided to try using my voice to close the gap.  "Hi, Mr Schmidt."  His eyes were still set in the game.  I remember looking at his face and thinking how old and beat up it looked.  "Huh-Hi Mr. Schmidt."  This time he heard me.  He turned in his stool and gave me a smile and wave.  I smiled and waved back.  At least, I think I did.  I turned and ran back to my dad.  I had a spring in my step for the rest of the day -- the day a legend smiled at me.

My stories are a bit winded but thats how I tell memories.  I mean, you can look up the stats online to see how great he was but these are my memories.  Hope it is what you are looking for.

Thanks,

Mike

Bill and I make the Inquirer

    by Mike Agnew Jr.

Check out the second page of the World Series sports section of the Philadelphia Inquirer.  The paper actually cuts off our heads completely, but online had this picture up.  Here is the link to the website in case you shant believe me.  Click here and go to picture 19.

Game 5 and still ALIVE!!!

    by Mike Agnew Jr.

I went to bed on Sunday night angry...very angry.   I didn't watch the bottom of the 9th.  I turned off the tv.  Brushed my teeth.  Got ready for bed.  And right before closing my eyes, I checked phillies.com to see if a miracle happened.  To see if Santa had come and left a present under the tree for me.  A tiny match lit in the middle of a dark field and then pffff... everything went dark.  The Phillies had crumbled again.  My head hit the pillow just a little bit harder.

Then at 6:30AM I get a text from my dad.  He and my mom were at the last two games which, in turn, made them get home late two nights in a row which, in turn, led them to be run down by lack of sleep and lack of wins which, in turn, made the tickets available to me... my turn.

Now, I went to the World Series Game 4 last year.  The Blanton Home Run.  It was an amazing night.  It brought me back to being 11 again and all the awe that was the Series of the World, the Classical Autumn.  This time around I didn't get caught up in the bells and whistles.  This time the perks that come with a World Series game didn't phase me.  I wanted baseball pure and simple.  I wanted the American Pastime versus the almighty dollar.  I wanted heart and integrity versus performance enhancement.  I wanted David versus Goliath.  Link versus Ganon.  Rocky versus Apollo.  That's it.  That's the match up I wanted.  Phillies versus Yankees... Balboa versus Creed.

Bill and I got to the stadium before the gates were open... in fact, nothing was open but the radio station stands giving away pieces of plastic to herds of cattle. We went in as soon as they opened and caught both the Phillies' and Yankees' batting practices, a feat I have never achieved, ever,  in my baseball watching career. Pre-game we caught a few glimpses of familiar faces.

The fans eventually piled in and the game was under way. And thus began one of the most complete games I have ever seen.

It had controversy: Victorino's beaning in the first inning, Posada's dilly-dalying strike, A-Ro(i)d

It had Huge Philly Scores: Utley's 3 runner, and Utley's whoops I hit that foul... let me straighten that out for ya, Lee's single, Ibanez's Jeep sign dinger, and Lee's overall pitching

It had funny quotes from Section 137:  "Oh hey, you guys made it. Good.  Sit down.  Let me fill you in on what you missed." ~ Joe, a fellow season ticket holder, to the Yankees fans who showed up in the seats next to him in the 4th inning.  The same quote was used when they returned from a bathroom break in the 7th.

It had funny quotes from the Men's Room:  "Focus, focus."  ~ A Phillies Fan reacting to a group of fans starting to sing "Fly, Eagles, Fly"

It had the Phanatic:

It had Classic Phillies Drama: A 9-inning looming Yankee threat, Damon little crappy dinker to keep the game alive, as well as the rest of the drama you get with Ryan Madson.

It had Celebs:

And, most importantly, it had the strike-out to ended the game with full screaming and rally towels.

By the way, I am now 3 for 3 in World Series Game Victories. '93 Game 2, '08 Game 4, '09 Game 5

Letters from Section 137

    by Mike Agnew Jr.

So I was sitting in my seat in section 137 after today's game and I was trying to figure out how to put together all my thoughts of different events that occurred during the game.  So I figured I would address those involved or those interested directly in letter form as to be as sarcastic and sincere at the same time....so let's begin...

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Dear Cole Hamels,

I told you at last Saturday's game that you would need to show up to the playoffs.  I noticed you dragging your feet right from the get go.  Now I know we had locked in the NL East a couple games before but that is no reason to stop playing baseball.   You let the runners steal bases on you like it was a pee-wee league game.  But I digress.  Today's performance was more of the same and to have that press conference this morning complaining about the timing of the game and how the world champs deserve more respect.  Maybe you are right but that is something for the fans to complain about not the ball players.  You just focus on the game.

Oh, ......and congrats on the kid.

Love,

A Guy from the Stands

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Dear Third Base Umpire,

You are horrible.

Hate,

Mike

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Dear Left Field Umpire,

Please advise the third base umpire and correct him when he is blatantly wrong.  Teach him that everyone makes mistakes.  Please also tell him that I was a little harsh in my letter to him and for that I am sorry.  I got caught up in the moment and my emotions got the best of me.

See you at dinner,

Michael

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Dear Larry-the-Cable-Guy-Looking Guy in Section 136,

I felt horrible watching your aluminum bud light pounders get knocked over not once, not twice, not thrice, but a grand total of FIVE times.  Thirty-five bucks spilled onto the concrete below.  Wasted...and evaporated.  Your Utley jersey fell into that puddle of beer a total of eleven times and your rally towel....well...you couldn't even wave it like all the fans around you because it was saturated with your lost possessions.  I recognized the culprit behind this repeated occurrence early on and believe it all stemmed back to the rich bastards sitting in your row.  They put all their beers in the cup holder to the left when they should be using the one to the right which, in turn, left you, at the end of the row, without a cup holder to call your own.  You managed by sticking it under your seat or even between your feet but the rich bastards wouldn't have it.  They wanted to break you.  So they would get up to go to the bathroom, make you get up from your seat, make you move to the aisle, and in the process kick your ice cold boodlight under your chair where it's gold nectar would return to the earth whence it came.  I cry for you, oh sleeveless warrior, because even after all these tragedies you still prevailed.  At last call, in the bottom of the 7th, you not only got yourself an ice cold chalice of golden wheat but you also attained a holding sheath for said bruski and force those Armani-wearing losers to shift their beverages one holder to the right.  And on top of it all, you tipped the beer-man a buck on top of the already over-inflated price of Seven dollars.

You are my Hero,

A friend

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Dear Dewitt,

I saw Woodland on the Fanavision during the "Bongo Cam" part.  She is the ring that binds us.

Pleasants,

the one

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Other Notable Quotes:

Beer Man (handing me a beer for a guy down the row): "Here man, take a sip and pass it down."

Guy on a Cell Phone on the way out:"No we lost............Hamel (pooped) the bed."

Guy behind me: "WHAT ARE YOU SWINGING AT!....I mean....I'm not yelling at you...I'm just saying what are you swinging at....I want to know and you are really far away from me and that makes me yell."

Another guy behind me: "Don't get me wrong I love Jimmy.  I do.  I just love hits more."

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And finally, my favorite part of the night:

3 guys standing in the aisle, waiting to get back to their seat.  These are the rich guys from the letter above.  One looked like Chuck Bass.

.

.

Guy in seat in front of me: "Hey guys can you sit down while you are waiting to get back to your seats.  No one can see."

Chuck: "I'll sit down as soon as I'm back in my seat. Until then, I'm fine right here."

.

(Let the games begin....)

.

Various guys in our section, there was a huge roar of comments but these were the ones I could make out and remember:

"Hey prissy boy, how 'bout you sit down where you are ... or would that rip your sister's pants that you're wearing."

"In here you are just row 4 seat 12, buddy. Move it."

"I'm gonna steal your BMW and (kiss) your girlfriend in it."

Chuck - "I wasn't talking to any of you, I was talking to him"

"If you are talking to him then you are going to deal with all of us."

"You shouldn't be talking to anybody, pretty boy."

Chuck walks back to his seat, sits down, and looks over at us and says, "You talking to me."

"I'm going to (respect) your girlfriend!"

.

.

......and finally a moment of Zen:

The Philadelphia Phillies: A Class Act

    by Mike Agnew Jr.

There are many different reasons I love the game of baseball.  The fact that anyone can play it.  The fact that it is much more relaxing to watch.  Going to the ballpark, strolling around, hearing the roar of the crowd and running back to get a look at the field to see what happened.  There are few feelings that can relate.

Last night I was watching the Phillies vs. Astros and I must admit I was not worried.  We needed one more win to lock in another NL East Pennant.  I was enjoying the game, reclined on my couch, sipping on a cold beer.  I watched the Phillies rack up run after run.  By the time we entered the 9th inning I could have not been more relaxed.  But then I started to worry.  Not because of any feeling of doubt that the fightin's would come out victorious but because I was so relaxed.  I should have been on the edge of my seat praying for strike after strike, but I wasn't. I was sitting back and watching my boys do what they do best.  Was I becoming complacent with the notion of a Phillies post-season? Did I just expect the win?  What happened to the beer-soaked Agnew standing on Broad Street screaming until he couldn't talk?

Then something happened.  Something that lit that fire back up inside me.  That feeling you get when the mets lose or someone on the Giants gets hurt.  The feeling of Mick yelling at Rocky, "Get up ROCK!" or Adrian, "There's one thing I want you to do for me.......Win."  Then that single bell tolls.....bong.  That feeling of a Mitch Williams' snot rocket right before the final pitch of NLCS Clincher in 1993.  That feeling of the spirit of Philadelphia.  That feeling that you belong to something great.  Something that will continue to impress you.  Something that makes us different from everywhere else.

Top of the 9th.  2 outs.  No men on.  Scott Eyre pitching.  He just retired the last two batters.  But what's this!  Charlie Manual walks out to the mound!  He's calling for Brade Lidge to face the last batter!  Brad Lidge...the guy who everyone is worried about...the guy who everyone thinks is washed up...the guy who peaked last year....the guy that makes everyone text their friends with "Lidge time. Hold on.", "Oh boy...", and "choke artist".    Charlie Manuel trusts HIM?  Charlie Manual TRUSTS him?  oh...

.

.

One pitch later.....

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That's right....it was a class act in true Phillies' form.  I'm glad Charlie did it.  Basically saying, "I'm not giving up on this guy.  You got a problem with him, you got a problem with me."  I don't know about you, but I trust Charlie.  And I have had faith in Lidge. One pitch later and the game was over.

2009 National League East Champions - 3rd year in a row.

The team walking out to the HK in left field was pretty cool too.  It reminded me of that game in Colorado a couple years ago....

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...and don't try to ruin this moment by bringing up Utley's F-Bomb from last year...don't be that guy.  That was pure emotion.  That was Danny Jackson roiding out and tearing his uniform off.  We loved it at the time.  Let's remember this instead....

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