The Hallowed Halls of Baseball History

Necessary Roughness
by Aaron Isaac Feldstein

For a sports fan, this was a weekend that could easily fill one’s appetite. There was the first golf major of the year, the Masters. There was the biggest rivalry in sports kicking off - the Red Sox vs. the Yankees. The Stanley Cup playoffs were in full swing and NBA teams continued to battle for Western Conference superiority.

But for me -- I didn’t watch any of it.

Sure, I glanced at Sportscenter like any sports writer would if he were unable to catch the games. Sure, I jumped on the internet and checked out boxscores and storylines in an attempt to find out what was happening to the Anaheim Ducks and Detroit Tigers.

But for me -- I was more interested in the past, not the present.

Last week was the 28th anniversary of my birth, and in true Feldstein fashion I treated myself to a birthday baseball game. This year, I added something else. It wasn’t enough to claim I loved the game of baseball unless I was able to do one thing -- visit the Baseball Hall of Fame.

So two of my friends and I hoped into a blue Nissan Versa and whizzed up to Cooperstown, N,Y. I drove down two lane country roads, going through town after town where the red barn was a major piece of real estate, where bicycles and toys were left on the front lawn with no worry of someone taking them, and where places, for one reason or another, had to specify that they were open on Tuesdays.

Despite my economy rental struggling to make it up some of the hills, we arrived at Cooperstown. According to the lady who was nice enough to let me check in an hour early at the Howard Johnson, this was Cooperstown’s off-season. That was apparent by the empty parking lot and the fact we were the only guests staying at the hotel that night.

The next day, my two friends and I walked into the Mecca of baseball. There I realized that despite what anyone says, baseball is still America’s sport.

The halls were drenched in history. I examined the origins of baseball and analyzed the first ball ever used at a game where admissions were charged. I saw the ball that was used by Christy Mathewson to strike out the final batter in the first ever World Series. I walked into the wing dedicated to the “Great Bambino” Babe Ruth and watched as fathers told their sons about this icon of the sport.

The artifacts that were inside were enough to even shock the casual fan. We tricked my friend into coming on this trip, even though he doesn’t watch baseball. Despite his lack of knowledge or interest, he took in the history and asked questions like, “Why is Pete Rose not a member of the Hall of Fame, but his jersey is here?”



There were amazing displays that could easily bring a tear to your eye. A door that said “colored entrance” was at the entry to the Negro League wing, reminding the fans of how terrible life used to be. How in 1947, Jackie Robinson became one of the first images of the fight against segregation, and that when the Brooklyn Dodgers tried to trade him to the Giants after the 1956 season, he wrote on what looked like a Choc Full-O-Nuts stationary that he’d rather quit in his prime than play for the rival team.

I took pictures of jerseys worn by legends like Brooks Robinson, Willie Mays, Lou Gehrig and Stan Musial. I marveled at the evolution of the baseball mitt that once seemed more like a golf glove. I uttered the words “Say It Ain’t So” as I looked at the Chicago Black Sox and “Shoeless” Joe Jackson display.



The championship wing was impressive. Relics from Sandy Koufax to Mike Schmidt to Kirby Puckett were on display to ignite memories in the heads of life long fans, and to enlighten the fans of tomorrow. The small sections dedicated to the Athletics, who won three World Series in a row, were overshadowed by Mike Schmidt and the Phillies amazing display for their one World Series win in 1980. It’s okay though, I got to see the shoes Rickey Henderson wore when he broke the stolen base record, and of course, he signed them.

The records hall was an incredible exhibit of the past and the future. For each record, a framed picture showed the current record holder with the highest active player in the same frame. Juan Pierre sits in the same frame as Henderson for stolen bases. Greg Maddux is placed in the same picture as Cy Young for wins, the man after whom the pitching award is named. after, an award Maddux has won four times. Trevor Hoffman shared the all-time saves picture frame with -- Trevor Hoffman.

The individual season awards sat in a display case with last year’s winners and those who came before them. A trophy dedicated to the Triple Crown rested in the case with a hint of dust on it, since no one has earned the Triple Crown for hitting since Carl Yasterzemski of the 1967 Boston Red Sox. However, Jake Peavy earned the pitching award -- strikeouts, ERA and victories -- just last year.

The No-Hitter wall was impressive, as the game-ending ball was placed with a picture of the pitcher and the years were distinguished by different colors. Moments like Fernando Valenzuela and Dave Stewart throwing no-hitters on the same day were displayed next to no name pitchers like Chris Bosio and Kent Merker, who was a part of two no-hitters with the Braves.

And when it comes to No-Hitters, Nolan Ryan was a king. A separate display for the master of the strikeout contained a hat for each team he threw one with -- four Angels hats, two Rangers hats and one Astros hat, for a total of seven.

Another record that just seems untouchable.

Then again, that’s what they said about Babe Ruth’s 714 career home runs. That has now been surpassed twice. Before you ask, Barry Bonds’ asterisk branded ball was not on display because it had not arrived yet.

I saw the ball that Orel Hershiser used to strike out Tony Phillips to win the 1988 Worlds Series, and I even saw the bloody, gross, crusty, faded, historic sock worn by Curt Schilling in Game 6 of the ALCS in 2004. The sock sat across the room from the Sox’s latest World Series shrine from this last World Series.

Finally, I walked slowly into the hallowed halls where the plaques for each inductee hang on the wall. I saw name after name of the men that helped revolutionize the sport I have come to love. Players turned war veterans had a display commending them for their duty, which even included one veteran of the civil war.

Down the long hall of legends are the most recent inductees next to the inaugural class of five -- Ty Cobb, Honus Wagner, Mathewson, Walter Johnson and George Herman Ruth. Only a few panels over are “the Ironman” Cal Ripken Jr. and “Mr. Padre” Tony Gwynn -- two legends of my lifetime.

It was an amazing experience that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I watched the game that I love evolve in the matter of just a few hours. With all the clouds that hang over the game today, it was nice to get away from that and look at how fantastic the game can truly be. That no matter what happens, baseball is still a game loved by the masses and will forever flourish. It survived the Black Sox scandal, it survived the 1994 strike, and it will certainly survive the steroid era.

I can’t wait to go back and see how the Hall of Fame will handle this fragile situation. And it will be worth going back to, because not only is the game always changing and records continue to be broken, but also a townie informed me that they change displays every month because they don’t have enough space for all the gargantuan collection they have in the basement.

I just hope that I will be able to cover that history --- maybe even be recognized for a Ford Frick award. A boy can dream, and besides, I already took the picture for it.