Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

30 Years Ago in History

Stacey had originally planned our wedding for May 25th and had ordered the invitations. I was playing baseball in college; and upon returning with 11 other players from our spring trip to Florida, I told her that we had a pretty good team and that we should probably move the wedding date back to after the Small College World Series, which ended on June 5. So, the date was set for June 8th, 30 years ago next week.

I count that as one of the few times that I have been right about anything -- our successful season ended June 2 in Springfield, Illinois, on a sour note. I got back home 30 years ago today, excited to see Stacey and for the wedding.

I took Stacey out the night of June 4, 1974, on a date to see ... what else ... a baseball game between the Cleveland Indians and the Texas Rangers. Bleacher seats were 50 cents because nobody ever went to see the Tribe, which sucked big time. For "Strike Out Cancer Night," which was heavily promoted, only 8,000 fans showed up.

So, going to Indians' games was for fans of the game only. And that's what Stacey and I were.

Except on the night of June 4, 1974, there were a lot more people at Cleveland Municipal Stadium than just baseball fans. A huge crowd showed up to fill one-third of the 78,000-seat stadium built in the early 1930's with the hope that the 1936 Olympic Games might be lured to the city, the city that counted Olympian Jesse Owens as its favorite son. As it turned out, the 1936 Olympic Games were held in Berlin under the watchful eyes of Adolf Hitler -- Jesse Owens kicked ass there, about which you can read elsewhere.

It was disappointing to arrive at Municipal Stadium to find out that 25,000 people were pouring in to take advantage of 10-cent Beer Night. The big Budweiser trucks were stationed behind the outfield fence to supply the thirsty patrons with a maximum of six beers ... each visit. The bleachers, which were the closest seats to the cheap suds, were pretty well filled that night, filled with drunken high school and college kids, steel mill and blue-collar workers, all intent on one purpose, to get hammered for less than the price of a $3.50 box seat and have some fun at the old ball game. The baseball game was only a backdrop for the beer fest and the debauchery.

Streaking, you know, taking your clothes off and running naked in public, was very popular on college campuses that spring and at Municipal Stadium on June 4, 1974. It started in the 3rd or 4th inning when a couple of drunken naked revelers raced from behind home plate out over pitcher's mound toward the green outfield before a couple of Cleveland's finest, probably two of only about 10 cops on easy duty at the Stadium that night, dragged the two guys down. From then on, between innings and sometimes between pitches, it was off to the races for many of the besotted patrons, some of which found it tough to scale the eight-foot high outfield fence with aplomb while bare and plastered.

In the meantime, in the bleachers, beer and bodies were flying. The endless supply of beer kept flowing. Tempers flared on the field as streakers interrupted the game time and time again. And the beer kept flowing, six cups at a time. In the seventh or eighth inning, a drunken lunatic approached Rangers' outfielder Jeff Burroughs, who decked the overmatched sot with one punch.

Burroughs became the object of abject derision for thousands of crocked, corybantic lushes. In the bottom of the ninth, with the bases full of Indians and the score tied at 5, some addle-brained idiot, to the delight of the the inebriated party-goers, raced across the field with a few friends and grabbed the cap right off Jeff Burroughs' head.

It was only after Billy Martin, God bless his immortal soul, who was manager of the Rangers, charged out of the dugout, baseball bat in hand and several posse in tow, to save Burroughs, did all hell broke loose, and scores of drunks in various stages of undress poured onto the field to join in the fun. Mike Hargrove, playing first base, accosted from behind by a partially-clad lad, threw the guy down to the infield dirt and commenced to beat the shit out of him, other players, Indians and Rangers, coming to his aid with Louisville Sluggers and other weapons of mass destruction.

And what did Stacey and I, the only two non-drinkers in the place, do at that point? We left. We missed the brawl between 500 drunks on one side and 50 players and Billy Martin and some Cleveland cops on the other side. We missed the announcement that the game was forfeited to the Rangers because of "crowd interference."

The wedding -- it was in the morning ... outside ... overlooking Lake Erie ... acoustic guitar playing ... circle of flowers ... champagne breakfast ... long hair ... love ... happiness ... sounds like we were hippies. Oh, no beer.

Posted by Bill at June 4, 2004 10:08 AM