Well, shortly after I got home from the park, one of my friends approached me and asked what I was doing the next day. I quickly told her that I would be going to the game. She smiled, obviously not surprised by my answer. She then told me that early the next morning she would be driving into Baltimore for a doctors appointment and that I was welcome to join her if I wanted.
My mind whirred at a mile a minute. She was going to Baltimore?! Tomorrow?! Now, you might be wondering why this was such a big deal to me. It's simple. The next day was not only the home opener for the Frederick Keys, it was also the home opener for the Balimore Orioles! I immediately said I would be going, and that was that.
Now, let's skip my sleepless night and fast forward to the next morning. We departed around 9 AM the next day and were in Baltimore in just over an hour. I quickly spotted the beautiful ball park as we drove into Baltimore. In fact, I was forced to watch the park for another agonizing half hour from the van as we handled the opening day traffic. At last, we came to a stop outside the stadium, and I quickly jumped out and jogged up to Oriole Park at Camden Yards.
I went through my usual rituals of familiarizing myself with new ballparks and began my first lap around the perimeter. There wasn't an unreasonable amount of people out front of the stadium, but when I neared the bars around the back of Oriole Park, I smiled. Thousands of (thirsty) baseball fans. It was definitely opening day, and I was there!!! I ducked between people from every walk of life, and despite the many stark differences, everybody around me was here for the same thing. Some good old-fashioned American baseball!
I kept moving, and I kept my eyes open for players that would be straggling in from the Hilton across the street, but no such sightings graced my line of vision so I settled down outside of the player's entrance with the rest of the graphers. I had brought a single official major league baseball and any autographs I hoped to snag would have to be on it.
It wasn't long before a yellow taxi pulled up and an unknown player shoved a handful of bills into the drivers hand. A small army of fans rushed the player, holding out baseball cards, baseballs, and pens. The player respectfully declined and informed us that he was late on opening day. He had one featureless baseball bag, and one Pittsburg Pirates bag. He must have been a recent acquisition of the O's, perhaps a backup for the backup of Brian Roberts, who had just ruptured a tendon in his knee.
I wasn't perturbed by his unwillingness to sign. He wasn't exactly on my autograph radar anyway, and I knew that bigger fish would be coming along. About 5 minutes after I had settled down outside of the players' entrance, a small group of graphers hustled around from the side of the stadium that I had just canvassed. They quickly told us that Justin Morneau and Joe Mauer had just walked over from the Hilton and had entered from an alternate entrance.
They disappointedly informed us that neither had signed anything, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of these 40-50 year old men chasing down a player with a binder full of cards for them to sign. I'd seen it happen dozens of times before. Now, I admit that I collect autographs and I do wait around before and after the games to see if any players are in a signing mood. But I only request one autograph per player and I usually have them personalize it "To Joe" because I keep all of them. I do not sell them like a high percentage of graphers do.
(For future reference, if you're looking for a bold and clean autograph, ask the player to personalize it to you. It shows the player that you're not going to sell it and that you are a true MLB fan who is just looking for something to put on their shelf. Otherwise, if the player is in a rush they may sign quickly and sloppily, or they may just abbreviate their signature into an unrecognizable mess of lines and dots.)
I didn't see any more players over the next half hour, but a team bus with about 4 unknown players on it did pass us and drive into the stadium's guarded underground lot. Shortly after that, Brian Roberts and his wife pulled up to the entrance of the lot in a Range Rover. Brian rolled down his window to shake hands with the attendant, but he ignored all autograph requests coming from the other side of the fence. I still wasn't bothered. Bigger fish are coming. After all, hall of famers tend to pay a visit to their former clubs on opening day.
A short while later, a fancy silver car sped up to the entrance of the lot, and with a wave of his hand was permitted to enter. I knew this guy had to be special because every other vehicle that had sought to enter the lot had to show their credentials first and then were subjected to a metal detector search of the underside of their vehicle. Even the bus was checked.
I walked over to the fence with a few other people, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the grapher next to me open his binder to a page filled with Cal Ripken Jr cards. I knew there was a chance a legend would show up, but I haden't really put any thought towards who it could be. Cal, perhaps? Maybe Brooks Robinson? Eddie Murray? The answer was none of those three. We waited for a good 5 minutes, and at long last the driver and sole occupant of the car started walking towards us. My heart skipped when I recognized his face from several of my Topps cards back home. It was the best pitcher in Orioles' history, Jim Palmer!
The rest of the graphers whipped out dozens of Jim Palmer cards from their binders, I simply squeezed my single baseball, hoping that he would walk over to us. The crowd immediately started yelling autograph requests at him, and I quietly and patiently stood there, absorbing the presence of this hall of fame masterpiece. He jokingly stated that he wasn't in a signing mood, and one of the graphers quipped that he says he loves signing autographs for fans when he's color commentating games. Jim laughed and said "Well alright. How about I do it just this once and never again."
I was near the end of a line of about 10 people, and he slowly walked the length of the short fence and signed one autograph per person. Perfectly fair if you ask me. After what seemed an eternity, he got to me. I handed him my baseball and he took it. I thanked him in advance and requested that he personalize the ball "To Joe". He smiled at me, signed the ball on the sweet spot, personalized it "To Joe!!" on the top panel, and started to hand the ball back to me but retracted the ball quickly and added the "HOF 90" inscription below his name. See, you never know what will happen when you ask them to personalize an autograph. You might just get an extra inscription you didn't request and a warm smile from one of the game's greats. I waited until he finished signing for the remaining fans and I re-approached him for a picture. He gladly posed with me, then turned and walked away. I was all smiles.
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| Jim was a 6x all-star, a 3x world series champ, a 3x AL Cy Young award winner, a 4x Gold Glove award winner, he pitched a no-hitter in the '69 season, his number 22 has been retired by the Baltimore Orioles, and he was a first ballot hall of famer in 1990. Not to mention that he won almost 300 games, struck out well over 2,000 batters, and finished his career well below the 3.00 earned run average. This guy is a legend. |
Now, when Jim Palmer first started walking towards us, former Oriole BJ Surhoff quickly darted out of the lot behind him, probably hoping that we were all preoccupied with Mr. Palmer and would leave him alone. Of course that wasn't the case. Several graphers tried calling him over to sign, but he just kept booking it to his car. One grapher decided to follow him, and did end up getting an autograph, but he missed out on Jim Palmer signing.
Mr. Surhoff is definitely worth getting an autograph from, and I hope to run into him again when I'm in Baltimore next week. I've got an official major league baseball set aside just for him. Now I just have to decide whether I want him to add the "1985 #1 Overall Pick" inscription, or the lesser known "The Killer" inscription. We'll light that firecracker when we get to it.
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