Baseball and Poker

To my way of thinking baseball and poker are very similar. We have now reached a critical point in this blog. Probably if I had not mentioned it, the reader, if there are any in this virtual internet world, would not have noticed it. And now that I did mention it, I wonder why I write this blog, when there are so few readers. The truth is, though, that I get pleasure from doing it and a sense of accomplishment after I complete each blog.

Let me explain, though, why there was a critical point after the first sentence. It has to do with the main themes that run through these blogs. This blog, if it is anything, is an exploration of my thought process and my interests and observations about life. The first sentence made reference to two points. The first point is my way of thinking. The second point is the similarities between baseball and poker. I could have spent the entire blog explaining what I meant by my way of thinking. However, I am not in the mood to discuss that subject. I think I'll write about baseball and poker.

Baseball and poker are both fundamentally American games, although they have recently become more global. There was a time when the best poker players in the world were either from Texas or Jews from New York. Today poker is popular throughout Europe and Asia. Many of the best players are Vietnamese. Baseball has also expanded from an American pastime to an international sport attracting great players from Latin America and Japan.

Baseball and poker have a similar rhythm. They both require patience, strategic thinking and are slow moving most of the time. The ultimate outcomes are not decided in one inning, or even in one game, but after long grueling seasons or sessions. In both games there are intense turning point moments when the pressure mounts and the outcomes hinges on one pitch, one card.

The major similarity is that the long term enjoyment in both games is centered in mathematics. No one can be considered a true baseball fan unless they are immersed in the statistics of their favorite teams and players and have studied the all time leaders and record holders in the major categories: home runs, batting average, RBI's, wins, ERA, and strikeouts. In a similar vein, all poker devotees know the important odds of drawing to inside straights, making flushes, and flopping three of a kind. They also must have a good feeling for probabilities and instantaneously or intuitively be able to calculate the relative value of calling, folding or raising, in all situations.

Baseball and poker both have undergone changes in recent years. Poker, has gone from underground to mainstream and now attracts a wide range of personalities from all segments of society. Baseball has also changed, especially in its use of pitchers. Consider the case of Ralph Terry.

Terry was a pitcher for the New York Yankees in the sixties. He is most famous for having given up the winning home run to Bill Mazeroski in the seventh game of the 1960 World Series enabling the Pittsburgh Pirates to defeat the Yankees 10-9 after the Yankees had totally buried the Pirates in their three victories while Pittsburgh squeaked out their three wins.

Terry was back in the spotlight in the seventh game of the 1962 World Series. He was the starting Yankee pitcher and had pitched eight shut out innings. Today he would have been taken out for a closer, no matter how good he was pitching. He started the ninth by giving up a bunt single to pinch hitter Matty Alou. He then struck out the next two batters, including Matty's brother Felipe. The following hitter Willie Mays doubled to right field. Aware of Roger Maris' great arm they held Matty at third making it second and third with two out. This brought up Willie McCovey one of the great left-handed sluggers of the day. Today they definitely would not have let the right-handed Terry pitch to the left-handed McCovey. With a right-hander Orlando Cepeda, on deck, today they would have at least walked McCovey or pitched around him. Anyway Terry did pitch to McCovey, who lined a shot, that he later called the hardest ball he ever hit in his life, to second baseman Bobby Richardson, and the series was over. I was sickened by the Yankee victory. This whole scenario could never had happened in the world of baseball today.

Ralph Terry is not a baseball legend. He just happened to be involved in two great baseball moments. What is interesting to me, and is part of my personal baseball history, is that in 1967, after Terry was traded to the Mets, I was waiting outside their clubhouse for autographs. Terry was one of the players I approached. He did not give me an autograph. He did give me his pencil. I later tried to sell it. I needed money to play poker.

A Moroccan Dream

I almost converted to Islam. I had to to make a choice between sex or baseball. I chose baseball. Let me explain. It all started at a Super Bowl party. I was introduced to Latifa. She was from Morocco. I was from Brooklyn. She was 35. I was 42. She had three kids. I had three kids. She was recently divorced. She had decided to leave her husband after he took a fourth wife. She was okay with three; the fourth was too much. I was recently divorced; my reasons were more complicated.

She had come to America to find a husband. She was staying with her cousin in Philadelphia. Her cousin and I had a mutual friend who had invited all of us to the Super Bowl party. She was very pretty. We immediately hit it off. There were a few obstacles. She spoke no English. She spoke French and Arabic. I spoke a little French, no Arabic. After the party her cousin gave me her number and told me to call Latifa to set a date to come to her house where we could get to know each other better.

I called and went to visit Latifa at her cousin's' house. We saw each other nearly every day for the next three weeks. Her cousin chaperoned our time together and served as translator. We got two French-English dictionaries and used them to communicate in simple terms. As we got to know each other our relationship deepened. We slept together for a few of the nights without any sex. It was very romantic.

Finally, she told me that she had to go home and get back to her kids. Our last night together we ended up making out very heavily. Before too long we were nude. We were both a little out of control. At least I was. She started saying some stuff that I couldn't understand. I just nodded my head.

I drove her to the airport. We agreed to keep in touch by phone. During the next six months I spoke to her at least once per week. My French was improving and we were able to communicate. During this time we agreed that I would come to Morocco for a few weeks to meet her family. If they accepted me, we would become engaged for two years. During this time I would live in Morocco for six months each year and she would live with me in America for six months. If after two years we decided we wanted to spend our lives together we would get married. It made sense to me.

As the time approached for me to go to Morocco I decided to call my parents and tell them about my plans. My mother answered. I told her that I had met a women and was considering getting engaged. I also said there were a few problems. She asked me what they were.

"She lives in Morocco."

"We'll, she'll have to move here."

"She doesn't speak English."

"As long as you're happy together that's all I care about."

"She's Muslim."

"Maury, get on the phone and speak to your son."

After calming them down, promising I would not do anything rash I continued with my plans. As the day of departure for Morocco approached my fantasies were escalating. I could not think of anything but making love to this beautiful Moroccan princess. She had managed to communicate to me in our phone conversations that Islamic women were the most highly sexed women in the world and had perfected the art of lovemaking to bring men to ecstatic heights. At least that's what I thought she had said.

I arrived in Casablanca. Latifa picked me up at the airport with her son. We drove two and a half hours to her home in Rabat. I was in a dream world. Her home was about eight rooms and was incredibly furnished. She introduced me to her three person house staff. I walked into her bedroom with my suitcase and laid it down.

She said, "Before I agree to let you sleep in my bedroom we need to talk."

"OK."

She reminded me that I had agreed to become a Muslim during our last night together in Philadelphia. I didn't remember this, although I knew that I had agreed to something during the heat of our passion. She then told me that on her recent pilgrimage to Mecca she had renewed her connection with Islam. She would not sleep with me unless I again agreed to convert to Islam.

I asked her, "What exactly is required to become a Muslim?"

"You must do five things. First you must read the Koran."

"OK, that's no problem, I enjoy books about religion. What else?"

"You must agree to fast during Ramadan."

I had actually just completed a lemonade fast. I said, "Fine, next."

"You must agree to contribute 10% of your income to the mosque."

I didn't think money would be a problem for us. I said, "Yes."

I don't remember the fourth requirement. I agreed to it though. I do remember the fifth requirement. I needed to accept Allah as the one true god with all my mind and all my heart and I could not fake it.

Now, I would have agreed to anything to sleep with Latifa that night. But when this fifth requirement was stated I began to realize that this was a serious matter. For some reason what came into my head was the movie "Field of Dreams". I don't understand why but this movie reminded me what I loved about America. I could not go through with this conversion. I told Latifa that I couldn't do it. She was very calm about it. She said I would have to leave tomorrow. I could sleep on the sofa that night.

The next day I left her house and spent the next two weeks travelling through Morocco by myself. It was an experience which helped me heal from the pain of my divorce. I have never had any regrets.

Talkin Baseball

One of the few things in life that ever made real sense to me is baseball. You could discuss religion or politics all day and night and never come to a conclusion. With baseball you at least get short term decisions. My friend Marty is a lifetime Yankees fan. No matter what's going on in his life if the Yankees are winning he's happy. He's leaving for New Hampshire tonight, a six hour drive. Normally he would not be looking forward to it. But the Yankees are playing the Red Sox; half the trip will be spent listening to the game, unless it's rained out.

I was originally a Dodgers fan. Later, I, amazingly, evolved into a Phillies fan. You can't control who you root for. I noticed about fifteen years ago that when the Phillies were playing the Dodgers I wanted the Phillies to win. I didn't choose to change loyalties. It just happened. Although I presently like the Phillies my level of fanaticism is not close to what it was for the Dodgers. There were times when I was younger that I would make deals with God. If he would let the Dodgers win I would agree to go to shule for one day, or do some other task that I thought he would like.

Marty and I have argued about baseball for over forty-five years. I remember, like it was yesterday, watching the 1963 World Series in his house. This was their first clash since 1956. The Dodgers had won the Series in 1955 for the first time ever. This was one of the greatest moments of my childhood, Brooklyn's finest hour. They closed the schools for two days. In 1956 the Yankees won back the championship, catapulted by Don Larsen's perfect game.

We were sixteen, mature enough to have a discussion based on reason, not on pure emotion. The Dodgers had had a great year, led by Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale's brilliant pitching. The Yankees had Whitey Ford (24-7 that year) and a powerful lineup, including Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Roger Maris, Bill Skowron, and Bobby Richardson. I was a nervous wreck. The Dodgers had to beat the Yankees. Marty was confident. There was no way Frank Howard could touch Whitey Ford, Marty argued.

Koufax struck out the first five Yankees including Bobby Richardson. He struck out Richardson three times that day. Bobby had struck out only eleven times the whole year. Truly brilliant. In the bottom of the first, Frank Howard hit a mammoth 450 foot drive over Mantle's head for a double. The Dodgers scored first and ended up beating the Yankees 5-2, although Mantle did hit a late inning homer off Koufax which I must admit did impress me. The Dodgers ended up beating the Yankees four straight. I tormented Marty about this for years.

There are many great things about baseball. My favorite movies (including "A Field of Dreams") are about baseball. One of my favorite books, "The Boys of Summer," is about the 1955 Dodgers. "Talkin Baseball," the song, makes me cry every time I hear it. In a world of fear and confusion, where my mind is occupied by tons of practical daily problems and unsolveable philosophical issues, I still look at the box scores every day. I know I'm not alone in this.