Old Ned's Blog

It’s deja vu all over again

Last night, Carol and I went out with friends to a very nice restaurant where we had dinner just a week earlier. We were seated in an area where the same great waiter from last week hosted our table, He recognized us and with a broad smile said, “It’s deja vu all over again!”

That Yogi Berra quote stayed with me throughout the dinner and even today, it’s still ringing around in my head. I sat down at the computer just now to write a fun story about Thanksgiving, but this is what came out.

In my high school years, I spent a lot of time on the wrong side of the Hudson river, mostly at Ebbets Field, Flatbush in Brooklyn. I would take buses and the local train to Flatbush and walk down Bedford to the park.

I would usually have at least $5.00 for the day and loved the double headers. I would buy the cheapest bleacher seat and then work my way down through any empty seats into the high rent areas until I was almost on the field.  It was a constant game played with the ushers who took great delight in nabbing me and marching me back to the bleachers. I went as often as I could and that meant a lot of river crossings. 

Guys like Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider, Roy Campanella and Jackie Robinson who came on the team in 1947 were my heroes. Seemed like most years, we of the ‘tribe’ would be yelling at our mockers, The Brooklyn Bums slogan, “Wait til Next Year!” It was especially loud when shouted to a Mets fan.

But I had almost as much interest across town watching the Yankees, where Casey Stengel managed guys like Yogi Berra, Phil Rizzuto, Whitey Ford, and Joe DiMaggio.

Back in the 1940s and the 1950s, Baseball ruled sports in America and every kid I knew had all the stats down hours after a game.  They should have made it a class like English at schools.  People who couldn’t make the actual games listened to them on radio.  You could hear them from the streets, screaming at the radios every time there was a play.

Football didn’t get started in my teenage years. It really didn’t take off until TV became available to the masses.  Even then, not much fun watching 22 men sloshing through ripped up or muddy fields, slamming into each other like drunken gladiators, all on a 13-inch, round-screen, snowy TV.  When a tube blew, I would be sent running to the Corner Drug Store for a replacement.

Usually during every game, we would be re-adjusting the rabbit ears every 3 minutes and putting Reynold’s aluminum foil on the ears believing that it would help get the snow out.  It rarely worked.  On any key game, my father would make me stand next to the TV so I could be doing instant adjustments at his often-screamed commands.

Reminds me of an old song that flashes through my brain stem at some very odd time,

Those were the days, my friend

We thought they’d never end

We’d sing and dance forever and a day

We’d live the life we choose

We’d fight and never lose

For we were young and sure to have our way

It may have been over 70 years ago, but that passion for life has never left me. Inside this old man is still that young ‘in control of his world’ zealot for life that screamed with joy when Roy Campanella threw a hard ball to second base to make a double play. For we are old and sure to have our way.