“No game is as verbal as baseball; baseball spreads twenty minutes of action across three hours of a day.” – Roger Kahn, The Boys of Summer
“I learned over the years that racism is not something you’re born with, it’s a learned behavior. It’s like being brainwashed.” – Remus Harper
Remus Harper received his first noxious lesson of what it meant to be an African-American college athlete in the South on an autumn afternoon along a nondescript stretch of Interstate 26 on the outskirts of Orangeburg, South Carolina.
It was 1968.
The New York Mets and New York Yankees celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Subway Series, beginning with two games Monday and Tuesday in the Bronx, followed by a pair at Citi Field in Queens.
Since Dave Mlicki’s memorable first game the Mets and Yankees have played 108 regular season games. The Yankees have won 62 and the Mets have won 46 games (the Yankees also won the 2000 World Series, 4-1).
It was August 2001. The Seattle Mariners were flush with confidence. This was their year, finally.
After taking two of three at Yankee Stadium, and six of nine during the regular season, the Mariners packed up and assured the New York clubhouse attendants they would see them again – in October.
Norman Seabrooks clutched his diploma in one hand; the other was balled in a fist. He accepted his degree from The Citadel in honor of Charlie Foster and Joe Shine, who came before him; Red Parker and Keith Roden, who struggled beside him; Herb Cunningham and Flossie Gordon, who sheltered him; the anonymous faces who stuffed his pockets with extra desserts and milk after late-night practices; the maintenance staff that publicly embraced him like a son and privately prayed for Norm’s strength and safety. But this, he thought as he left the stage with degree in hand, was for William Thomas Seabrooks.