Boyhood Idols

Summer is finally here, and with that come the memories of childhood. I think back a lot to my days growing up, and today I am thinking about the popular figures of years ago who I once called heroes. The larger-than-life legends where I came from were mainly athletes.  Since I grew up in Quebec, hockey heroes of the 1970's Montreal Canadiens dynasty ruled the day. My thing was baseball when I was a kid, so even though I was swept up in the hockey frenzy, nothing was more important or significant than my beloved Montreal Expos. 
Baseball over the course of my childhood proved to be one of the few real opportunities for bonding between my dad, brother and I. My dad was keenly interested in the Expos, despite fielding abysmal teams in the early years of their incarnation. When I was old enough, my dad took my brother and I to Montreal to see games. For a young boy such as I, it was incredibly exciting. The Expos initially played at Jarry Park, a makeshift open-air baseball stadium on the east side of Montreal. They played there until 1976, after which they moved in to the cavernous Olympic Stadium nearby. 

                                                                            Jarry Park, Montreal in the 1970's.

Some of my earliest memories are of going to Jarry Park for an afternoon game on a Saturday or Sunday. Dad always instructed my brother and I to bring our baseball gloves, in case a fly ball came our way. He never expected it to happen, however one came perilously close to hitting my brother one time. A foul ball came whizzing right towards us, and my brother earnestly stood up on his seat and stuck his glove up in the air to catch it. He couldn't have been more than 6 years old. My father saw that this ball was heading straight towards his head, and at the last second pulled him down out of the way. While Jarry Park was probably one of the least-liked stadiums among the players of the day, the fans really liked it. One thing that made it so popular was that the fans could go right down to the dugouts to ask for autographs. In those days, the athletes were more obliging, and would even give signed balls away. My brother and I would always head straight down during batting practice to try to get their attention. We were never lucky enough to get a signature, though.  

While the Expos did not field competitive teams in their early days, they certainly had a number of colorful players on their squads. Their names still stand out in my mind - Coco Laboy, Pepe Frias, Tim Foley, Ron Hunt, Bob Bailey and of course Rusty Staub. Coming over in a trade from the Mets, Rusty Staub had become the first bonafide hero of the early Expos teams of the seventies. I couldn't tell you if he was an amazing player, but he had become a legend in the city of Montreal. The predominantly French population adopted him with open arms, giving him the nickname "Le Grand Orange". Rusty, as his name suggests, had a glorious mop of red hair. He platooned at first base and right field, I believe, but he was more appreciated for his enthusiasm for the game. Rusty did deliver with the bat on several occasions, hitting clutch home runs and driving in game winning runs. There were other heroes such as Bill Stoneman, a pitcher who delivered not one, but two no-hitters in separate seasons for the Expos. 

 Montreal newspaper ad with Rusty "Le Grand  Orange" Staub 1970's

By the mid-seventies, the Expos were not producing stellar numbers. They were still drawing crowds at Jarry Park, but the stadium was never intended to be a permanent home. Once the Montreal Summer Olympics came to an end in 1976, the Expos now had a stadium to call their own. Despite the initial buzz of playing in a new stadium, the move didn't help the team stay out of the cellar during that season. They had compiled their worst season to date, losing over 100 games. There were obvious problems associated with the Olympic Stadium, namely not having a roof. The stadium was initially considered an architectural marvel. However, what had been overlooked was that the stadium went up extremely fast in order to meet strict deadlines for the Olympics. That should have been a clue that corners were cut during the construction period. Somewhere down the road, there would be pretty hefty repairs to be done.

View of the Olympic Stadium (with canopy roof) against the Montreal skyline.

The one bright spot of that season was that they were able to give young players from their farm system a try. One such player was a young shortstop by the name of Gary Carter. They cultivated Carter and molded him into a sorely needed starting catcher. Soon after being called up, Carter was given the nickname "Kid" by his peers. He played with the exuberance of a young boy, caught up in the excitement of playing in the big leagues. Gary Carter soon won over legions of fans across the province, then the country, and eventually throughout the U.S. as well. He played  with unbridled passion, and always maintained his trademark grin and positive attitude throughout his illustrious career. He was quickly given the starting catcher assignment, and he seized the opportunity and never looked back. 

Gary Carter became the nucleus of a group of incredibly talented young ball players, all of whom captured the heart and imagination of the city they played for. Players such as Andre Dawson ("The Hawk"), Warren Cromartie, Ellis Valentine, and Larry Parrish provided a potent offense alongside Gary Carter. They were acrobatic in the field, pulling off major plays as if they were routine. The fans embraced their young team with open arms. By the summer of 1979, the Montreal Expos were in their first playoff hunt for the division title. The Toronto Blue Jays had recently joined the Major League ranks over in the American League, however they were not anywhere near as popular as the Expos at this time. From coast to coast across Canada, people were tuned in and turned on by the Expos.

Gary Carter with his trademark grin, swarmed by legions of adoring fans. Circa early 1980's

By this time my dad had remarried and moved. He lived in an old house on a serene tree-lined street in another town near where I lived. I had extended summer visits with him, and his back yard provided the idyllic background for listening to ball games over the transistor radio on a beautiful summer afternoon. Dad, brother and I still had the common bond of baseball, as we listened to and watched games on television together. The play by play was provided by Dave Van Horne and the great Duke Snyder from the old Brooklyn Dodgers of yesteryear. They had the perfect voices to provide a baseball radio broadcast - gentle and warm and not in the least bit annoying. They transmitted an air of familiarity and liking towards one another as well. The more I listened to Dave Van Horne, the more I learned about the intricacies of the game. Duke provided the voice of experience, but in no way was he ever condescending about it.  

The great thing about listening to the games as opposed to watching them, was that it allowed the imagination to capture the action. One could hear very clearly the crack of the bat and the excitement in the crowd in anticipation of a home run. One could also hear the buzz of the crowd, and the vendors yelling out "Peanuts! Get your fresh peanuts here!!!" It was almost like being at the game, except lying in the comfort of a hammock in the back yard. Going to the game was still a thrill, however by then there was virtually no chance to ever get an autograph from our heroes. The Olympic Stadium was far too big, and they kept fans a safe distance from the dugouts. 
We started a tradition as we got older to take our dad to see a game for Father's Day. My dad was pretty much a walking encyclopedia when it came to player stats. He used to record stats in the box scores included with the programs. As my dad reached towards the age I am now, his favorite Expo was a relief pitcher by the name of Woody Fryman. He was my dad's age, and definitely considered over the hill by baseball standards. Somehow, though, he stubbornly managed to defy the odds and put out impressive numbers in his role.  
My list of favorite players had grown exponentially in the late 70's to early 80's. The team had matured a great deal, yet still had room for colorful characters on the squad. Bill Lee, a towering left-handed pitcher, had become a cult phenomenon in that time. He came to the Expos in a trade with the Boston Red Sox. He was incredibly eccentric, and was considered somewhat of a renegade. He got himself into bizarre situations, on and off the field, and was a constant thorn in the side of the powers-that-be. One time, as he was jogging to the Olympic Stadium for practice, he apparently ran into a taxi. He was in a mental zone somewhere far away and literally ran right into a barely moving taxi. He grew out his beard at one stage just to irk his superiors, to the point of looking downright motley. He resembled a homeless man wearing a baseball uniform. The organization indulged his whims for the most part, as he was extremely popular with the fans and posted impressive stats throughout his time as an Expo. The press appropriately nicknamed Bill Lee "The Spaceman". 

 Bill "Spaceman" Lee, early 1980's

Another emerging superstar of that era was a young fielder by the name of Tim Raines. He was a little short, but built like a tank. Raines was a great outfielder, but became known for his impressive hitting as a lead off man, and even more famous for stealing bases. Raines created runs out of nowhere thanks to his speed. Despite having some personal issues with the drug of choice during that era (cocaine), Raines overcame his demons and won over the hearts of his fans. Raines became known as "The Rock" in the Montreal Press, and the name stuck throughout his career. Andre Dawson had become a mentor of sorts to Raines through his early career, and they formed 2/3 of one of the most formidable outfields in baseball. 

Warren Cromartie, Tim "The Rock" Raines,  and Andre "The Hawk" Dawson, 1980's

"The Hawk" and "The Rock" made playing outfield attractive to young kids like myself. They covered a wide swath, and through their speed they were able to chase down home runs and snag them while leaping up the wall. With their machine gun arms, they could throw out opposing base runners with ease. The final piece of the outfield in the early days was usually Warren Cromartie, who also platooned at first base. Cromartie was another fan favorite, who started selling his own chocolate bars for charity. He called them "Crobars". He eventually went to Japan, and became somewhat of a sensation there as well. Ellis Valentine was another famous outfielder for the Expos, but by the early 1980's he was gone. He never really endeared himself to the fans, or to the management. Still, Valentine was a marvel to watch when he was in the mood to play. 
Other players of note through the eighties were the likes of Larry Parrish at third base, and Chris Speier at shortstop. Parrish was always one of my favorites, mainly because he looked rugged and could make good defensive plays. He was also a consistent hitter, usually hitting close to .300 in his seasons as an Expo. I never fully appreciated Chris Speier, because I felt he seldom delivered clutch hits when they were needed. He couldn't hit for power, though I didn't know that most shortstops couldn't anyway. I never realized he was an able and versatile shortstop either, but my main attention was always on offence anyway. My dad felt he was a decent player who contributed significantly, so I would give him the benefit of the doubt. 
The pitching staff had really come into their own in the late 1970's through 1980's. The ace of the rotation was Steve Rogers. He too was one of my all-time favorite Expos. Rogers was a left  hander (or "southpaw"), as was I. He never reached the 20 win mark in a season with the Expos, though he came close on a few occasions. He was valued as an experienced veteran among a staff of young guns in the eighties. A couple of them had brilliant seasons with the club, including a rookie right hander by the name of Bill Gullickson. He came up to the big leagues in 1980, and set a record for most strikeouts in a game by a rookie (18). The record held for several years. It was discovered early on that Gullickson was battling type 1 diabetes. Many considered it miraculous that he could be so successful as a major league pitcher while fighting the disease. He became a role model for many people with the disease.  
The Expos had a string of seasons, from 1979 through 1983, where they were contenders for the playoffs. Each season was a heart breaker in their own respect. In 1979, the Expos came within an eyelash of winning the East division, losing to the Pirates in the final two home games of the season in front of record crowds. the Pirates went on to win the World Series that year, so it was some sort of consolation that the Expos lost to the best. In 1980, the Expos found themselves in contention late in the season against the Phillies, but again came up just short. There was lots of promise for the next campaign, though, and the Expos were now considered among the elite teams in baseball. They were now taken seriously as a threat to take it all. The following season, in 1981, the Expos reached the upper echelon by winning the National League East division title. It was a strike-shortened season, however the Expos came on strong in the second half to take the pennant. 
 Reaching the World Series was now a strong possibility, and not a pipe dream. The Expos went on to face the Dodgers, the National League West division champions, for the National League Championship series. The winning team would go on to the World Series for all the marbles. I was now a teenager, and as the fates would have it, my mom chose to remarry and move to the U.S. at that very moment. I was now far removed from the excitement and World Series frenzy that had captured the imagination of Montreal, Quebec, and Canada. Because the Expos were a Canadian team, they were barely covered in the media where I was now living. Looking back, perhaps it may have been a mixed blessing. I was not there for the heart breaking game 5 loss that sent the Expos packing for the off-season. I did manage to see the game on tv, when Rick Monday blasted the tie-breaking home run off Steve Rogers in the top of the ninth inning. To this day, the armchair pundits (my dad included) lament the decision made by then manager Jim Fanning to send Rogers (their ace pitcher) in relief (rather than Jeff Reardon, their ace closer).
 The following year served as a sort of coming out party for the Expos, as Montreal hosted the 1982 All Star game. Four Expos were selected for the starting line up, including: Gary Carter, Andre Dawson, Tim Raines and Steve Rogers. It was the first All Star game to be played outside of the U.S. and it gave the rest of the baseball world a peek at how amazing the electricity was over this team up north of the border. It was a huge deal in Montreal and the rest of Canada, and for me even more so as it was played the day before my 14th birthday. I was really happy to be back in Quebec that summer visiting my dad. We didn't go to the game, but it was still exciting watching it on tv. The event helped wipe away a little of the bitter disappointment from the previous year's setback.
Throughout the rest of the 1980's into the early 1990's, they had bounced between mediocre and good, but never great. I had lost pretty much all interest by 1985, the year they traded Gary Carter to the New York Mets. In his place they got a few journeymen players, but nobody nearly as powerful in stature and in the field as him. It was a sad day for many Montreal fans, as he was truly adored by the masses. He never shied away from a camera or microphone, so his accessibility was a unique thing for the press as well as the masses. One flash of the trademark grin of his, and he had the media eating out of the palm of his hands. Perhaps if there was one criticism against him, it would be just that. He did have a bit of an ego, in the sense that he basked in the spotlight. In fact, that was one reason why my dad wasn't completely sold on him. He truly admired his skills as a ball player, but he felt he was a bit too much of a showboat. For a kid like me, though, this made him larger than life. 
Number 8 was just as heartbroken to be leaving the club and city he called home for so many years. This was strictly business, though, and the Expos were not in the financial position to hold on to him any longer. The trade turned out to be a good thing for his career, ultimately. He went on to the World Series in 1986 with the Mets, and proved to be an instrumental part of winning the coveted title he never won with Montreal. He had also become a hero to the New York fans, and therefore the rest of the U.S. finally caught on to his greatness. 
 Since I was no longer living in Canada, I wasn't really able to keep up with the team as much as I used to. My dad would fill me in over the phone, but I could sense that he too had lost a great deal of the passion he used to have for the team. Occasionally he would send me newspaper clippings of the goings on with the club, but most of the time it was about how the Olympic Stadium was falling apart and how they never managed to find the money to build an actual roof for the place. Someone came along with the bright idea of using a retractable nylon canopy structure, which of course ripped wide open during a torrential rain storm. This was pretty much indicative of the way the club was going. They never seemed to be able to overcome the bitter disappointment of losing that key game to the Dodgers. 
Still, though, one thing the Expos always did right was building up their farm system for future prospects. They managed to groom players into superstars in the making. The last group of great prospects arrived on the scene in the early to mid nineties. By 1994, the Expos somehow managed to produce an amazing product, despite budget constraints and their home stadium falling apart at the seams. The club started off the 1994 campaign with a tremendous bang, and sent the signal to the rest of the major leagues that they were in it to take it all that year. They were dominant in the National League East, and even led the entire Major League in many categories. They had the best record, and most potent offence in baseball. This squad was led by an affable manager named Felipe Alou, who had a long and storied career in baseball (as a player and a coach).
 Felipe Alou had been with the Expos since the seventies, in various capacities. The manager was embraced by the fans and media alike as a hometown icon, just as much as any of the great players were. Alou led his young group to dominance through patience, and faith in their abilities. He was soft spoken and humble, always smiling. This young group included his own son, Moises, who was an outstanding outfielder and power hitter. Alongside Moises was a young Canadian-born outfielder named Larry Walker, who would go on to win multiple batting titles throughout his career. The upstart Expos of 1994 had surprised the entire baseball world by finding themselves with a commanding lead in the rankings, about two months into the campaign. In fact, many pundits were already predicting this team to take the World Series. Once again, Montreal Expos fans had something to get excited about. 
The angry gods of fate struck the weary Expo organization and its fans once again that year. By June, the Major League was in the midst of a strike. Effectively, the stake had been driven right through the heart of the club, as well as the fans. The final nail was placed in the coffin, but not yet hammered in. The strike ended the Expos' improbable and glorious run atop the rankings, and the question now became "Could they have gone all the way?" The general consensus among the baseball world was a resounding "Yes!". Instead, the owners decided to resume the season with replacement players, mainly minor leaguers. The product was awful, and fans turned away in droves. 
Had the Expos gone on to the World Series, and won it, they would have reaped all kinds of financial rewards from the proceeds. They would have been financially secure, and would have reestablished the interest of the core fan base (many of whom had lost interest and stopped attending games). They could have afforded to keep key players, who thanks to the financial drain of the strike, left to bigger markets. They could have sold a high amount of season tickets and box seats. In a nutshell, they could have put a lot more asses in seats, and sold a shitload of merchandise. They could have generated enough political will to build a new stadium, which at this point was pretty much necessary to their survival. By 1995, the writing was on the wall, though it would take a few more years before it finally came down. 
The core of the hugely successful team of 1994 was pretty much decimated by the strike. The Expos once again had to rely heavily on their farm system and lesser known talent. They still managed to produce some quality major league players. Among the final group of potential superstars were: Marquis Grissom, Vladimir Guerrero,  Delino DeShields and John Van Der Wal (to name a few).  Despite their best efforts on the field, though, behind the scenes in the front office moves were being made to finally pull up stakes out of Montreal. There would be one last remarkable footnote to this organization known as the Montreal Expos, though. 
Gary Carter made one last return to Montreal in 1992. By this time he was in the twilight of his playing career, and was being groomed as a coach. He led this young and inexperienced club through example and dedication to a strong run that season, ending up in second place in the N.L. East. It was a fitting swan song for Carter, who got to end his playing career in front of his adoring Montreal fans in the city that gave him his start and arguably his best years in baseball. Carter went on to have a good career as a coach and analyst in baseball, primarily through the Florida Marlins organization. He never forgot what Montreal meant to him as a player, and chose to be inducted to the Baseball Hall of Fame as an Expo. It was a gracious gesture, as he could have chosen to be inducted as a New York Met, the team he won a World Series with. 
The Expos were eventually sold and relocated to Washington. They were renamed the Washington Nationals, and pretty much any tie to the original franchise is now extinct. It is a shame to think the team I grew up idolizing and following so dutifully is no longer around. The Expos were not just a baseball team, but they were also part of the cultural mosaic that was Montreal, Quebec and Canada all those years ago. There were no linguistic or cultural differences between the French and the English when it came to the Expos. We all loved them and sat side by side to cheer them on. They were also loved by a great deal of fans across the country, and it was only when the Toronto Blue Jays came into existence that loyalties became divided. 
This post is primarily dedicated to my first real hero, Gary Carter. He was a larger-than-life athlete, but also a guy I would have loved to meet as a young baseball fan. Sadly, Gary Carter passed away at the young age of 57 in February, 2012. It has taken me this long to write about him, as I still have a hard time believing he is gone. He was superhuman to me. I remember very well the drive to my grandparents' house in Pointe Claire, Quebec. There was a small (at the time) subdivision along the Trans Canada Highway Highway called Kirkland. I had heard or read somewhere that Gary Carter and his family lived there. In my young mind, I always thought it conceivable that I might see him driving by next to our car, and he would wave at me. I also thought it would be great for my dad to pull off the highway so we could look for his house. My dad never obliged, even though I dropped not-so-subtle hints. "Hey dad! Isn't this where Gary Carter lives?" My dad would reply "For the thousandth time son, yes it is!" I guess my dad thought at the time, as I do now, that it would have been a  bit creepy. I still think, though, that if Gary Carter were still alive, I would have felt like a little kid again if I had been fortunate enough to meet him. 

Gary Carter holding up the two caps he wore during his great career.

EPILOGUE

My passion for baseball pretty much died when the Expos folded and moved to Washington. The Blue Jays are still around, but they do not mean nearly as much to me as my hometown team did. So many great players, and colorful characters sat in that dugout during the team's history. The Olympic Stadium still stands in Montreal, but is more of a symbol of what the city used to be. It is a painful reminder of how great the city once was, and is more of a relic of bygone times. My dad still lives near Montreal, on his own now. He is more into hockey these days, as he finds comfort in his old age reclining on the Lazy Boy over a beer and hockey on a cold Winter Saturday night. He no longer has the house with the back yard perfect for listening to baseball, nor does he really have the patience to sit and watch a game that doesn't mean anything to him. He stuck with the Expos throughout their existence, however he too lost interest for the game once they folded. By then, baseball was big business, and players were being signed to ridiculous multi-million dollar contracts. Smaller market teams could not, and cannot compete with big markets like the Yankees. 
I guess in a way this post is also dedicated to my dad, as it was really through him that I became such an avid fan when I was a young boy. Baseball was a way for us to connect, and that is truly what the magic of the game of baseball is. The sport used to bring fathers and sons together, at the game or at home over a transistor radio broadcast in the back yard. Maybe I might reconnect with the game through my young son. If he does get interested in the sport, I would certainly reconnect with it. I would still like to take him to a game in the near future, when he is a little bit older and will be able to enjoy it. The atmosphere in today's stadiums is certainly not the same as it once was at Jarry Park all those years ago, but when it comes right down to it, the game is.