Commentary: Even for a sports writer, sports can be transcended

Having covered sports for 30 years as a Tribune sportswriter — retiring in 2002 — I can imagine the consternation that the current sports staff is suffering in wake of the coronavirus epidemic.

The major league baseball season is about to be wiped out, although some say a short season in Arizona involving all 30 MLB teams is a possible way out. I just don’t see that happening.

So, without live action, we’re stuck with memories of great teams and individual heroics, thanks to television and the internet.

Who could ever forget a crippled Kirk Gibson going deep on A’s superb reliever Dennis Eckersley to give the Dodgers a dramatic ninth inning victory over Oakland in the 1988 World Series opener?

Or who could ever forget Toronto’s Joe Carter’s walk-off homer that ended the 1993 fall classic in six games.

Or who could ever forget Bobby Thompson’s game-winning homer in the bottom of the ninth in the 1951 National League championship playoff game?

I was a high school sophomore when I cheered that shot heard around the world on my small transistor radio I had snuck into class.

So recently I got to thinking. What was my big moment when something dramatic happened in my life? To my surprise, it had nothing to do with sports but instead it had to do with a Hollywood movie star.

It all came to me after I watched a 1936 movie entitled “Follow the Fleet” that starred actress Betty Grable and highlighted her dancing skills.

Grable, whose sexy pinup photo was on many soldiers’ locker room doors during World War II, became one of the richest and most famous and sought-after actresses of the 1930s, ‘40s and ‘50s.

And in that 1936 movie, she and the great Fred Astaire brought the house down with their stirring and memorable fast-paced dance performance helped along by a song entitled “Let Yourself Go.”

Why, you might ask, would I ever pick an 84-year-old film starring a blond bombshell of her day to be the big dramatic moment in my life?

Of course, that wasn’t it, but what I’ve said up to now helps set the scene for pinpointing my big moment, and that actually came on April 21, 1968, in Las Vegas.

On that evening, the Stardust Country Club hosted a cocktail party to officially close out the 16th annual Tournament of Champions golf event. And who do you think was serving as guest host for the event? None other than Betty Grable, the very same starlet who 32 years prior to that day in Vegas had hit the dance floor in the arms of Fred Astaire.

Now, suddenly in Sin City, she would again be on the dance floor but in someone else’s arms.

Mine. That’s right. Mine.

You see, she had volunteered to dance with any of the sports writers who had covered the tournament, and I jumped at the opportunity. And for about 15 to 20 seconds before another writer cut in, I was in my own world of dreams as I put my arms around her and in my mind pretended to be Fred Astaire. But all I could say to a still beautiful lady was nothing. (Grable sadly died at the age of 56 in 1973.)

But even though I was tongue-tied, dancing with the star was indeed my biggest and most memorable moment.

I think there are many of us who find their greatest enjoyment in hobnobbing with famous people, even if for only a few moments.

Serving as sports editor of the Kent (Wash.) News Journal in 1969, I and my photographer Derek Oliver covered an Oakland A’s at Seattle Pilots American League game at Sick Stadium.

After the A’s had prevailed, the two of us went to the hospitality room where we ran into A’s coach and Hall of Famer Joe DiMaggio, who still to this day holds the record for hitting in 56 straight games. Believe it or not, the three of us proceeded to talk about soccer for nearly an hour, and in all that time I never thought about having a photo taken of Joltin’ Joe with me and one with Oliver.

And there have been those moments when I didn’t have time to take a picture, let alone say anything to someone famous.

A good example took place in a 1962 exhibition game in Palm Springs, Calif., between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Los Angeles Angels. Right after the Angels prevailed in the first-ever meeting of the two L.A teams, I was walking to my car when I suddenly realized that Dwight Eisenhower, former president of the United States, and his wife Mamie were just steps behind me. I managed to turn around and was allowed to shake his hand but, like my dance with Grable, I didn’t say a word.

And then there was the Oakland A’s first-ever home game against Baltimore in April 1968 when I found myself in the crowded Coliseum elevator standing right next to Ronald Reagan, then governor of California and eventually a two-term U.S. president. Again I had nothing to say to the Gipper.

Hopefully, I shall not remain speechless in Lewiston.

Barrows is a retired Tribune sports writer. He can be contacted at cranston6767@hotmail.com.