The Fall Classic

Anytime I hear about an Indian summer, my mind immediately jumps to October of ‘69. That’s the time for Baseball’s drive to the World Series. This has been my favorite time of the year ever since I was 12 years old and watched my first World Series. And while all the other kids were gathering their books and coats to go home and do homework or whatever after school, my 6th grade teacher and I would go to the audio/visual room to roll the tremendously heavy television into the class room to catch the last few innings of the 1969 World Series between the New York Mets and the Baltimore Orioles. In my childhood, my only passion in the world was baseball. It’s what I lived for. Mr. Gershon, my 6th grade teacher was also a sports fan. He was 6 feet, 9 inches tall and played basketball for the University of Southern Cal. Of course, back then that didn’t mean anything to me. What was more impressive in my eyes was that he had to bend at the waist to exit the room. As far as I was concerned, he was a verified gentle giant



This union between teacher and student was never verbalize but was simply a connection of the minds. When I was young, I was an extremely quiet and shy little boy who, if given the chance, would never need to say a word to anyone. But I wasn’t the scary quiet kid that stared at people and had that blank, murderers scowl on his face. No, I was always smiling and involved in all the games and discussions in school. I suppose everyone just treated me as someone who had a verbal disability. Mr. Gershon never forced me to talk out loud but rather he allowed me to be connected in class within my comfort zone. So each day after school, we would quietly sit watching the game. I don’t think he ever noticed that with every day and every inning, I crept closer to the front of the class and closer to the television.



At this time in my life I wasn’t a Mets fan as I have become ever since that series. In fact, I’d never paid much attention to any professional teams or players until then . I was attracted to the Mets that year only because they were considered the underdog of the series. The Baltimore Orioles were the powerhouse team that year with the likes of future hall of famers Jim Palmer, Brook and Frank Robinson, and their volatile Manager Earl Weaver. And of course, they had Boog Powell playing first base. Anyone with a classic baseball name like Boog had to become one of my favorite players of all time.



But the Mets were special in their own right. They had heart and they had a firm hold on mine. Watching those games back then were so memorable for me. The room was extremely hot for that time of the year. I can remember Mr. Gershon sweating through his button up shirt while relaxing in the super small chair he would have to fit into. But he was so patient with me and gave me all the time I needed, explaining the finer points of the game. He would explain to me that Frank Robinson was the only player ever to win the Most Valuable Player award in both the American and National leagues. Or that Tom Seaver had won 25 games that year to become the first pitcher in Mets history to win the Cy Young award. Those little things really kept me captivated into the game I loved.



To this day I can remember the final out called by Curt Gowdy yelling “There's a fly ball out to left. Waiting is Jones ...the Mets are the World Champions! Jerry Koosman is being mobbed! Look at this scene”. Mr Gershon and I jumped around the room like we had won the game ourselves. That was my first connection to a professional team that I have since carried with me to this day. Even though it was early in my 6th grade semester, it had easily become the biggest highlight of the year. Oh, and sorry Boog Powell but The New York Mets are the 1969 World Champs.