The Futility Infielder

With everything else that's been going on over the past few days, both in my life and the world of baseball, I neglected to point out something special: on April 9, The Futility Infielder turned two years old. The past year in particular has seen this site attain heights previously undreamt; my readership has nearly tripled in that time to around 100 hits a day, and on Thursday this blog passed its 38,000th recorded hit. I've made some new friends along the way and learned a lot about baseball, as well as about myself. It's been a rewarding experience, and I take pride in what I've put together here.

At the risk of offending loyal reader Trevise, as when I mailed in a rerun of my birthday piece, I'm simply going to republish what I wrote on the occasion of the site's first anniversary, because other than adjusting to add a year, I wouldn't change a word of what I wrote. Enjoy!

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The Rally of A Thousand Runs Must Begin With a Single Baserunner

Today is the [two]-year anniversary of the death of Willie Stargell, and it marks an anniversary of sorts for me as well -- or for this site, more accurately.

The bat-twirling Pirates slugger with the infectious smile and the ridiculous train-conductor cap had been of my boyhood heroes. His death--at age 61, on the day the Pirates were to move into a new ballpark adorned by his statue--moved me more than most, as memories of watching "Pops" one storybook summer came flooding back. He was 39 and on his last good legs as a ballplayer, radiating joy every moment he played the game. Baseball, Willie's smile told me, was all about having fun. I was 9 and learning the game from my father and grandfather; I pinwheeled my bat in imitation, and exuded joy every time I picked up my mitt.

A few months before Stargerll died, my own grandfather, Bernard Jaffe, had passed away, and his death was still weighing on me when the news about Willie came. "Pop" spent endless hours with me and my brother during our summer stays in Walla Walla, playing catch, pitching to us, taking us to games, and regaling us with tales of Babe Ruth and Jackie Robinson as we watched ballgames on cable. The 1979 "We Are Family" Pirates, led by Stargell to a World Championship, were a mainstay of one summer's programming (we were a Dodger family, but the Dodgers were well on their way to a season in sub-.500 oblivion). Moved by Stargell's passing and, in the tradition of my grandfather, struck with a yearning to pass on a generation of baseball wisdom to those whose appreciations didn't go back as far, I wrote an obituary of sorts, and emailed it around to friends.

In doing so, I tapped into a urge I'd had for a few years to combine my writing and my design into a single project, a labor I could love. I began plotting a web site as an outlet for my increasingly frequent writing about baseball, and my Stargell obit was the cornerstone (though in retrospect it's a bit clumsy and half-finished). In two weeks time, I'd registered a domain name, opened a Blogger account, bought a book on web site design, and started construction of the empire which would make me rich and fam... oh, wait. It hasn't (and won't) make me rich and famous, but I've built something over the past [two] year[s] which I'm very proud of -- not every single word or every opinion offered, but not too bad either. A peek inside the head of one fan and a look at the ways we fans enjoy the game -- whether following our favorite stars or teams, taking in a night at the ballpark, or poring over the box scores. I hope you've enjoyed it; I know I have.

So happy birthday to me and to this site, and thank you to those who've supported it. As the Mayor of this here domain, let me declare this and all future April 9ths to be Wille Stargell Day. May we all take as much joy and offer as much inspiration as Willie did in our endeavors.