"Uh, Warren, that chick from last night," a teammate said a few moments prior to the snapping of this photograph. The teammate was standing just behind the photographer. The photographer was fiddling with the settings on his camera.
"Which one?" Warren Brusstar said.
He was already in a somewhat brusque, irritable mood. Here he was, the member of a championship team, the 1980 Phillies, maybe the greatest championship team of all time, considering the Phillies' 97-year title-virginity preceding 1980, and he still had to have his baseball card picture taken in such a remote, inglorious location that the photo would stand as quite likely the only baseball card in history to include so much as a single automobile. In all the many years of baseball cards even the most mundane images had been kept at something of a remove from the everyday existence that most of us slog through. Was not baseball a world away from the world, a bucolic paradise, a sanctuary of growing green? And yet here was Warren Brusstar, World Series champion, standing within sight of not one but two rattling rustbuckets. Where was his verdant baseball card eden? It was unprecedented. It was bullshit.
"You know, heh," the teammate finally stammered. "The t-tall blonde you, uh, that you took out to the parking lot for a . . . for a few."
"Oh, yeah," Warren Brusstar said. His expression began to soften. "I told her I wanted to show her my fine Corinthian leather."
He started to smile at the memory of what had happened in the backseat of his Chrysler. Unfortunately, the photographer wasn’t quite ready to snap the picture.
"Well, I don’t know how to tell you this," the teammate said.
"Tell me what?" Warren Brusstar said.
The teammate coughed into his fist. He muttered something inaudible.
"What the hell did you just say?" Warren Brusstar said.
The teammate looked past Warren Brusstar to the station wagon in the distance. He took a deep breath.
"Say cheese," the photographer said.
"Warren," the teammate said. "She’s a dude."
http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/thumb/d/d3/180px-William_Murderface.jpg
I'd say ol' Warren here takes the cake.
Brusstar was a solid middle reliever - I remember feeling a generalized sense of calm when he took the mound, a settling of the spirit in preparation for the soul-wrenching experience that was sure to follow once the Tugger came on in the 9th. I see that Brusstar had ERAs under 3 in 1977 and 1978, was hurt for much of 1979, then 3.72 in 39 innings in 1980, when he won an NLCS game against the Astros. Like most of the late-70s Phils, he wound up with the Cubs and had a couple more good seasons for them in 83-84. Only a handful of career saves, and no starts - a middle relief man to the end.
Thanks for dredging him up, Josh, rusty cars (I'm guessing from Clearwater) & all. Sometimes nostalgia for the forgotten moments ("Greg Gross will stay in the game in the #9 slot, and coming in too pitch, batting 7th, will be Warren Brusstar..") is the most satisfying.
Amen to that.
A couple other random thoughts:
Brusstar pitched flawlessly in the World Series, 2.1 scoreless innings. I meant to squeeze that into the story, but failed.
I really think that the Phillies' 1980 championship may be the most glorious title ever, what with the 97 years of (mostly abject) failure that preceded it. If the Cubs ever win, the win might rival it, but at least the Cubs, in the hazy Frank Chance past, have a couple World Series titles already socked away. The Phillies had nuthin'. Their 1980 triumph should get more consideration in the collective narrative history of the game. I recall being alarmed by the fact that the Ken Burns baseball doc didn't even mention the 1980 Phillies, but in reality it was an oversight that reflects a general ho-hum feeling about the long-awaited victory of the Philadelphia Philadelphias.
Finally, there's a bit of activity in comments for old posts: one reader wonders in comments for the David Clyde (Indians) card what the first Cardboard God post was (Answer: Mark Fidrych, which believe it or not I selected randomly). Another reader, Ennui Willie Keeler (perhaps bored by the slowing production of new posts), revisits the Gorman Thomas (Brewers) post.
Until 2004, at least, I always thought Red Sox fans were a little too quick to claim a monopoly on baseball suffering. The Sox always had way more literary and intellectual firepower behind their self-pity than anyone else - from Roger Angell through Bart Giamatti to, well, Josh Wilker. That's why I really appreciate your paean to 1980, Josh. We need to recognize the roles that the Warren Brusstars and Bob Stanleys of this world have played in our common struggle against fate and history.
Last time I was at Citizens Bank Park I made a point of taking a picture of the lonely "1980" banner that flies out past right-center field.
There's gonna be another one there someday.
Maybe.
Still haven't found one.
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