My Brief Career as a "Designated Hitter!"-

“LOST MUSKET DIARY” Sunday February 1, 2015

Sunny and Pleasant 73°F/23°C in Rancho Santa Margarita

Buongiorno,

                My lifelong hometown friend, Don Walsh, calls me a “Leftie.” This, even though I have been a “North Paw” since birth. But, tomorrow, after lo, these many years, I will be – temporarily - a bona fide “Leftie.” That’s when Dr. Jeff Sodl will make a five inch surgical incision across my right shoulder, and while I dangle from the OR’s life support system completely at the mercy of the surgical staff, will remove my arthritic shoulder joint and replace it with one of space age metal and plastic. From the moment I wake up in the recovery room until sometime in my uncertain future, I will be joining the “10 per centers” and living my life in the sinister lane. Don’s list of synonyms for my new status might include:

Southpaw

Sinistral

Gauche

Maladroit

Antipodal paw

Psychotic leftie (Don’s favorite)

                Now, right handers are indisputably in the majority-90 percent. This leaves the remaining ten percent going through life at a distinct disadvantage in a right-handed world. But, there are some southpaws who are heavy hitters, including some recent Presidents:

Harry S. Truman  

Gerald Ford
Ronald Reagan
George H.W. Bush
Bill Clinton
Barack Obama

This leaves only “Ike,” “LBJ” and “W” in the right hand-er column.

So, how did I wind up batting from the sinister side of home plate? In the past few years as my arthritis has progressed, the ability to use my right arm has noticeably declined. About a year ago after physical therapy on my right wing, I was referred to an orthopedic specialist, who ordered an MRI. (I had been expecting cortisone shots or even arthroscopic surgery). But, even before the results came back, the doctor told me. “I’ll study the MRI,” he said, “but, based on my experience, I can almost assure you that you’re looking at a complete shoulder joint replacement). I kept putting the surgery off but the pain increased and my mobility continued to decline. Finally, I hollered “Uncle” and agreed to the surgery.

 When asked about it, I usually brush it off with a comment like “old sports injury,” or “an old baseball injury.” Occasionally, I’ll throw out a, “I injured it in a game at Anaheim Stadium.” But, that’s mis-leading since it infers that I played for the Angels in the major leagues. The real story is this: I was batting in a game at “The Big A, but it was a pre-game exhibition event pitting the KMPC disk jockeys against the Angels players’ wives or girlfriends. I batted for the jocks as their “Designated Hitter.”

Saundra Willis, who was brand new to the station’s publicity department, organized the long standing, annual promotional event for KMPC and the Angels. The game originally was a contest between the KMPC personalities and the Playboy Bunnies, an annual spectacle that bolstered ratings as well as the Halos paltry attendance back in the early ‘70s. This year, however, the Playboy Bunnies had retired from the field and the team agreed to let the Angels’ players’ wives oppose the team from the “Might 7-10.” Saundra, who was as persuasive as she was gorgeous, invited me to join the KMPC personalities as the “Designated Hitter,” which was a new position in the American League that year-1973.

Since the great Nolan Ryan was pitching for the Angels then, I as the temporary DH for that game would be actually taking my idol’s place in the line-up. I was flattered. Newsmen were not usually included in station promotions featuring the KMPC disk jockeys.  Having hooked me on the idea, and gently reeling me in, the lovely Saundra firmly set the hook and I agreed to go along with the gag.

The night of the game, we all gathered in the Angels clubhouse. The jocks were all dressing up in major league baseball uniforms resplendent with the KMPC logo. Long time listeners to the station will remember the names: Dick Whittinghill, Geoff Edwards, Wink Martindale, Gary Owens, Roger Carroll, Johnny Magnus, Sonny Melendrez, newsman Dave De Soto and yours truly as Designated Hitter. Where’s my uniform, I asked Saundra. Here it is, she replied. “You get to wear the gorilla suit!” I balked, but she was a smooth talker and, after she batted her eyes a few times and patted me on the head, I suited up. 

MikeBo as Designated Hitter-1973

We listened in the locker room as the Angels wives proceeded to build a huge lead over the KMPC personalities. Finally, Saundra gave me my cue, and I bounded out of the dugout waving a huge bat, and hopped up to the plate, setting my stance in what I hoped was the proper gorilla-at-bat posture. Nolan Ryan’s wife lobbed a large beach ball right over home plate. Obviously she had learned a thing or two from her husband. “S-T-E-E-R-I-I-K-E!” the umpire called, and the catcher picked up the ball and carried it back to the mound. Saundra, who was now playing the role of batting coach, approached me at the plate and we huddled. “You were supposed to hit the ball,” she said. “I couldn’t even see the goddam thing because of the gorilla mask,” I snarled. She adjusted my mask and as she stepped away, she instructed me, “You’ve got to hit it this time!” Dick Enberg’s voice came over the PA speaker. “One strike. Designated Hitter is waving the bat. Here’s the pitch!”  (Long pause) “A solid hit! Oh, my! Looks like he’ll go for four.” I swung the bat with everything I had. When I connected, the beach ball exploded in a cloud of white powder showering me, the gorilla suit, the catcher and Saundra with billows of talcum powder. In the stands, fans cheered me as I rounded third and headed for home. It was my personal “great moment in sports.”

Only after the game did I become aware of the pain in my right shoulder. I had seriously pulled a shoulder muscle when I over swung on that first pitch.  Years passed, the shoulder injury flared up from time to time, but it never really caused a problem until after I retired and old age began to catch up with me. My doctor diagnosed me with rheumatoid arthritis which had aggravated the old simian injury to my shoulder. By the time Dr. Sodl read my MRI and made his diagnosis, I was eligible for a complete shoulder joint replacement. No cortisone shots. No arthroscopic surgery. I would have to have the whole enchilada. He cautioned me that I will regain full use of my right wing, but it will take weeks of healing and several months of physical therapy. So, that’s what will happen this week, and I will become in fact what my friend Don has been calling me for years….a “leftie!” I guess my old friend always knew this day would come.

Ciao,

MikeBo

PS: UPDATE: All suited up and ready to be rolled into the OR when the surgery was cancelled. All that angst for naught.
Back on track, tho - new surgery date now set-March 31st. More time to practice with my "left wing."