a player to be named later
a baseball card takes me back in time
[this first appeared at willets pen]
When my friend Jesse sent me a pack of old baseball cards to go through to see if there was anything that spurred a writing prompt for his sports-centric newsletter, I was excited. Surely there would be an old Yankee in the pile and I could easily find something to write about any Yankee. But there were no Yankees in the pile. There were, however, several cards that reminded me of my early days in a fantasy league (1990-1995, champion twice) and I thought that was a good thing to write about until, as if by magic, this card poked its head out of the pile. Brett Butler. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.
1980. I had just graduated high school and was taking “a year” off to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. What I figured out that summer was that the ideal life for me was one in which I watched baseball every day. That was all I wanted to do. Sure, there was hockey (my team just won a Stanley Cup), and going to clubs (the drinking age was 18), and listening to music (mostly Todd Rundgren), but watching baseball? That was the life. It was a lazy endeavor, one that found me lounging on a couch, or out in my parents’ backyard where dad had set up a tv strictly for the purpose of watching baseball. Baseball is inherently slow paced and that vibe fit in with what was to be known as my Summer of Slacking.
The Yankees weren’t enough. I needed more. I needed a National League team. All my friends at the time were Mets fans so it seemed like a natural way to go, but I objected as they were considered a rival. Besides, it seemed more of a no brainer to go with the team of my favorite National League player, Dale Murphy. So I became an Atlanta Braves fan.
As is my way, I dove all the way in. Thanks to the superstation TBS I was able to see most Braves games, and when they came to town to play the Mets, my friends and I would make an outing to Shea Stadium. I’d show up in my Braves cap and Braves shirt and it made no difference at all because we were generally the only fans in our section so no one was bothered by my rooting for the Braves.
In 1981- still fully into my Braves fandom - Brett Butler made his debut on the team. A center fielder, Butler was fast on the bases, and a great leadoff hitter. I had an instant love for him. I don’t know what it was, but I was drawn to Butler the way one is drawn toward a pie on a windowsill. I was prepared to be the number one Brett Butler fan, a role I would take seriously.
Fast forward to 1983. The Braves are a good team. I’m enjoying watching them win, watching Butler emerge as the fan favorite I knew he would be. Between the Braves and the Yankees I got to see a lot of good, exciting baseball that year and I was having the best summer of my life. I was on top of the world. Nothing could bring me down.
Except the Braves started sliding, Bob Horner broke his wrist, and then, on August 28, 1983 - 40 years ago this - the Atlanta Braves made a trade. They were getting Len Barker from Cleveland for some players to be named later. A small river of dread ran through my veins while I imagined who the players were. Surely it wouldn’t be anyone big. Barker wasn’t worth that, much and this was a pretty cohesive team. Obviously, there was no twitter, no internet in those days to immediately track trade rumors. You had to have cable and access to the fairly new ESPN or call Sportsphone (976-1313) to get any updates. News was slow coming. I was nervous for my adopted team.
I don’t remember how I first heard the rumored names; it was probably on a TBS telecast of a Braves game or ESPN. I just remember hearing Brook Jacoby and Rick Behenna, both AAA players. I also heard there was another player involved. I wasn’t too worried. Murphy was untouchable and Butler probably should have been, too.
In September, thanks mostly to a screw up by Ted Turner, Rick Behenna was sent to play for Cleveland as part of the trade. But it wasn’t until after the season, On October 21st, that the trade was completed. Brett Butler would be going to the Indians.
I took the news hard. I may have screamed a little, I may have cried, but mostly I was pissed off at Ted Turner who, in my estimation, made the worst baseball trade of all time. I stomped around my room. I railed to my parents, who were sympathetic, but not entirely supportive of my anger. My Mets fans friends, the ones I went to Braves games with, called to check in on me.
The next day those friends came to my house with flowers and a sympathy card in hand that read “Sorry for your loss” and had a little inspirational prayer inside. I laughed. Those friends knew just what to do for me. My heart was broken, but it was also quickly put back together by their gesture.
That was my last year rooting for the Braves. I was so mad at Turner that I turned my back on the team, never walking down that road again. I kept tabs on Murphy in Atlanta and Butler in Cleveland, but I resumed being only a Yankees fan, the way it probably should have been. My 1980 boredom brought me three years of fun times with the Braves, but those days were over.
I hate the Braves now. I root for the Phillies or Mets as my National League teams. And I still think about the Brett Butler trade often.