Here is what I know about the 1940s, off the top of my head: World War II, Pearl Harbor, D-Day, the atomic bomb. Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier. The Dodgers' emergence as an iconic baseball team. I can name all the World Series matchups, though you might have to give me some time on 1942, 1943. Mickey Owen's dropped third strike. Cookie Lavagetto, Bill Bevens, Al Gionfriddo's catch. Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak and Ted Williams hitting .406 in 1941. I know most of the stars of 1940s MLB. The Andrews Sisters. Glen Miller's Orchestra. My grandmother used to talk about Glen Miller a lot. Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby. The songs that played on WECK in Buffalo in the 1980s, which were the "golden oldies" of that time (as opposed to "oldies," which was '60s music). It's A Wonderful Life. White Christmas. Johnny Marks' Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I know my mom was born in the '40s. So was my uncle. He's...
When you hit 60, even if you look and feel pretty good for you age, there are constant reminders, whether they are physical, mental or social, that you are old. They show up more frequently, too, and that's why I take solace in the tiny, almost meaningless factoids that show that I'm still not as old as that . An example is the designated hitter. For as long as I have been following baseball there has always been a designated hitter. I've been watching baseball for 50 years, and a DH has been a fact of life for every one of those years. I haven't known a time when there wasn't one. So at least I've never experienced that, though I would've liked to. I recently thought of this when I came across this 1979 Danny Goodwin card again. It's fairly well-known because the designated hitter is doing something that a designated hitter is known for not doing -- donning a glove and throwing a ball. DHs always have a bat. Where's Goodwin's bat? I w...