This day in baseball: "Thanks, Brooks" Day, redux
On September 18, 1977, the Baltimore Orioles held “Thanks, Brooks” Day to honor Brooks Robinson, their great and beloved third baseman. Tonight, the Orioles hosted another “Thanks, Brooks Day” to honor the 45th anniversary (more or less) of the original event.
Is there any other sport that holds commemorations of its commemorations? I doubt it. I also doubt there are many other baseball franchises that would do this.
It’s a great idea, though — one last chance for Orioles fans to celebrate the life and legendary career of Brooksie, who is now 85 years old. Most Orioles fans remember him, if at all, as the team’s longtime color commentator. But their parents and/or grandparents have likely regaled them with tales of Brooks’ exploits, especially in the field.
I didn’t tune in the game in time to see the festivities. However, I was at the original “Thanks, Brooks” Day 45 years ago (and I was no kid at the time, either).
The Orioles played the Red Sox that Sunday, and I have no recollection of who won. I had to look it up to learn that Boston did, 10-4.
I also didn’t remember whether Robinson played in the game. He didn’t. Brooks hardly played at all in this, his 23rd season, and had gone on the voluntarily retired list in August.
I do remember four things from that day. First, Carl Yastrzemski, on behalf of the Red Sox, gave Brooks a gift and delivered a short, classy speech.
Second, Lee May, Robinson’s teammate, presented him with a vacuum cleaner — a tribute to the way Brooks swept up anything hit near third base. May was foremost among the victims of Robinson’s memorable defensive display in the 1970 World Series. I wrote an account of that display in the latter part of this post.
Third, Earl Weaver, Baltimore’s great manager, delivered a fairly lengthy and heartfelt address. Weaver was not a humble or insecure man. However, he talked about how much Robinson helped him when, as a 37 year-old with no experience playing in the big leagues, he took over a team that less than two years earlier had won the World Series.
Weaver thanked Robinson for supporting him in those early days, thereby enabling him to win over the clubhouse. “Thanks, Brooks — thanks a million times,” Weaver said as he finished his speech.
Fourth, I remember a Baltimore sportswriter saying:
Brooks never asked anyone to name a candy bar after him [a reference to the Reggie Bar, named for Reggie Jackson]. In Baltimore, people name their children after him.
It was a great line, (almost as good as Catfish Hunter’s line about the Reggie bar — “it’s the only candy that when you open it, it tells you how great it is”). The crowd of 51,798 responded with rapturous applause.
Baltimore media and the club’s broadcasters loved to take shots like this at the Yankees. They also lorded it over the Washington Senators before that team (my team) left the area — or so it seemed to me.
Now, I see this as a defense mechanism against what I think was the city’s inferiority complex. Baltimore wasn’t New York or Washington, but was a proud city, and its sports team could compete with New York’s and were vastly superior to D.C.’s.
And its sportswriters and broadcasters were right about this — neither rival city had a sports hero who combined top-tier Hall of Fame performance and the downhome humility of Brooks Robinson.
You can read a fuller account of the original “Thanks, Brooks” Day here.