On Saturday we had gone downtown to a sports bar on Lower Broadway and watched Wisconsin beat Purdue in a thriller at West Lafayette. Afterward everybody in our group chugged Boilermakers to celebrate, and the next day we reconvened at the journalist/songwriter's home to wolf down Peter's special recipe brats and watch the Packers dispatch the Lions. This is what we do.
After the Packers game, as we were polishing off the rest of the beer and brats, our host picked up his Martin D-28 and began playing a song. Until then I had never heard Peter play, and I was impressed. The song that drifted out would eventually appear on his 2008 Red Beet Records release Mission Door as "715 (For Hank Aaron)." Anybody with a deep appreciation of sports will love the story telling in this wonderful song.
We can't think of a better day to share the story with you than on Hammerin' Hank's 77th birthday. We couldn't find a clip of the entire song, but you can click on the link below and at least hear a sampling. You can also order the CD, which we heartily recommend. The lyrics follow:
http://redbeetrecords.com/index.htm?id=15632&inc=7&album_id=1093
Dice games ending with the flash of a blade
All in the wrists if you want to get paid
Daddy sold beer at the Black Cat lounge
Sold a little shine until the man came around
Little boy walkin’ through a place like that
Hitting bottle caps with a broomstick bat
Skinny ‘cause there wasn’t much of nothing to eat
Walkin’ through the mud ‘cause there wasn’t any street
This was Alabama, down the bay
Whole world looking off the other way
Henry Aaron was looking for a reason to dream
In ’47 when a black man signed with a big league team
Jim Crow smilin’ while the sun beat down
On a sandlot field on the wrong side of town
He took it all in stride
Striding to the ball
Turn of the wrists
Crack, jog and touch ‘em all
Ten years later, still playing the game
Stands full of people screaming his name
Won the pennant for the Braves with a four base knock
Same day they were rioting in Little Rock
Up in old Milwaukee he was MVP
Back in Alabama he was still not free
Not free to drink a beer in the white folk’s lounge
Not free to have a meal in Mobile, downtown
Young man rising from the hard hot south
Speaking his mind with a bat and not his mouth
Holdin’ it inside
Striding to the ball
Turn of the wrists
Crack, jog and touch ‘em all
(interlude, where I tell you why I care so much about sports)
Dice games ending with the flash of a blade
All in the wrists if you want to get paid
Daddy sold beer at the Black Cat lounge
Sold a little shine until the man came around
Little boy walkin’ through a place like that
Hitting bottlecaps with a broomstick bat
Skinny ‘cause there wasn’t much of nothing to eat
Walkin’ through the mud ‘cause there wasn’t any street
That was Alabama, down the bay
Whole world looking off the other way
Henry Aaron was looking for a reason to dream
When the dream came true, that’s when the world got really mean
He opened up death threats in the mail
‘Cause he was taking a hammer to a great white whale
Had no place to hide
Striding to the ball
Turn of the wrists
Crack, jog and touch ‘em all
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