Confession time: My grandmother was a thief
Scribbled Notes on a Cocktail Napkin: Millions of peaches, peaches for free; and a few more peach stories to sweeten your Sunday
Scribbling from Round Rock, Texas
It’s the early-to-mid 1980s. I’m about 10 years old. My parents are on a “no kids” vacation and I spent a week with my grandparents in a small country town in Central California named Riverbank.
My grandfather, Ted, put up a basketball rim above his garage for me to get up some shots. He tried to teach me how to rope. I got bored quickly and asked if we could hit golf balls instead. I sliced and hooked golf balls all over his horse pasture. He constantly told me to keep my damn head down.
My grandmother, Jewel, made every meal … and every meal involved peaches. A big bowl of peaches was always in the middle of the table. Breakfast or lunch, we always had peaches. And after dinner, we devoured various forms of peach cobbler, peaches on top of ice cream, or just straight peaches.
After dinner, I’d go for walks with grandma. We didn’t walk on the street. We waited until it was dusk. We walked through the horse pasture, climb through a few fences, hustled across roads, until we arrived deep in the peach patch.
Grandma took out the brown grocery bags from her purse. We picked peaches for the next week. I’d spot a beautiful full peach hanging on a branch and start to grab it.
“No!” shouted my grandmother. “Not that one. Only the peaches on the ground.”
I didn’t understand. Why would we pick a half rotten peach on the ground when there is a perfect peach on the tree? Grandma insisted. I’m confused, but I follow her lead.
Years later, I realized why.
The peaches on these trees are not free for anyone to pick. Somebody owns this peach patch.
My grandmother was a thief. A peaches thief.
She wouldn’t steal the immaculate peach on the branch that could be sold. She only stole the peaches on the ground that nobody wanted. She’d cut off the gross dirty parts of the peach and use the clean sides for our side plates and desserts.
Grandma passed away 24 years ago, so I think the statue of limitations has expired and the peach owners won’t be going after us surviving family members.
Yes, I must confess, my grandmother was a thief. But she was a peach thief with a moral compass.
"Scribbled notes on a cocktail napkin" is my weekly Sunday feature that's a tribute to the sports columnists I grew up reading who penned Herb Caen-inspired three dot columns. It's an excuse to shamelessly plug my other side projects, post my favorite Immaculate Grid from the week with a story about one of the players, link to stories I found interesting, and string together loose topics on my mind.
Millions of peaches, peaches for free
I think of my grandmother every time I hear the song “Peaches” by the 1990s alt rock band Presidents of the United States of America.
The algorithm on Spotify thought I needed to hear that song this week, multiple times actually, so I’ve been thinking about peaches and my grandmother all week. Peaches also represent summer and it’s hard to believe summer is almost gone. [I know most kids are back in school, but to me, summer ends on Labor Day.]
Presidents lead singer Chris Ballew told American Songwriter the story behind the song “Peaches.”
High on LSD, he went to a girl’s house one night to say he liked her, but she wasn’t there.
I thought, “Well, I’ll just wait for her.” And I sat under her peach tree. There were peaches that had fallen, that were in various stages of decay. And, of course, in my state of mind that I was in, I just started diving in and squeezing the peaches and mixing it with my desire for the girl and the desire for the peaches and juicy weirdness and ants crawling all around.
But she never showed up, so I left. But the song didn’t really come to life until much later. Until I had moved back to Seattle. I was waiting for a bus and a disheveled man in an oily overcoat with a big beard, who I assumed was, you know, homeless, came shuffling by the bus stop and saying under his breath, “I’m moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches. Movin’ to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches.” Over and over, as he passed by.
“The Presidents” emerged during the 1990s Seattle grunge era, but they were much different than their peers. Their songs were not filled with angst or anger. They had short hair and wore collar shirts in their videos.
“Peaches” was a catchy pop rock song that’s destined to make you question how this ever became a hit song, nonetheless smile, and get stuck in your head for days.
I'm movin' to the country, I'm gonna eat a lot of peaches
I'm movin' to the country, I'm gonna eat me a lot of peaches
I'm movin' to the country, I'm gonna eat a lot of peaches
I'm movin' to the country, I'm gonna eat a lot of peachesPeaches come from a can
They were put there by a man in a factory downtown
If I had my little way, I'd eat peaches every day
Sun-soaking bulges in the shade
The video began with the three members of the band jamming around a basket of peaches, then fighting off ninjas at the end. It made no sense. But I don’t know if any video ever made sense. Itt always made me giggle. It was very non-grunge.
This week’s not-so-random Immaculate Grid: Rob Picciolo
Rob Picciolo was nicknamed Peach by A’s owner Charlie Finley became his name is pronounced Peach-oh-lo. He got the first of his 381 career hits off Nolan Ryan.
When I think of peaches, I think of walking through peach orchards with my grandmother. Rob Picciolo was known for rarely walking to first base. In nine years, over 731 games and 1720 plate appearances, Picciolo walked a total of 25 times. I swear this next part is true: the White Sox walked him 10 of those 25 times.
In 1980, Peach nearly went the entire season without a walk. Orioles manager Earl Weaver once cracked, “he must be leading the league in ‘off-base percentage.’ ” [Apparently, managers used to talk trash about players on other teams like this, on the record.]
On Oct. 2, the fourth-to-last game of the season, White Sox announcer Harry Caray interviewed Peach about going the entire season without a walk. That night, Picciolo drew his first walk. The umpire asked for the baseball and presented the ball to Picciolo. A’s manager Billy Martin remarked it should be headlines in the paper.
It wasn’t. But it was the lede paragraph.
In 1983 and 1984, Picciolo did the impossible. He walked zero times in back-to-back seasons for the Brewers and Angels, respectively. Stuck behind Robin Yount and Jim Gantner, and then Dick Schofield and Bobby Grich, he barely played in those years, a combined 157 plate appearances. He was a backup when backups didn’t play.
All the time sitting on the bench didn’t take away his spirit or love of baseball. Peach once remarked, “it gave me a lot of time to observe the game and prepare for Phase Two.”
Picciolo became a longtime manager in the minors and coach in the majors. He was a Padres coach for 16 consecutive years, serving under three managers. His son once worked in the Padres PR department.
Peach died in January 2018. A few days before, he was feeding the homeless in downtown San Diego. I hope it was peach cobbler.
Was Peach Cobbler named after Ty Cobb?
I’ve always wondered if Peach Cobbler got its name from Ty Cobb.
After all, Cobb was from Narrows, Georgia. His nickname was “The Georgia Peach.” Before Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb was the most famous baseball player in America. It’s easy to connect these dots of a famous man named Cobb.
Alas, it’s mostly a coincidence.
If the Wikipedia-ization of human knowledge is to be trusted, fruit cobblers originated in the British American colonies and dates back to the 1850s, long before Ty Cobb was born.
The term could be related to the word cobeler (which meant wooden bowl). Or because the visual appearance was similar to a cobbled stone pathway. Or simple because early settlers didn’t have traditional cooking equipment, so they cobbled together ingredients for the dessert.
Ty Cobb enjoyed his “Georgia Peach” nickname. Many of his baseball cards had a peach tone to them, surely not a coincidence.
Ty Cobb’s legacy is complicated. What most people know about him is from the 1994 movie “Cobb” that was based on a book by Al Stump that’s been widely discredited.
Yes, he was a fierce competitor. No, he didn’t sharpen his spikes. Yes, he fought with fans and umpires and opponents.
Cobb publicly stated the Blacks should play in the majors leagues, long before they were admitted. He made a fortune investing in Coca-Cola and the stock market. He quietly paid for many players hospital bills and care when they were too broken down to work. To this day, hundreds of lower income students go to college based on endowments he created before his death.
Last week, one of my “Scribbled Notes” stories was about Rodney McCray, the outfielder who literally ran through a wall trying to make a catch. His son Grant made his Major League Debut this week for the Giants and hit a home run.
Here’s video of Grant’s homer and Rodney’s celebration and a link to last week’s post.
Cobb wasn't alone when fighting fans. In those days it was common....hell, Babe Ruth did it.
Great stuff...I'll cherish my autographed, 1981 Topps Rob Picciolo card just a little bit more now. He sounds like he was a good dude.
That Peaches song was kind of annoying at the time. It seems like every so often the corporate machine would release a one hit wonder that was sort of poppy and bouncy. Hey, the cheerleaders, jocks and middle-schoolers needed something to listen to! Eventually they just said "f*ck it" and signed Green Day.