Why Hall of Fames are so meaningful
Scribbled Notes on a Cocktail Napkin: In Tribute to Steve Klauke, my grandfather Ted Ashworth, and a reminder to let people feel the love
Scribbling from Albuquerque.
I hosted a pregame ceremony, between rain delays, to induct Mike Scioscia into the Albuquerque Professional Baseball Hall of Fame last night.
Hall of Fames are just plain awesome.
It doesn’t matter it it’s a national HOF, a team HOF, or a city’s HOF. It doesn’t matter if it’s pro or college or amateur. It doesn’t even matter if it’s a sport team, a large corporation, a small business, or a bobblehead museum.
Hall of Fames are the ultimate way to celebrate history, to honor those who made our lives better by giving us those “wow” moments one day and those consistent moments day after day.
We can thank someone with a handshake or a hug. We can send a hand-written note in the mail (which I adore) or an email or a quick text.
Or we can thank someone with a grand gesture, like inducting someone into the Hall of Fame. Presentations matter. Words matter. I was honored to be given the responsibility of finding the right words to explain the impact Scioscia had on baseball in the city of Albuquerque.
The summer months are Hall of Fame season and I can’t get enough of them.
Darryl Strawberry and Doc Gooden went into the Mets Hall of Fame.
Barry Bonds will go into the Pirates Hall of Fame in August.
Todd Helton, Joe Mauer and Adrian Beltre will formally be inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown in a few weeks.
Older fans get to cheer the players that gave them thrills, while trading stories with other fans about moments they cherish. Younger fans get to learn about a player they never saw and hear stories that bring to life the statistical record.
Players get to reflect on their careers without worrying about the next game. Teams pause to celebrate their rich histories before embarking on the next game with the current players that keep these traditions going.
"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.
“I’m glad he got to feel the love”
My Isotopes are playing the Salt Lake Bees this week and we’re working with heavy hearts. The Bees longtime play-by-play announcer, my friend and colleague Steve Klauke, was tragically killed a couple weeks ago crossing an intersection when he was out for his daily walk.
Klauke started when the Bees started in 1994. He retired from broadcasting baseball after the 2023 season, but continued to broadcast Weber State football and men’s basketball.
I saw Steve about a month ago when the Topes visited Utah. We went to lunch and he showed me the location of the Bees new ballpark under construction in suburban South Jordan. Steve told me which games he was going to watch of his beloved Chicago Bears in person around his play-by-play duties this Fall, and his monthly “old man” lunches with friends like Thurl Bailey and Frank Layden.
The Bees always honored Klauke after he reached milestones for broadcasts, such as 2,000 games, 3,000 games or 4,000 games. They honored him throughout his farewell season in 2023, including a touching video tribute and a bobblehead.
When Steve’s former colleagues were told about his death in a staff meeting, I’m told that one remarked, “I’m glad he retired when he did. He got to feel the love.”
Oh man, that sentence hit me. I heard it while driving. It took all my focus not to crash.
He got to feel the love.
We need more love in the world.
Honor people for milestones. Make plans for lunch, even when you’re busy, or especially when you’re busy. Send a text to tell someone they are loved [thank you, Hursty, and the feeling is mutual.]
Put names on buildings and put plaques on walls.
Let people feel the love before they’re gone.
“I’m looking for a Hall of Famer”
When I started on the San Francisco Giants beat in 2000, all my fellow scribes were kind and helpful in their own way.
Nick Peters, from The Sacramento Bee, advised me to always write about the stars more often and don’t worry about the role players. Smart advice. He also advised me to explore cities and took glee in showing me his favorite restaurants and bars on the road.
Before Yelp and GPS existed, I had Nick Peters.
Nick wasn’t as efficient as Yelp or GPS. We drove around in circles in Pittsburgh one day looking for his favorite Italian spot. We drove in even more circles in Milwaukee another day, Nick slamming on the breaks frequently to ask pedestrians where the old Schlitz Brewery was located.
Known as “The Greek,” Peters covered the Giants for 47 years for three newspapers and wrote five books about “The Lads.” In 2009, he was honored with the J.G. Taylor Spink Award by the National Baseball Hall of Fame.
After I left the Bay, I returned to the Giants ballpark while covering the Dodgers from 2008-2011. Nick was retired by then, but still enjoying coming to games and hanging out in the press box.
“Is there a Hall of Famer around here?” was my favorite thing to say, once I got within earshot of him.
“I wanna sit next to a Hall of Famer!” I’d continue.
“This game would be better if a Hall of Famer was around,” and I’d dramatically shoot my head side to side, in search of a Hall of Famer.
Then I’d make eye contact with Nick, see that he was both embarrassed and proud, and I’d take my seat next to him.
Hall of Fames are for families too
This is a photo of Ted Ashworth, my grandfather.
Now that is a cowboy.
At an early age, I was told that my grandpa was the 1958 World Championship Team Roper. I didn’t know what that meant. I was shown the belt buckle that’s bestowed upon the world champion. I still didn’t know what that meant.
I just knew that grandpa was a really good golfer, took me golfing, and gave me the following pieces of advice:
Keep your damn head down. I’ll watch your ball.
You’ve putted enough. Pick it up. Let’s go to the next hole.
In 2014, my grandfather was inducted into the Professional Rodeo Hall of Fame. It was bittersweet. He passed in 2009 and I wish he could have felt the love. But our family did feel the love and beamed with pride the entire weekend.
My mom, the eldest of three siblings, delivered his Hall of Fame speech.
The best part of the weekend for me was just hearing the stories of my grandfather that I couldn’t fully process as a young boy. I looked at his old photos and press clippings, learned about all the roping events he won, and enjoyed hearing the way his peers revered him.
Hall of Fames are not just about recognizing an individual.
Hall of Fames are also for helping families appreciate their bloodlines better.
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