Happy Saturday!
In 1972, I hit two home runs on Opening Day.
Two.
On Opening Day.
I was the man.
OK, I was 12 years old, playing Little League baseball for the Anaheim Yankees.
What a day.
At our next practice, my coach had me stand in front of the team while each player walked by and felt the massive muscles on my arms. 💪
My own home run celebration. 🎉
These days, home run celebrations have gotten a bit more creative.
Blast one deep, circle the bases, and head back to the dugout to a hero's welcome.
From espresso shots, to sunflower seed showers, oversized hats, championship belts, and even a Spider-Man mask.
Basically, anything you can find on Amazon is fair game.
Turns out, my baseball career peaked at age 12.
Those were the last home runs I ever hit. 😂
Fame is fleeting.
Let's talk about the week in baseball.
1994
August 12, 1994.
I remember it well.
Baseball was on fire.
The Montreal Expos were the best team in baseball at 74-40.
Padres’ Tony Gwynn was hitting .394 and chasing .400.
Matt Williams and Ken Griffey Jr., with 43 and 40 home runs, were on pace to challenge Roger Maris' record of 61.
Then it all stopped.
The players went on strike.
No more games.
No playoffs.
No World Series.
Fans were left asking the question:
How could baseball be so stupid?
Fast forward 32 years.
The current collective bargaining agreement expires in six months.
Again.
Owners are demanding a salary cap.
They're proposing sweeping changes to the draft and player development.
The two sides aren't even in the same hemisphere.
Nobody knows whether another work stoppage is coming.
But if you remember ‘94, the warning signs are familiar.
The strike didn't just cancel a World Series.
It altered baseball history.
Think about that Expos team.
Pedro Martínez.
Larry Walker.
Marquis Grissom.
Moisés Alou.
We'll never know what might have happened.
Maybe they win the World Series.
Maybe they don't.
But the strike robbed the city of its best chance.
Attendance cratered the following season.
Payroll was slashed.
Stars were traded.
A decade later, the Expos were gone.
Relocated to Washington, D.C.
The strike didn't just cost games.
It changed the connection of a city and its team.
A lost season won't hurt the Yankees or Dodgers.
It's the teams already hanging by a thread that should be worried.
The strongest franchises survive.
The vulnerable ones don't always get a second chance.
The World Series came back.
Baseball in Montreal never did.
Mickey, the Monkeys, and the Moonshot
Here's a baseball mystery that's gone unsolved for nearly 80 years.
What happened to Mickey Mantle's first professional home run ball?
🐵 Did a monkey end up with it?
On June 30, 1949, a 17-year-old Mickey Mantle stepped to the plate for the Yankees' Class D minor league team in Independence, Kansas.
Shulthis Stadium.
Mantle got a pitch he liked and crushed it to center field.
The ball easily cleared the 460-foot fence.
And kept going.
About 100 feet beyond the outfield wall sat Monkey Island, the local zoo's popular monkey exhibit.
As the ball soared into the distance, one fan reportedly yelled:
"That ball is headed to Monkey Island!"
Mantle's first professional home run.
Into a monkey exhibit? 🙉
If estimates are correct, the blast traveled more than 600 feet.
Holy #$%@.
And here's where the story gets strange.
Nobody ever found the ball.
Not that day.
Not the next day.
Not ever.
Did a monkey walk away with one of baseball's greatest souvenirs?
Did a fan pick it up without realizing what they had?
We may never know.
Like the Bermuda Triangle.
Or the location of Jimmy Hoffa's body.
Some mysteries are destined to remain mysteries.
Nearly 80 years later, the question remains:
What happened to Mickey Mantle's first professional home run ball?
Quote of the Week
Yankee pitcher Gerrit Cole on his recovery from Tommy John surgery:
"I feel like it's kind of a blank canvas. Just laying down some base layer paint and we'll see what kind of Bob Ross concoction comes up at the end of the year, you know what I mean? Little bit of liquid white." 🤔
— Gerrit Cole
It’s Our Game
I've spent more than 50 years following baseball, and one thing still surprises me.
The moments I remember most rarely have anything to do with the final score.
I think back to Game 3 of the 1981 World Series at Dodger Stadium. The Dodgers had just beaten the Yankees in a heart-stopping thriller.
Walking through the parking lot after the game, I could hear fans chanting:
"Ron Cey! Ron Cey! Ron Cey!"
The Penguin had made a diving catch and doubled a runner off first to save the game.
More than four decades later, I barely remember the box score.
But I remember the noise.
I remember strangers sharing a moment they'll never forget.
For a few hours, thousands of people who had never met were all pulling in the same direction.
That's why I loved seeing Scottish soccer fans take over Fenway Park.
Fresh off Scotland's first World Cup victory in 36 years, the Tartan Army marched through Boston, filled the bleachers, sang songs, waved flags, and turned a regular-season Red Sox game into something unforgettable.
This summer, the World Cup and Major League Baseball are sharing the same stage across North America.
You'd think they'd be competing for attention.
Instead, they're making each other better.
The World Baseball Classic gave us a preview.
Fans from Japan, Puerto Rico, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, and Venezuela reminded us what sports can feel like when an entire country pours its heart into every pitch.
Now the World Cup is bringing that same energy to baseball's front door.
From Fenway Park to Globe Life Field, World Cup fans are filling baseball cities with the kind of energy every sport dreams about.
For years, baseball has searched for ways to create more excitement.
Maybe it's remembering that fans aren't just watching the show.
They might just be the show. ⚾🌎
The game I fell in love with as a kid isn't just America's pastime anymore.
It's bigger than that.
Baseball isn't just our game anymore.
It's OUR game.
—Box
Have a great weekend.
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Marina Del Rey
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