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La Linda and La Russa
It was a dark and stormy night, the beginning of which saw my mood
dangling near rock-bottom. Family problems, health issues and
some excruciating sciatic spasms made me wish I were dead, or at least
unconscious. But no, I was awake (albeit on painkillers), and
situated inside an enormous tent, listening to the December rain and
wind.
It was intermission during a performance of Cirque du Soleil, and my
mood had begun to improve, thanks to the extraordinary talent and
spectacle to which I was witness. It helped that the painkillers
were kicking in, too, and that I was out with my sweetie and two of our
favorite friends. We were standing in the aisle, bantering back
and forth when something happened that gave my mood a hearty boost.
Tony La Russa walked by me.
La Russa is the manager of baseball’s St. Louis Cardinals and former
manager of the Oakland Athletics. He is something of a legend, a
manager with the sixth-highest number of wins in baseball’s 120-year
history; and he has a law degree, to boot. He is also a
vegetarian, a most unusual fact given the high percentage of baseball’s
meat-loving men. And La Russa is a big supporter of the arts,
especially ballet.
When he was manager of the A’s, La Russa would recruit some of his
players to perform as wooden soldiers in the Oakland Ballet’s rendition
of the Nutcracker Suite. The results were adorable as these game
fellows, among the top athletes in the world, allowed themselves to be
one-upped by dancing men in leotards.
That is La Russa’s doing, and he is my kind of guy. A thinking,
sensitive baseball man. He was on my mind that December night,
mostly because I was reading a book about him. Three Nights in
August details three ball games La Russa managed in August of 2003,
when his Cardinals played their rivals and then-first-place-holders,
the Chicago Cubs. Author Buzz Bissinger much of that season with
La Russa, his players and coaches, studying the routines, nuances, and
rigorous intensity they applied to their craft. La Russa in
particular was dissected and closely scrutinized. Offering up
delicious and minute details, Bissinger invited the reader in for a
peek through a microscope at La Russa’s mind.
Three Nights in August made me feel like I knew La Russa, or Tony, as I
came to think of him after the first chapter or so. The book
described his dedication to the game, which led him to live away from
his family eight months a year. (Most other baseball managers
regard their families as appendages that move with them every time they
make a job change. But Tony’s wife and two daughters had their
own lives and commitments in the Bay Area, and they and he decided it
was best for everyone to live together when they could really be
together and otherwise to remain apart.) During my reading, Tony
became my friend and colleague, a man for whom I had the greatest
respect.
So to see him in person that night almost came as no surprise. He
was on my mind; now he was in my field of vision. I spotted him
from about twenty feet away, as he was approaching the aisle in which I
was standing. I made eye contact with him at about fifteen feet,
letting him know I recognized him. He made eye contact back,
recognizing being recognized. I smiled at him. He smiled at
me, now just five feet away. And then he headed past me toward
the exit.
I was so tickled, I almost let the opportunity to address him
pass. But I turned, I did, and I said to him, “I’m reading Three
Nights in August.”
“How far into it are you?” he asked.
“Game Two,” said I. “You’re doing a great job.” And I held my thumb up to show him I meant it.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. And then he ducked out the tent’s flap.
I saw him return after the intermission and take his seat, not all that far from mine.
I could have not stayed for the second half of the performance, that’s
how full my evening felt. But I did. After all, my
companions were there, we’d paid a lot of money to see the show, and we
were enjoying it. Plus we were under the same big tent as Tony La
Russa.
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face the rest of the night. The
performance was thrilling and dreamy at the same time. Sometimes
you have sciatica. Sometimes you see a star you know. All
in the same night.
Bio & Past Articles
Past Articles
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Betty's List ‘Linda's A-Musings'
Columnist Linda Gebroe.
Linda Gebroe brings more than two decades of professional experience to her role as writer, editor, publications manager and communications consultant. Since 1987, she has owned and operated Gebroe Communications Services, a business that has helped scores of organizations communicate with a variety of audiences and markets.
As a sole practitioner, Linda has been able to do what she loves most, which is writing. Her work has been published in the San Francisco Chronicle, San Francisco Magazine, and the San Jose Mercury-News, and been aired on KQED-FM, San Francisco’s National Public Radio station. A lifelong baseball fan, Linda has also written for the Sporting News, and for the San Francisco Giants and Oakland Athletics magazines.
You can reach Linda at lgebroe@comcast.net. Or visit her web site: http://www.lindagebroe.com
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