Guest Post: A Bucco Remembrance

Note to our reader: From time to time this humble blog will have guest posts written by true sports fans who also happen to be friends or acquaintances of mine. These posts could touch on any topic, but will mostly likely address some aspect of these guest writers' favorite teams. Today, in honor of the Pittsburgh Pirates home opener at PNC - incidentally one of baseball's finest ballparks - I am proud to offer this guest post by noted Bucco aficionado, Geleaux.



Omar,

I don't need to tell you this, but our beloved Buccos open up PNC Park for the 2009 season today against the dreaded dis-Astros. It reminds me of the day we met, a day I'm sure both of us remember well. Hearken back to the spring of 1978, if you will, and, well, who wouldn’t? The Stillers were in midst of a brief intra-dynasty Super Bowl break, a time that would make the upcoming championships even more sweet. The mills were pounding out tariff-protected steel at incredible rates. [I remember, as if it were yesterday, the sweet smell of burning metal permeating my parent's AMC Hornet (it was green - perfect) as we drove to the ballpark. That smell would linger on, even after we closed the windows, turned off the fan, and begged sweet baby jesus to make it stop.] And you had just finished your first full year in the bigs, a year that saw you swipe 53 bags, a performance that electrified the Burgh and foreshadowed your epic 1979 campaign in which you finished 15th in the MVP voting. So choice.

As you recall, my sister's 3rd grade class was invited to a game at venerable Three Rivers Stadium that season, and as if that wasn't cool enough, it included a meet and greet with the great Omar Moreno. Although I was only in kindergarten at the time, my kind sister allowed me to tag along with her class. I'm sure her decision was not influenced either by the raging guilt she felt after winning a raffle to become the Pirate's Bat Girl for a game the previous season (alas, my entry, while equally well penned and heartfelt, fell upon deaf ears) or by my parent's outright demand that I be allowed to attend, lest I lock myself away in my room for hours on end crying sweet tears of injustice, only to be drawn out by the siren song of a cucumber salad and Benny Hill reruns.

The meeting itself, albeit brief, is etched in my mind, primarily because my pillbox hat is askew in the only remaining picture of our dalliance. No doubt one of my sister's well meaning yet mischievous classmates was to blame, but I cannot shake the memory of you staring off into space while I awkwardly attempted to shake your hand. It was my first interaction with a real major league ballplayer, and it was sublime. So today, of all days, I'd like to thank you, Omar Moreno.

Good luck, Godspeed, and Go Buccos,

Geleaux