Welcome back, to Thursday Blog Day here at the creatively named space known as “Bob’s Blog.” Okay, we didn’t want to overthink it.  I’m not sure how long this one will be, because so much happened in the last week. I got back home to Spokane on Tuesday and felt so tired I actually told Greg, my editor, that I might take the week off. Barbara and I had met in Minnesota on Friday, coming from different directions and managing to meet up on the F Concourse at MSP, then her brother Tim and his wife Kelly arrived on Saturday.

We spent a few days being tourists with them, having a great time, and then on Monday night we got to see Bruce Springsteen for the second time in about a month, with this show being performed at the Xcel Energy Arena in St. Paul. Tuesday was a travel day for all of us, going in different directions, so Tim dropped me off at MSP around 9:00 a.m. then he, Kelly, and Barb went back to the airport later in the afternoon for their flights, with Tim and Kelly going home to Pittsburgh while Barb headed for meetings in Los Angeles. When I got home on Tuesday, I was nodding off by dinner time but I forced myself to stay up until 9:00, then I slept for 10 hours. I must’ve needed it!

Once I got out of bed, I started to shake off the mental cobwebs and by yesterday afternoon I realized I was wanting to write. We’re up to Chapter 9 now, and by the time my fingers stopped moving on the keyboard in late afternoon, I had eight new pages in the can. So, my thought about taking a few days off and only concentrating on today’s blog is now out the window and down the drain. That’s the way the cookie crumbles. When in Rome, do as the Romans. Time flies when you’re having fun. A penny saved is a penny earned. OK, I’ll stop now.

Anyway, what all that means is that it was actually hard for me to prioritize this blog over the book this morning. I wanted to dive right back in where I left off last evening, but part of the strategy for getting all of this done is for me to stick to the plan. Thursdays are blog days. And I’m happy to be here.

To summarize a bit more about the big weekend, we ate well, we played a few games of Boggle (a word game I used to play as a kid that we found at a toy store), we toured Minneapolis and spent Sunday afternoon at Mall of America. Then we went to the concert, and then all got on planes. What else happened? It seems like I’m forgetting something…  Let me think…

Oh yeah, some dude named Wilkerson WON THE RACE in Phoenix. What a true thrill that was, although our obligations as tour guides took us to Mall of America right around the second round, so I couldn’t watch the race “live” on FS1. I followed along via my iPhone and Twitter. The NHRA app wasn’t working well for me, I didn’t have access to a TV with Fox Sports 1 on it, so Twitter was the best way to keep up to date. I follow so many media and PR people there, it’s about instantaneous to see the winners and the results as each round goes by.

We were still in Woodbury when round one happened, so I was listening to Alan Reinhart on the Audiocast for that, and heard Tim beat Chad Head. That was all good, and I was very happy for him and the team that they got that first round “W” in the column. By the time we got to MoA, I checked Twitter and saw that Wilk had beaten Ron Capps in round two. That got a big “WooHoo” out of me. We decided to get a bite to eat at Hard Rock Cafe, and that’s when Tim beat Robert Hight in the semis to move on to the final round against that John Force cat. It was getting to be beyond exciting!

We were done with our food and drinks by then, but we decided to wait right there until the final was over. It sure seemed like a long wait.

The new Hard Rock at MoA is located in one corner of the giant amusement park that fills the central atrium. Being there, it has all the typical indoor seating, a concert stage, and the standard treasure trove of rock memorabilia, with a heavy emphasis on Prince stuff ranging from purple concert wardrobes to a lot of cool guitars. But, it also has a second seating area in a patio “outside” under the roller coaster at the amusement park.

Barbara loves to sit outside whenever we go to a restaurant that has patio seating, even if it’s 90 degrees and mosquitos are buzzing around. I, particularly, don’t like sitting outside, where you’re constantly shooing flies and grabbing your napkin as it flies away. Sitting “outside” at the Hard Rock, though, was right up my alley. Because, well…  It’s actually inside!  I did, though, ask Barb if I was earning an “outside dining credit” by sitting out there on the patio below the roller coaster. She said yes.

Finally, mercifully, Twitter began to rev up with tweets about the all-female Top Fuel final between Leah Pritchett and Brittany Force. I thought that was really cool and either way it went, it was going to be good for the sport and historic. I’ve known Mike Guger, who tunes Leah’s car, for many years, so I’m not going to deny that I was pretty happy for both Mike and Leah to each get their first Top Fuel wins as full-time crew chief and a driver, respectively.

And then Twitter began popping with photos and tweets about Force and Wilkerson pulling to the line. And Kelly needed to go to the bathroom, so Barbara went with her. And time moved very slowly…

When the tweets started blasting about Tim’s win, I was torn between going crazy there on the patio or trying to restrain myself a little. I tried the second option, and failed. Just then, Barbara came back and I yelled “Tim won!!!”  High-fives were shared all-around.

Did I miss it, just then?  Of course I did. I so wished I could’ve been there to celebrate with a great group of guys and give a huge hug to Krista. But I’m committed to what I’m doing and I’m loving it. I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything, but my heart is still in that sport and still with that team. That’s a very good thing.

What was just as heartwarming was the fact my phone blew up with well-wishes and fabulous messages right after the win, from other racers and PR reps, to family and friends. After the second round, I had texted Tim to congratulate him to that point and wish him well as he went to the semifinals, and he replied with a very nice text about how much they missed having me there, and that put a little extra glow in my heart.

Alan Reinhart called later that evening, to tell me how funny Wilk was in all the post-race interviews, and it was great to hear from him. It was simply great all the way around.

If you missed the live TV or haven’t seen the final, here’s what it looked and sounded like:

Very cool deal. Way to go Team LRS! Can’t wait to see everyone in a couple of weeks, down in Gainesville.

Also, Joe Castello always has the winners on his WFO Radio podcast after each race, so if you want to listen to a great interview with Tim here’s a link. The order of the guests on this show has Alan going first (as he always does), then Leah, then Brad Littlefield from National Dragster, then Tim, and finally Jason Line to wrap things up. The whole thing is great, but if you want to skip to Tim’s part it’s at around the 1:39 mark. I’m proud to report that I got a little mention near the end of the interview, in a very humorous way.

http://wforadio.com/nhra-nitro-03012016/

So back to the book. “Bats, Balls, and Burnouts” is moving along at a very rapid (thrilling) pace, and I’m really starting to see the form it’s taking toward what it will be in the end. It may not be literary genius, or even one of the more competent sports autobiographies ever written, but I’m thinking and hoping it will be a fun read with a lot of rich stories.

Since I’m writing it mostly in a straight-line chronological order (starting out when I was a kid) I’m very aware that a large part of this book is going to be about stuff other than drag racing. After all, I was closing in on 40 when I saw my first drag race, so there are plenty of fun and interesting stories to tell before I get to the point where I land the job as GM at Heartland Park, which kicked off this whole second half of my career. Knowing that a large percentage of my potential book purchasers will be racing fans, because that’s really where I became sort of semi-famous or at least well known, I had been feeling some pangs of worry that it would be hard for them, or perhaps even too boring for them, to get through all the childhood stories and the baseball stuff, in their quest to read what I have to say about my years in the NHRA world. That concerned me for a while, but then this week I realized that I have to write it all, and I have to tell the whole tale and then trust in my ability to weave an interesting story out of things race fans might, or might not, be really interested in.

That realization came to me via a string of connected thoughts. I was talking to Barb’s brother Tim about the book and the Kickstarter campaign, and was telling him how wonderful it was to see so many blog readers, race fans, sponsors, and racers happily and generously support this endeavor. I can thank this ongoing blog for much of that, especially the 10+ years of it over at NHRA.com, because that’s what got me known and got my writing out there in the public eye, with many thousands of folks enjoying all the stuff I wrote about, not just the racing material. I had to find that confidence again that I could write about anything and make it compelling. The heartfelt comments I’ve heard the most over these years, from blog readers, are that to them it feels like I’m in the room talking directly to them and that I write about a lot of stuff they don’t follow or really care about, but they still can’t wait to read it. That’s humbling, and it’s the sort of realization that props my confidence right back up.

So here I am writing Chapter 9 this week, and it’s the chapter that finally gets me out of college and into professional baseball. Shouldn’t be any surprise that this is a part of the story I truly relish, and there’s not a lot of research needed for most of the stories. They happened nearly 40 years ago, but they’re still very vivid in my memory. And hoo boy, the characters on these teams are just too rich to not retell them in depth.

I’ve been doing snippets of the manuscript each week, and getting a lot of emails from people who are really enjoying that, so we’ll do another one here. The backstory is that it’s about how I was signed by the Detroit Tigers out of college, and was sent to Bristol, Tenn. to join the Bristol Tigers in the Appalachian League. Yes, the same Bristol where we’ve raced for so long. The motel they put us up in for the first week, an EconoLodge in the main part of Bristol, is still there.

Bristol was Detroit’s “Rookie Level” team in Class-A. It has a short June through August season, because almost all the players on the roster are signed in June, either as drafted players or as undrafted free agents. I fell into the latter category. So, basically, Bristol was the absolute bottom rung on the Detroit farm-system ladder. Or was it?

We had a brief training camp before the season was going to begin, and on the third day we split into two groups and played an intra-squad game. I had, by then, evaluated myself compared to my teammates who came from all over and from great baseball programs, and I felt very confident that I fit in. I wasn’t the best rookie there, but I fit in. During the game, I got a base hit and then, a few innings later, I faced the hardest throwing pitcher on the team, who could bring it up there at 98 mph. He was a bit wild, as well, so hitting off him was truly a challenge if he did manage to throw strikes.

He’d loaded the bases with walks before I came up, and I managed to foul a number of his heaters off before I finally squared one up and hit a grand-slam home run. I wasn’t on Cloud 9, I was on Cloud 109. I couldn’t wait to call my dad after the game and tell him all about it. But…  The Detroit Farm System Director, Hoot Evers, called Buddy Slemp, Dan O’Connor, and me over to the side before we went into the clubhouse. And he had this to say…

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Hoot looked at us and said “I want you three guys to know that we’re optioning you to Paintsville, Kentucky here in the same league. It’s what we call a co-op team, and along with the Orioles, White Sox, and Twins, we’re each sending a few players there so that you can play more and develop faster. You would be splitting time with a lot of high draft picks here, guys who we have a lot of money invested in. We think it’s better that the three of you go up there to Paintsville and get more action.”

Looking at me, he said “Bob, we made this decision before today and before we saw your grand-slam. You have impressed us with all facets of your game. You’ll be fine in this league, as will you Buddy and Dan, so get your gear together and get on up to Paintsville. We’ll keep an eye on you, and we’ll look forward to seeing you when we play up there or when you come down here to play us. All the best to you guys. Make us proud.”

With that, Hoot turned and walked away and the three of us blankly stared at each other, not sure what to say.

The co-op team concept wasn’t common back then, and as far as I know it doesn’t exist at all now, but it meant one thing to the three of us. Bristol, in the short-season Appalachian League, was the lowest rung on the Tigers’ organizational chart. It was a “rookie league” in every sense, because almost all of us were making our pro debuts. It was as low as you could ever be in the Detroit farm system, and yet somehow we’d managed to get sent down from there.

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You gotta roll with the punches, sometimes, and as it turned out our experience as members of the Paintsville Hilanders was a great one. At the time, Buddy, Dan (two guys I’d just met and didn’t really know) and I were a bit stunned, but you plow forward.

I love this shot from that summer. First of all, I was the same height I am now but probably weighed thirty pounds less. Maybe 170 but probably more like 165. We’d just completed batting practice on a hot summer day at our little ballpark in the coal mining hills of eastern Kentucky, and someone took my photo as I stood by my locker, wearing a sweaty cut-off tee shirt. Things to notice: The cool name plates they put on all of our lockers. My nickname written on athletic tape at the top. My spare uniforms, gloves, hat, and street clothes within the locker. How young I was and how young I looked. Our schedule taped to the front of the locker, on the right. And, most importantly, a blow dryer! I wouldn’t need that in my locker today! Ah, youth…

In the middle of that locker is my black Detroit Tigers jacket, which had my name embroidered on it just below a cool Tiger logo. Keep in mind, it was probably 90 degrees every day during that part of the summer, but many of us had those jackets from our parent clubs and we wore them proudly whenever it was cool enough to do so, and I mean that in both ways regarding the word “cool”. You know what I mean.

The parallel to later life would be the “Winner’s Jackets” we could get after every NHRA race victory, also with your name embroidered on the front. There’s no arrogance in proudly wearing one of those. You put your heart and soul into the endeavor, and accomplishing something like winning a race is so epic it’s worth celebrating it for years. I’m sure the guys on Team Wilk are currently plotting out how they’ll buy a jacket from the Phoenix race. They’re fantastic jackets, and they are a bit pricey, but their worth to the wearer is absolutely priceless.

And, I found one of those 1978 Paintsville pocket schedules on eBay once, which is further proof that almost anything in the history of mankind can be found there. This is what it looks like up close (click on it to enlarge!)

Most of the other teams in the league were in the Tri-Cities. Bristol, Johnson City, Kingsport, and Elizabethton could all commute from their own ballpark to the others on game nights. Bluefield, W.V. and Paintsville were way too far away for that, so we went on real road trips, riding the bus on the winding 2-lane highways through the coal-mining hills. Lots of rich memories, and I’m not afraid to tell you that it was a big day when that little schedule showed up in the mail. Another piece from the past, back in my hands.

And yes, I still have my Tigers jacket. And my Oakland A’s jacket. And my Toronto Blue Jays jacket. I’m not a hoarder, those are precious memories.

And finally, about that Springsteen show…

I’ve always enjoyed Bruce and his music, but I’ve been on record before admitting I was never an avid fan like so many people are, including my wife, her brother, and Lewis Bloom. The legion of Bruce fans is enormous, loyal, and as avid as any Rush fan is, just like me.

I’ve enjoyed going to the shows over the years, with Barb, but to me it was more just an enjoyment of the spectacle than of the show itself. Some of his songs are absolute masterpieces, truly some of the greatest rock songs ever written, and I can get into it as much as anyone when he plays them with such high energy, but some others I consider kind of “throw-away” garage-band songs, just basic rockers, and I’ve always had a hard time getting into those.

The Pittsburgh show we saw earlier in the winter was the first on this unique tour, in which he plays “The River” album in its entirety before playing another hour’s worth of hits. In Pittsburgh, they still obviously had some bugs to work out regarding the sound mix, because it was muddy in places and too sharp in others. Clearly, now about 12 shows later, they’ve got that all figured out.

The sound at Xcel Arena was spectacular. The show was fantastic. There are still a few parts of the lengthy playing of “The River” that slow down a bit and give a lot of people the chance to go to the bathroom or grab a beer, but the entire 3-hour and 30-minute show, which is played nonstop, is something any music fan should see. It’s not just epic, it’s unique and truly special. If you have a chance, see this tour. See it!!!

And, having this show in St. Paul meant a couple of other fantastic things would happen. Neighbor Dave and Nichol had tickets as well, just a couple of sections over from us. About midway through the concert Nichol came over and she and I swapped seats, so she could sit next to Barb for a while and I could hang with Dave. That was fun, and it was cool to get a different perspective from different seats. The sound was great at both spots.

And, before the show started, somehow miraculously another neighbor from our old neighborhood, Terry Blake, found us at our seats and said hello. How does that happen in an arena full of 18,000 people? I don’t know, but I’m glad it did.

So there you have it. I started this blog by admitting that it might not be a very long one, but look where we ended up. It happens that way.

Now I’ll take a little break, have some lunch, and then we’ll see about getting back to work on Chapter 9. I have to give my fingers a break, for a bit.

See you next week, gang!  And the week after that I’m heading to Gainesville. Can’t wait!

Bob Wilber, at your service!