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Catfish and Twinkies
Catfish and Twinkies
Some baseball cards hold a very special place in the hearts of baseball fans. These treasured cards were undoubtedly collected as a child. Some cards more than others can conjure up vivid childhood memories and specific circumstances. That card or these cards are held dearest of all. You may not have looked upon that special card in decades, but its re-emergence to your consciousness can send you reeling back to a vivid place and time. Those cards connect you to your childhood. (Just ask talented writer Josh Wilker, who posts at www.cardboardgods.net.) These were your formative years, when ballplayers seemed superhuman and heroic. Those special cards likely have little to no monetary value . . . yet, they mean much more to you than that high-valued rookie card you also have in your collection from the same era.
It is 1975. I am 10. It is the first year I have collected baseball cards. The Topps card set in 1975 is magical to me. I leaf through my first pack of cards for many hours. I sit on the kitchen floor (we were very poor) devouring the statistics on the back of the otherwise electrically colourful cards. There are the likes of Joe Rudi, Teddy Martinez, Carmen Fanzone, Randy Jones, Rich Hebner, Bob Bailey, Jorge Orta, and Dick Drago and Jon Matlack, among others. (Who needs cable and the Internet, or even a color TV?) This baseball season I continue to buy more baseball cards, with whatever few nickels I can muster.
T he big news in recent months is that the great and powerful Swingin’ A’s just traded Cy Young Award winning Catfish Hunter to the Yankees. I am a huge Catfish fan. (I wanted to grow a mustache from that point forward.) My twelve-year old brother David and I soon learn that there is a new baseball card put out that displays Catfish as a New York Yankee. Of course, the 1975 Topps card showed Catfish in his spectacular A’s uniform. This new card is offered by Hostess. I so want this card, and feel like I need to get that card, somehow, some way. But, how could I possibly afford to buy a box of Hostess Twinkies that has the new Catfish card? Our family has been on food stamps since I can remember. We live in a government subsidized apartment in a small New England town. We have no furniture. None at all. Dad has abandoned us for good, months earlier. Me and my siblings wear tattered clothes and blown out shoes.
One morning David and I speak a while about the predicament. Then David starts to beam with excitement. With raised brows and eyes round as quarters, he says to me, “Artie, I got it. Let’s go to the supermarket, and you can walk in and steal a box of Twinkies. You can do it. There is no other way . . . if you really want that Catfish card.” In a crackly voice I reply, “Wow. Do you really think I can do it? I mean, without getting busted?” “You really want that card with Catfish on the Yankees,” David said, “don’t you?” I thought about it for a moment, scratched my head and said, “Well yes, of course I do. But . . .” David interrupts “Then let’s go get it today! You’ll have it by this afternoon. You can do it!”
The journey from the projects to the supermarket is a rather long walk. Under a grey sky David and I talk all along the way. David does most of the talking, as he strategizes the plan for the heist. I try my best to quiet my alarms of fear. I think excitedly about that Catfish card, and manage to convince myself the card is worth the risk, despite the nervousness I feel in the pit of my stomach.
We finally arrive at the supermarket. The parking lot is filled with cars. David offers his final nuggets of advice, slaps me on the back and says, “Artie, it’s now time to go get Catfish. You can do it. I’ll meet you right back here in the parking lot.” I acquiesce, nod in agreement and saunter into the store.
People are hustling all about within the store. The adults all around me seem so tall and imposing. I locate the stacks of Hostess products, and make my way over to them. I pick up a box of Twinkies and look at the underside to see if the Catfish card is there. Nope. In a whisper I mumble “Dave McNally, Al Oliver and Andy Messersmith.” I place it back on the stack and grab another box and turn it over. Not the one I want. “Robin Yount, Ron Cey, and Steve Carlton.” I pick up a third box. “Pete Rose, Don Kessinger and yes! There it is. Jim Hunter, New York Yankees. Wow!” After gazing at it for several moments, I place the box back onto the stack of Twinkies boxes. I walk away and go down a nearby aisle. As I meander slowly I stare at the floor thinking about how I will hold the box, and in what hand, as I attempt to make my way out of the store. I build up enough strength, increase my walking pace and swiftly approach the stacks of golden snack cakes. I sweep up the box of Twinkies with the Catfish card, and I try to act as inconspicuous as possible as I walk towards the exit. My sweaty palms cause the box to start slipping from my hands. Fear intensifies. Out of necessity I slow down my pace. I use my other hand to reposition the box so it doesn’t drop to the floor, causing an unwanted spectacle. The butterflies in my gut feel more like eagles, and my heart is pounding as if it is seeking to locate a means to escape my body. I manage to maintain the box in my hand as I finally find my way through the door.
As the outdoor breeze hits my sweaty face, I pray no one is running up behind me. I do not turn around to look behind me. I see David off in a far corner of the supermarket parking lot. My brisk walk quickly turns into a full sprint. David greets me with “You did it bro! You got it! Cool man! Keep runnin’! Run Artie!” After huffing and puffing a distance, once we feel safe about a mile up the road, we stop to examine the goods. David is impressed. “Feed me some of them Twinkies, bro!,” he said. “Let me check out the Catfish card.” I toss him several Twinkies, and he starts to laugh. I throw a Twinkie in my mouth and then turn the box over to show David. “See! There it is! Awesome, isn’t it?” I say. “Cool. Very cool,” David says.
We proceed on our long walk towards home. We laugh most of the way as we stuff our faces with pounds of cream-filled yellow sponge cake. (We never got junk food while on foodstamps. This is a real treat!) We eat as many as can before we reach home. Once there we realize there are two Twinkies left. A younger kid from the projects, named Bayshay, comes running up to greet David and I. We share greetings, and then we offer little Bayshay the remaining Twinkies. It is like Christmas for him. He smiles widely and barks out, “Oh yea! Yummy! I can have both of ‘em?” “Yes, you can have both Bayshay,” I replied. He ran off with a huge smile waving the two Twinkies high into the air as he sang aloud.
Even today, despite all the years that have passed, visually encountering that ’75 Catfish Hunter Hostess card causes all those memories to rush back instantly. Of course, I have long since learned that stealing is wrong; in no way do I condone such behaviour. Still, that card is a tender reminder of humble origins, the degree of risks that the poor will take, to obtain simple, basic things, even as children, the love for baseball held by American children, and the bonds shared by brothers. For me, Twinkies will always go very well with Catfish.
Written by Art Houtteman, 2010. Art copyright of Stephen Jordan, 2010.
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