It was the last Cactus League exhibition weekend before Major League Baseball opening day games so I planned on my seasonal drive to Santa Monica to watch a ball game with my grandfather to kick off the 2011.
I had to.
Despite my own denial of this fact, over the last few years Granddad has been going through the onset stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Anyway, being that I am his first grandchild and that my Grandfather was my biggest influence in so many aspects of my life, I wanted to make the most of the limited time we have together before he would no longer remember, anything. I made a call in advance. He’s a good eater, my grandma always says, so I brought a roasted chicken, the kind you buy at Vons that comes with coleslaw, Hawaiian bread, and macaroni. So Awesome.
This is the tricky part. Although he cannot refer to me by name, he does have a sense that I am is grandson or relative (I believe he does anyway) because every time I show up to the house I plop on the couch next to him and open up the Sports page just like old times. He looks at me with a refreshed sense of familiarity. Usually my grandfather would say, “Boy, I sure like baseball and boxing, but baseball is #1. That’s right!” That was a good enough response for me. He can still watch a game of baseball all right, so I thought.
It was on a Sunday, the 1 o’clock Dodger game was not being broadcast on local cable according to the Los Angeles Times but that was no big deal. My grandfather, Tommy Filomeno Rivera, father of four, former professional boxer out of Douglas Arizona, retired coach and umpire for the Pacific Baseball league (among others) in the Westside; my beloved grandpa is no Dodger fan.
My grandfather Tommy Rivera, lover, fighter and Angel baseball fan . . . It’s a long story and I have mentioned this before but it’s actually legit.
The newspaper read that the Angel game starts at 2. We ate together just before the game started. I happened to check out channel 13 and found that the Dodgers were actually on television. I made my move to the couch in the living room. While still at the kitchen table, my grandmother Florentina Rivera coincidently brought out some dominoes to keep my grandpa occupied while we talked about life. When Dodger game started I hit the couch. My grandfather on the other hand was still busy with his game of dominoes, so there I was with my grandma watching the Dodger game until granddad decided to kick it with me. The Dodgers were in a contest against the Tigers. It was me and grandma watching the game.
“Who is this voice,” my grandmother said, referring to the announcer.
“It’s Rick Monday,” I replied.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, I like his voice. I like his voice better than that Vin Scully.”
I shuttered right when she said it. No one else was around. We were safe from other ears but I still was taken back by her comment as innocent as it was. But she meant it. My grandma is a famous shit talker and proud chizmosa anyway. I tried to justify was she said. Internally, within a second I came to the conclusion that they were both the same age so she was just talking bad about her peer, Vinny. She was actually picking a favorite of her own.
“Rick Monday used to play with (your mother’s cousin) Simon right here at Los Amigos, right here between 5th and 6th on Ocean Park Blvd.” Rick Monday was a local kid in these parts, way back when. I had forgot about that.
“Who’s Simon?”
“He is your cousin-he used to be a pitcher.” She added, “Rick Monday used to go to Santa Monica High, too.” Then I recalled that my granddad used to talk about knowing Monday as a kid, among other former Dodger, Tim Leary, who also grew up in the Westside were my grandfather used to be a significant part in the local baseball leagues.
As we talked on, my grandpa Tommy was still dedicating his energy to his dominoes. I started to ask more questions about him. I asked about what league grandpa coached. Grandma told me go ahead and check out granddads trophy case.
“He was apart of the Western and Southern league.” She claimed.
From behind Granddad’s trophy case, Grandma pulled out a light but durable presentation backboard that listed a few local little leaguer player names. It read: 1955-1959 Western Boys Baseball Association. “That’s when you grandfather coached,” she said to me. “Then when your uncles got older he went to Umpire school, at the Southern California Umpires Association.” On the board, among the dozens of little leaguer names was the name, my grandmother mentioned earlier: Simon Felix. There were 11 red star stickers next to the words “11 homers.” There were lots of stars next to the names of some of these little league Stars from the past. I was a-taken back.
My grandma continued, “There was the Pony League, Colt League, and then some (players) went to the American Legion if they wanted.”
I started to look at the many trophies my granddad still had in his glass case.
Individually they read:
- “Volunteered North Venice Little League.” Granddads trophy.
- “Santa Monica Pony League, 1962, Tigers, Tommy Rivera City Champs.”
Uncle’s Tommy’s trophy.
- “Batan 1971 Champions, Danny Rivera.” My uncle Danny’s trophy.
- A 1960 Pony League Manager “game ball.”
- 1965 Bay League Champs trophy.
- 1973 Colt League Champs, Danny Rivera.
- Too bad my Mom didn’t have a trophy!
There were more trophies but they were missing the golden metal engravings.
Later my grandfather decides to put down the dominoes and sit with me. I change the channel to the Angels game. The Dodgers were getting beat up bad anyway.
“Oh God, you know I love baseball . . .” he says, as he looked into my eyes I confirmed his statement with a nod and a smile. He continued to say, “ . . . And boxing, suure, that’s right.” He would repeat that a few more times.
We are watching the game and he says, “I love it. Do you love it?”
“Yeah, yeah, grandpa!”
“Mira (Look),” he refers to the Angel game score.
He reads, “2 to 1.”
Grandpa is locked in again and I say Thank You to the ominous power that gave me this moment. The Angels are beating the Padres 5-0, 5th inning.
Angel player Jeff Mathis is up to bat and whacks a line drive single on the television screen. “That’s a hard hit,” Grandpa says, “(Is he) a Mexican?” I tell him no. : )
Grandpa is always trying to give a Mexican player credit.
Angel player Trumbo whacks a homer over the center field wall. “Todo el tiempo, la le gusta vea.” He says. He likes to see that happen every time he claimed.
Grandma started to go on about how granddad used to take his whole team in the back of his pick-up and take the players to Foster Freeze and a place called Burger Stop.
“Do you get to see the games when you are working,” she asks me. I tell her no. “Do you hear it when it’s going on?” I tell her yes.
A guy from the Angels named Wilson drops a blooper single.
“A hit!” granddad says. He gives a closer look and then reads “L.A.” which is what designates the Angels hometown next to the Fox Network score.
“That was a good hit.” I agree, of course.
Gotta go..
I just want to dedicate this season to every person what ever inspired YOU!
Lets have fun. Enjoy your loved ones. Enjoy the game.
Go BASEBALL!
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