Close Encounters of the Rusty Kind

My first personal encounter with a baseball player (and actually, my first encounter with any kind of celebrity) came when I was 14 years old and I went, quite excitedly, to New York Met Rusty Staub’s newly opened Manhattan restaurant. Sure enough, there at a nearby table was Le Grand Orange himself, with a couple of other people. Now that I think about it, those others were surely baseball folks also, but Rusty was my big hero at the time, so he was the only one I recognized.
I gathered up my courage, and timidly approached, pen and paper in hand. I asked for his autograph, and told Rusty that I thought he was a really amazing baseball player (which, if you check his stats, he was) – albeit not with any eloquence, rather with the enthusiastic nervousness of a gangly teenager.

He thanked me, and signed the paper for me. And of course, in the days before iPods and cell phone cameras, that was it. No photo to document the moment. No questions or further interaction from me. I smiled and scurried back to my table, my day made. I’d been so nervous, I hadn’t even thought to grab a napkin or placemat or something Rusty-related for him to sign. Just a slip of paper. Oh well!

A few years later I visited Mickey Mantle’s restaurant, also in New York. I can’t recall the experience, but I am certain I was on the lookout for #7 while I was there. Alas, I only made it to his place that one time. For all I know he *was* actually there when I visited, and I just missed him.

In the years since, I’ve had personal and close encounters with several more players – George Foster (who gave a hitting clinic on Long Island years ago and signed my baseball cap), Reggie Jackson (I took pictures that I wish I could find!), Darryl Strawberry, and Derek Jeter to name a few.

But nothing was quite as thrilling, or nerve-wracking, as that first baseball encounter all those years ago.