I loved Brooks Robinson for the obvious reasons. He was a wonder to watch as he played the hot corner. But here is another reason to love him. In 1966, Frank Robinson joined the Orioles, and the two would often call themselves brothers. Brooks came of age in Little Rock, Arkansas in the 1950’s, a city marked indelibly by the 1957 tension that caused President Dwight D. Eisenhower to order the 101st Airborne Division to protect nine black teenagers integrating into Central High. Brooks must have been very aware of that ugly historical moment. Brooksie used to say that he and Frank Robinson, an African-American, were both 6-foot-1 and 180 pounds, but you could tell them apart pretty easily. “We wear different numbers,” he said. Both men admired and loved one another.
Brooks met his future wife on a plane. Connie was once voted the most beautiful flight attendant working for United, and she was working an Orioles flight from Kansas City to Boston, when she noticed Brooks, who kept ordering iced teas until she noticed him.
My first T-ball team uniform was a simple T-shirt, maroon and emblazoned with Orioles across the front. I was a Cardinal fan growing up, just like Brooks Robinson who grew up in Arkansas. But I came to love the Orioles, like Brooksie did.
Later, as a 14-year-old, I played 3rd base for Coca-Cola in Pony League baseball. I sucked at 3rd base…which is good. I had this imagery, this way of approaching the pitch and the batter swinging. It was the mental image of a Hoover vacuum cleaner. I was the vacuum cleaner where baseballs came to die in the sucking sound of rawhide captured in the intake of a vacuum. I thought that somehow, this made me a better 3rd baseman. I got this imagery from Curt Gowdy who compared Brooks Robinson to a human vacuum cleaner. Another rather strange Robinson trademark was his short-beaked batting helmet with a 1-inch bill that made me think of a broken-beaked bird. He used a hacksaw to shorten the bill to keep it from distracting him at the plate.
Joe Posnanski writes about his dad drilling with him in their back yard. “Dad would throw me ground balls and shout out, “Get in front of it like Brooks Robinson!” So many years later, I told all of this to Brooksie himself. He smiled; he’d undoubtedly heard some version of this same story ten thousand times, but he still smiled. Then he said, “Dads are the best, aren’t they?” Joe Posnanski, Joeblogs 9-27-23
Read Posnanski’s blog about Brooks using the link below. Thanks to Doug Sanders for sending me this blog post. If you love baseball and heroes, this is a great read.
Bespoke 