August 10, 2007

  • Tossman3

    Tossman

    Tales of Tossman-Part 3
    A serialized saga of Manhattan

    Baseball is uniquely American. Soccer fans patiently sit and wait for Americans to catch their fever, but so far the infection has not taken a hold as deeply here. Is it a great sport? Enjoyable? Yes. It has its moments... but the one thing it is not is baseball. Someone once told me baseball is not interesting because it is too slow. I agree. So is chess! Chess is about strategy, and so is baseball. Moves and countermoves are argued endlessly by fans. The slightest thing a manager does will be taken apart and re-assembled by those with the skill to evaluate... and even a few clueless fans who think they can.
     
    The art of baseball lies in fan loyalty. My own is somewhat suspect. I grew up in Queens, you see. It was expected that you become a Mets fan and I did. I went to games out at Shea and saw some of the greats of the game. Keith Hernandez on first base, Bachman on Second. Elster at Short. Battling Terry Knight at Third. Montreal's Gary Carter catching for the Mets [I have to add that dig as Carter has not been much of a Met]. Darryl, Doc and that whole crowd that made 1986 one hell of a year. Everyone in Boston knows it. They tire of hearing about it. It was that ball that went through Bill Buckner's legs that symbolized the frustrated hopes of so many Beantown fans. Close once again... but no cigar. Not only did '86 play a significant part of Boston history, but it would take the Boston Red Sox 86 years to get rid of the "Curse of the Bambino", a legend that stated the trade of Babe Ruth to the Yankees would forever doom the team to failure.

    The Curse is over now, so Yankees T-Shirts say "There Never Was A Curse--- Your Team Just Sucked!". You can buy one at one of the stores that ring the stadium up in the Bronx. A short time after the Miracle Mets won the Series, management began to ruin the team. It was frustrating to see bad trades and egos out at Shea. I began looking cross town and fell in love with a 26-time World Champion team. Even during the lean years there was tradition and victories beyond number. I did the unthinkable. I became a fan of the Yankees. It is a team that some like to call "The Evil Empire".

    No doubt this is how Arthur Tossman felt. I refer, of course, to the current title holder of that name. His Grandfather was an Arthur Tossman, as was his Grandfather's Grandfather. His dog was also an Arthur, or should I say his wife's dog? Arthur Tossman was a Boston Red Sox fan who lived in Manhattan. It would be an unthinkable thing for Satan to reside in a corner of Heaven, wouldn't it? Tossman lived in enemy territory. He must have been a glutton for punishment. Not only a team like the Red Sox to cheer for, but the husband of Yvette Tossman as well. Perhaps fate had decided Job had it a bit too easy and a better example of suffering was called for. Enter Arthur Tossman, whose colon was the size of a newt but whose defecations were colossal.

    On the rare occasions when Tossman was able to watch his team being bashed by either the Mets or the Yankees, you could hear the same kind of moaning and  groaning. Old Tossman did not have the ability to see his team year 'round. The cable costs were not approved of by Yvette. Also, Tossman's work schedule did not allow him to be home for viewing a game... save on rare occasions. It must have really tortured him to spend his day off with his wife and not with his TV if a game was being played in the city by the visiting Boston Red Sox.

    I can only guess at these things, of course, as all I ever saw of Tossman was a fleeting glance from a distance. I mostly heard him shriek through my apartment walls. Today was no exception. Shriek he did. Yvette added to the peace and quiet of my apartment even more than Tossman did. She would shout at him to "Shut Up" or "Drop Dead", whichever came first would be fine with her. As far as their other neighbor, Curt Dell'Isola, it could not happen soon enough to both of them.

    "I don't care who is pitching, Tossman. I want you to shut up AND drop dead", said his wife. "Schilling, Schmilling. Who cares? You are a loser. Your team are losers. A monkey in a hat and T-shirt would be a better fan than you are, you vicious lout!". Tossman groaned, but given the location of the sound, it clearly was not a toilet groan. It was a baseball groan. I'd heard those from time to time, but not as often of late. The World Series win had created a newer, brighter Tossman... or so it seemed. I knew it would be temporary. All Yankees fans knew. Some of us love to wear 2090 T-shirts. A reminder that the Boston team will win once every 86 years. From the sound of things I could have given one to Yvette Tossman. She hated her husband, if not men in general. She hated the Red Sox... but then what New Yorker didn't.... Tossman aside?

    The taunting was non-stop. "Look darling husband at what I found for the bedroom," I once heard her shout. " A picture of Johnny Damon. Yes, a nice one. No beard. You remember how they said he had a flea infestation in that? You do? OK, so drop dead yourself. I like him better without the beard. Grow a long beard Tossman and I'll tie it up to your receding hairline so I can cover your ugly face!". [Damon, an outfielder, had moved from the Sox to the Yankees that year and had immediately shaved his beard. The point had not been lost on Arthur Tossman, the husband not the dog. The dog was dead and so was the grandfather.]

    The dog had an unveiling a few weeks before and there was silence in the house while the Tossman family had gone to the graveside. You can only imagine how Curt and I wished for them to pay more attention to this animal, perhaps weekly, by visiting the grave. Such was not our fate. If anything, we were in for worse. It began when I heard Yvette shout: "Mother is coming! She's staying for a month!". Tossman had protested in some form unheard through the walls and Ms. T quickly replied "She is not! She never was and never will be! Where do you come off saying a thing like that about my mother! Tossman, have some more Johnny Walker. I poisoned it just for you." Tossman was groaning once more, but since the game was on and I was watching it too, I knew it was related more to a bases load run being scored by the Yanks and Schilling being lifted from the game.

    I doubt that with this going on Tossman paid much attention to anything his wife said. Maybe he never did. Who knows? Wives shout when husbands stop listening. Did the arrival of Tossman's mother-in-law come as a surprise? I think it did. The groaning that first night was prolonged.

    TO BE CONTINUED