In 1982, the St. Louis Cardinals defeated the Milwaukee Brewers in game 7 of the World Series. I remember this well, as the Cards had humiliated my Atlanta Braves in the NLCS to make it into the Fall Classi. I was pulling for the redbirds despite the fact that most of my friends wanted the Brewers to extract revenge on the team that had beaten our beloved Braves. The reasoning behind my newfound loyalty was simple: getting beat by the World Champs is much more palatable than losing to the runners up (see Genius blog below). So I watched each game with great interest. In the 8th inning of the final game, the Cards, who had put on quite an offensive display throughout the series, asked their ace reliever, Bruce Sutter, to preserve their 6-3 lead. He did just that, punctuating the victory with the strikeout of Brewers’ outfielder Gorman Thomas to end the game. What happened next will forever be etched into the fabric of my impressionable young mind. Cardinals’ catcher, Darrell Porter, who incidentally was the series MVP, tore off his mask and sprinted towards Sutter. When he was a few feet away from the ace, he did something I had never seen a dude do to another dude. He jumped off of the ground and into the arms of Sutter, where the 2 shared the kind of man on man embrace that is only acceptable in the world of sports and San Francisco’s Castro district. There was nothing sexual about the hug, mind you. It was 2 guys who suddenly found themselves at the pinnacle of success in their chosen careers. In such situations, what can be more natural than a hug… even if the recipient is “not your type”? Even as a kid, I recognized the asexual beauty of the moment.
Ever since then, I’ve wanted to Darrell Porter someone. I, too, want to know what it’s like to ride the kind of emotional wave that would result in such a shame-free, yet otherwise awkward embrace. Sadly, the years have passed, and I’ve never been afforded the right opportunity.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ll recollect that I recently decided that life was too precious… too fleeting… for me to leave anything undone. I have adopted a “carpe diem” approach to living, and I’ve begun to take the initiative in fulfilling a laundry list of “to do’s”. The top item on today’s list – the Darrell Porter.
It was lunch time. I had just come home from work to enjoy some light refreshments and a visit with my wife and youngest daughter. It happened in the kitchen. I was snacking on something when I turned to find my wife walking towards me in a loving way. I leapt, only to rethink things in mid-air. The sheer weight of my 195 lb body would cause her delicate frame to snap in two. I tried to stop, but it was too late. I salvaged the situation as best as I could, given the complexity of the moment. I planted one foot safely on the ground, while half Portering my wife with the other leg. I landed awkwardly on the ground leg. When I did, I was thrown off balance. My Porter leg smacked my two year old daughter right on the forehead. As Doc Marten met flesh, my baby girl let out a howl that could be heard in neighboring counties. Her only crime was standing too close to a fool. For that, she paid dearly.
What began as a dream ended as a nightmare. My wife, who half expects this type of behavior from me at this point, just rolled her eyes. Unaware of the story behind my actions, she picked up our daughter and whisked her off to a safe place. I, on the other hand, was left to stew in a new type of humiliation.
The Darrell Porter is a tricky celebratory hug. And while I’ve not yet mastered it’s technique, I’m experienced enough to know that it’s probably best left to professional athletes.
