by Rick Braverman
The only occasion I can remotely imagine donning a Dodger cap would be if I was ever on the lam.
I've been playing/coaching "base-ball" in France for a half dozen years now, and I'm always amused at what is known and not known about the sport. France is so quick to adopt anything "pop" about our culture that it's really quite secondary whether or not they get it right. But hey -- Why should it be otherwise? Begin with "baseball" itself. If the powers that be feel obliged to divide the actual word for the sport, then one can assume that anything goes. For example, a sweatshirt logo I've seen reads: "Hollywood Dodgers" -- then again, one might argue that name to be more real than the officially-licensed product.
Be that as it may, the French are quite creative in their version on the game. Oh, it's identical to that which is played in the States, even if the distances are metrically measured, naturellement. It's just that in these parts, runs are points, outs are morts (deaths), and since there is no literal translation for "home," en français, home plate becomes maison -- "House."
But when it came to originality, the first team I played with scored big points, At least in name. The team was called The Busters -- short for Ballbusters. And to my mind, Ballbusters is as good a baseball name as I've ever heard. On any continent. Women's Leagues take note. Unfortunately the Busters no longer exist, but they sure had that concept down.
The Busters logo was based on the Oakland Athletics -- hence the A's became the B's -- and their colors were green and yellow. Considering the team was based in a town called Six-Fours, I would have thought that appropriating the more fashionable San Francisco black would have made more sense. But I eventually found out that when these base balleurs last made contact with Earth, the A's were champs. So, long live the A's. In France, one soon learns to accepts things as they are structured. There is no alternative. None. Not even in baseball... uh, base ball.
Happily, when I got my Busters uniform, the number was the one I'd asked for. Otherwise, the ill-fitting soccer top, "pajama" bottoms, and golfer's cap left something to be desired. No matter, my batting helmet was the real thing. Okay, so it was yellow.
Anyhow, the Busters had their day. They rarely won, and in-fighting did them in, as it does many groups. I now share laughs and memories with ex-teammates whenever I bump into them.
After the Busters' demise, several players decided to continue and form a new team representing the town of Le Beausset. The Red Dogs were consecrated as such after a summer visit by these fellows to the Americas, where the founding members fell in love with both Fenway Park and a particular domestic beer. Leave it to young men. Appropriately bleu, blanc, et rouge updated the Busters' green and yellow, and the Boston cap/souvenirs they returned with, were a perfect fit for the new organization.
Serious of purpose in origin, the Red Dogs actually won the regional championship their debut season -- albeit at the lowest national level. Sometimes winning is not enough, however, and true to form, the Red Dogs fell apart the following season. In-fighting, but of course.
From
the wreckage, however, emerged Le Red Dogs Base Ball Club. Part 2. Same town,
same colors. But, alas, no "team." Instead, a season forfeited, and in its place
relentless entrainement : teaching and training the new recruits. And
much it from scratch due to a serious lack of equipment.
Then something happened -- nothing miraculous, really, but quite gratifying to observe: A team was reborn. Though rag-tag in material, the spirit was genuine, and the novices actually started to play ball in a relatively correct fashion.
In recognition, I literally tipped my hat by dusting off my yellow Busters batting helmet to contribute to The Cause. But oh, la la : le colour! A serious consultation led me to the village paint store, where colors were compared, and a can of Bleu Noir spray (navy blue) was ordered.
After proper sanding, and primer, the new blue was applied. With only one petite probleme : The navy blue turned out to be what we call "Dodger" blue in the States.
Some people may think this is no big thing. Blue is blue, right?
Wrong. Is there something --anything?-- that causes you to draw a line in the sand? A line you refuse to cross, regardless if it makes no sense to anyone else? Well, I have this little thing about Dodger blue. Especially my wearing Dodger blue. In fact, the only occasion I can remotely imagine donning a Dodger cap would be if I was ever on the lam.
So, until the reorder of Bleu Extra-Noir -- or whatever it'll take to correct this most grievous of errors -- arrives, the Red Dogs will be minus one batting helmet. I wouldn't want anyone to accidentally recognize me as "Monsieur Garvey."
Is Rick Braverman safe or out in the photo above? You make the call. Only his daughter Laura knows for sure.