Reusse on life, death, taxes — and baseball memories

A much-cherished assignment of a sportswriting career was covering the 1977 Twins from spring training forward for the St. Paul newspapers. That's plural, since the sports staff was obligated to produce copy for the morning Pioneer Press and the afternoon Dispatch, unlike those hoity folks across the river that had separate staffs for the Morning Tribune and the afternoon Star.

Those '77 Twins were fascinating in a 180-degree different way than this year's version of our local outfit: They had fabulous hitting and very thin pitching.

The zaniest part of that season came in a 10-day stretch from June 24 through July 3. The Twins and the White Sox, Bill Veeck's "South Side Hitmen,'' had been the surprise teams of the American League through the first three months of the schedule.

The White Sox came to Met Stadium for a weekend series and the Twins won two of three, including the unforgettable 19-12 mugging of both pitching staffs before a roaring full ballpark on Sunday, June 26.

That was the day Rod Carew finished at .403 and knocked in six runs, which was runner-up in the lineup, since Glenn Adams knocked in eight.

The Twins then went to Milwaukee and won two of three, arriving in Chicago with a one-game lead over the Mighty Whiteys.

This would be a four-game series before the Fourth and Comiskey was nuts that weekend — driven by organist Nancy Faust's incessant and wonderful, "Na Na Na Na, Hey Hey Hey … Goodbye.''

The Twins arrived with a one-game lead in the AL West and left trailing by three. The White Sox finished off the weekend celebration by beating the Twins 6-0 and 10-8 in a Sunday doubleheader.

Earlier this week, it was discovered in a sad circumstance that I was not the only future Star Tribune sportswriter to be in Comiskey that weekend.

Phil Miller, our senior baseball writer, was there as a White Sox follower with his father Bob for the Sunday doubleheader. Bob died at 85 on Wednesday in Colorado, where Phil had been able to arrive on Sunday.

We were exchanging messages on his dad's passing and Phil responded with this:

"He took me and my best friend to that DH sweep of the Twins at Comiskey in '77, when the Zisk-and-Gambles took over first and Carew was batting .400. … I've got a scorecard, with my 14-year-old scrawls, somewhere in a closet.

"It was just unfathomable to us that Bill Veeck had turned those losers into a first-place team.''

At least temporarily, until the Hitmen and the Twins faded, and Kansas City took charge of the West with a 102-win season.

We had a few texted smiles over fathers and baseball, with Phil pointing out such things as this about Bob Miller:

> "He was a CPA who had taken over his dad's accounting practice. When I was 12 or so, he told me, 'Don't ever be an accountant.' ''

> "When going to Wrigley, he taught me to park with the nuns [at the House of Good Shepherd].''

> "The day I got my driver's license, he said, 'Now you can drive to Sox games on your own. They're home tonight.' And that's how I ended up at Disco Demolition Night.''

> "He also taught me the art of self-made doubleheaders: Cubs day, Brewers night.''

My greatest recollection of that weekend in Comiskey was the Saturday game, when Twins manager Gene Mauch had gone to his "closer'' — Tommy Johnson — with two outs in fifth. Meaning: Our Little General wanted this game very badly.

The Twins were leading 7-6 into the bottom of the eighth. It was a bright day in Comiskey and a fly ball was lifted to right for what would be the second out.

Except, the right fielder — the unpredictable Disco Danny Ford (Willi Castro, and then some) — had forgotten to bring his sunglasses with him to the outfield. He waved his arms for help, the ball fell, base runners advanced, and the White Sox wound up scoring seven runs, thus winning that slugfest, 13-8.

Craig Lynch was a sports reporter in Chicago. He would do interviews pregame and postgame, then send them back to a station with 1977 technology.

Craig was blind and was accompanied by a sighted individual. They came into the Twins clubhouse 15 minutes (roughly) after the game ended. His companion informed Craig that none of the Twins in that cramped room of lockers seemed to be in a mood to answer questions.

Then Craig said: "Maybe we will go see Gene first.''

The door to the visiting manager's office was open only a crack. The only sounds were occasional thumps, as if a closed hand was striking an object. As a two-year student of Mauch, I stepped in front of Lynch and said:

"I wouldn't quite go in there yet, fellas. I'm guessing Gene is having a hard time getting over Disco Danny forgetting his sunglasses.''

Which was the case.

A while later, Mauch would suggest that in the future he would have to make sure Ford had his sunglasses with him on sunny days — as well as his glove, hat, his spikes. All those equipment needs mentioned were accompanied by Mauch adjectives.

What a weekend, and 14-year-old Phil Miller was there with Dad, "Na Na Na-ing'' along with Nancy, I would guess.