Happy Duane Kuiper Day!

Forty-nine years ago today …

Forty-nine years ago, on a Monday night, the Cleveland Indians played the Chicago White Sox in front of 6,236 fans at Cleveland Municipal Stadium. Some of those fans, presumably, were there to see the White Sox’s starting pitcher Steve Stone, a South Euclid native. A few other Chicago fans might have come out because the White Sox, under the managerial splendor of former Indians legend Bob Lemon, were in an unlikely dogfight with Kansas City for the American League West crown.

And then there were some Cleveland diehards. The Tribe was 17 games back. They had not finished within 14 games of the leader in almost two decades.

The wonderful thing about baseball is that there are always people who hope.

I was not there that day because I was 10 years old and, as such, somewhat limited in options. I was, instead, in our “living room” — inaptly named since we never did any living inside and, more often than not, were not even allowed in there — listening to the game on my mother’s gigantic Zenith Console Stereo Cabinet with all-wood cabinetry, Ultraphonic stereo sound and eight air-suspension speakers in their sealed sound chamber.

It sounded as if Cleveland announcer Herb Score was locked inside the cabinet, Houdini-style.

The White Sox went down 1-2-3 in the top of the first against Cleveland ace Rick Waits. In his career, Waits threw 10 shutouts, and three of them were against the Yankees, earning him the nickname of “Yankee killer.” He was 6-12 with an ERA approaching four in his other 25 starts against the Yankees, but this was Cleveland in the 1970s and 1980s, and we took whatever success we could.

Rick Waits was also an accomplished singer — he studied to be an opera singer for a time. He sang the National Anthem on occasion; he said his top fantasy was to sing the anthem before a game and then throw a no-hitter. He never did that, but in 1978, he did sing his mother’s favorite song, “The Impossible Dream,” on The Today Show with Tom Brokaw. True, he did forget the words. But his voice was strong.

Paul Dade led off for Cleveland in the bottom of the first, and he struck out. That brought my favorite ballplayer and all-time hero, Duane Kuiper, to the plate.

Duane was 27 years old and in his second full season as Cleveland’s starting second baseman. He was not only my hero. He was the favorite Cleveland player of most of my friends too. He was just cool. He made diving defensive plays. He was fast enough to hit some triples. He played ball with a smile; he so obviously loved it. For a bunch of kids who dreamed of playing in the big leagues someday, Duane made it look like a dream worth dreaming.

What he did not do was hit home runs. In 1975, he came up 388 times and hit no home runs. The next year he came up 555 times and hit no home runs. By that night in 1977, he had come up 565 times with no home runs. In all, Kuip had gone 357 games without hitting a home run, and while that was not unprecedented — the Giants had a second baseman named Rob Andrews who was in the midst of a similarly long home run drought at the time — it was notable. Duane’s teammates gave him a hard time.

And that night, as I sat in our living room and listened to Joe Tait and Herb Score in Ultraphonic stereo sound, Steve Stone threw the famous slider that did not slide, and Duane Kuiper hit the home run that echoes through the years, the one home run of his big-league career. I have written about it so many times, including a full chapter in WHY WE LOVE BASEBALL. It is the happiest baseball moment of my childhood. Yes, admittedly, my Cleveland childhood was not oversaturated with happy baseball moments.

But it was still a very, very happy moment.

I should tell you about the photo: I got that Duane Kuiper Bobblehead on April 25, 2014, in San Francisco. Margo and I flew out there for the occasion. Duane met us on the field and presented Margo with a KUIPER Giants jersey, which is still her second most cherished piece of clothing (I think behind her wedding dress, though I haven’t checked on her list of cherished clothing lately).

It still astonishes me that the San Francisco Giants would give out a bobblehead of Duane in an old Cleveland uniform, but that’s how beloved he is.*

*I have to assume there will be something big next year to mark the 50th anniversary of Duane’s home run.

The game-used bat and game-worn cap were gifts from Duane himself. You might know that a long time ago he found out that I was his biggest fan, and he sent Margo an email saying that he wanted to surprise me with something and asked if she would help him. She wrote back with the hilarious question, “Is this the real Duane Kuiper?”

It was. They don’t get more real than our guy Kuip.

Happy Duane Kuiper Day, everybody.