Yeah, I remember this song. I also remember Willie Mays, circa 1965, losing his cap as he rounded second base at Candlestick Park, scoring from first on a single by McCovey or Davenport. I remember seeing Bobby Kennedy at the San Jose fairgrounds in the summer of 68, a few months before he was murdered in Los Angeles by Sirhan, who claims to this day he was drugged, and innocent. I remember marching in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, that year or the next, against Vietnam, and the speeches of Martin Luther King, and that hotel balcony in Memphis. James Earl Ray. The idiot digging a swimming pool for my parents, telling my mother he was glad King was dead. Eugene McCarthy and Humphrey, HHH, Johnsons V-P, running against Nixon that year when LBJ fell apart. I mean, who doesnt remember the Delfonics, or Archie Bell, or Donovan. Herman and the Hermits, Morrison, Joplin, the Dead...the Airplane. The Haight. There was no hate in the Haight, all the dope, there were theories about that. Where it came from. The US was psychotic in the 60s; stoned and sliding between love and rancor. But when Mays came up to hit, especially against the Dodgers, pawing the dirt, digging in, watching the first pitch slide by, swinging and missing on the next. Taking a ball outside. Well, there was nothing in the world then but waiting for the payoff pitch, watching him waggle the bat, his foot in the bucket, waiting...have no idea if Willie liked the Delfonics. But watching him hit an opposite-field home run off Drysdale, now that was heaven.. https://youtube/watch?v=nHJPb08KI1E
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 03:51:02 +0000
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