Chapter 3 - Blues Wear Blue

Umpires are universally referred to as Blue by coaches, players, and spectators alike. For decades umpire uniforms have largely consisted of blue shirts; from the Elbeco light blue button down to today's navy blue pullover. It's only been over the last few years that a variety of other colors have gained acceptance, but the moniker has stuck. Many umpires think it a derisive term while others consider it a badge of honor.  I’ve never been offended by it but at the same time I much prefer being called by my first name.  I recall an instructor from the Williamsport Little League school by the name of Joe Johnson. Joe HATED being called blue. He told us to let the coaches get away with it the first 2 or 3 times but to always call them by their first name and correct them.

“Hey Blue, where was that pitch?”

“Bill, it was inside and my name’s Joe”

After the third time he told us his routine was to approach the coach between innings and say something like: “Bill, my name is Joe, I’ve worked awfully hard to become a good umpire and I prefer it if you call me by my name. I ain’t a fucking color and I never blew anyone!” and then walk away.  The story always stuck with me and while I’d never say anything like this to a coach I understood his point.  Personally I think we have too much to do on the field to get worked up by the nickname. I really don’t believe anyone means any disrespect by using this common term.  I can’t always remember the coach’s name and if I forget I’ll simply call him coach. I’ve never had a coach get offended by my calling him coach. Blue could be as innocent a nickname as  it's less awkward and more  friendly sounding than calling someone umpire or Mr.umpire or sir (in the gender neutral sense of the word, of course. No disrespect intended to the many very good female umpires I’ve met and worked with at CDP).  

I tell you all this as a prelude to introducing Tony Musco. Tony was and remains the patriarch of CDP umpires. In his eighties now, he still umpires back home in the local Little League. Until a few years ago Tony, along with a small group of Americans regularly traveled to Kutno, Poland to umpire the Eastern European Little League Championships.  In addition to working the tournament Tony and his crew provided training clinics for the less experienced European umpires. Tony and his guys didn't stop there, however. They would collect and donate literally tons of new and used umpire and baseball equipment to needy programs in Europe. Tony earned a nickname in Poland. The story goes that every morning on his way to the field Tony would stop by a local bakery and bring Polish pastry known as Paczki (pronounced potch-key) for the kids. For that, Tony will be forever remembered as "Papa Paczki". Wherever youth baseball umpires gather, Tony Musco is well known and highly regarded. Tony is slowing down now and hasn’t been to CDP the last few years and probably won’t ever come back. One year one of our colleagues received news that his mother had suddenly passed away. Tony organized a collection and within minutes funds were raised for airfare and a ride to the airport was arranged. I don’t know of a single person that didn’t contribute. Afterward Tony said something I’ll never forget. He said: “You know fellas, there’s no better group of guys in the world than Blues.” He meant it too. The way he saw it there’s no more diverse collection of personalities and backgrounds that come together in pursuit of a common interest than amateur umpires. Tony was obviously one of those guys that wore the name blue with pride.  In addition to the pride he felt in being called blue, Tony took the term literally too. You could say Tony was the Henry Ford of umpires. You could wear any color you liked as long it was navy blue. Umpire attire has evolved over the years. You don’t see guys in black suit jackets with white shirts & ties and beanie caps anymore.  Joining traditional navy blue we now have powder blue, pro blue (powder with black trim), red, white, cream, black, and silver. I’ve also seen brown, pink, maroon and sage green. If you were scheduled to work with Tony though you wore navy blue. No questions asked. No quarter given.

“They don’t say ‘Hey Red, where was that pitch’ out there” Tony would bellow. 

It was inconceivable to Tony that anyone would consider or even want to wear anything else. He’d make fun of you if you came out of the bunkhouse in other colors. Guys would intentionally talk about wearing other colors in front of Tony because it would get a rise out of him.

“Hey Greg, we working together at 4:30?”

“Yeah Bruce, I’ve got the dish”

“What colors you want to wear?”

“How bout we go white with blue under?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You guys sound like a couple of girls talking about your silly white shirts” Tony would chime in. “What’s the matter with you guys? You gonna tell the coaches to call you Casper with those white shirts on?”

Everyone would laugh and Tony would act mad. He wasn’t really mad. I think he loved the attention and knew that we knew he wasn’t serious. He was just giving us the reaction we were looking for and keeping us all entertained in the process.

One year, even though I know he knew my real name, he called me Shane all week. I never knew why but he called me Shane every time he saw me. Colin thought it was funny and would laugh his ass off when Tony would walk around the corner, see me, and say something like “Hey Shane, why don’t you wear a navy blue shirt like a REAL umpire?” I kept asking Colin if he thought Tony really thought my name was Shane, which just made Colin laugh more. 

Thursday night has become the last supper of sorts for our group. After we pick up our CDP rings at closing ceremonies we head back to the bunkhouse for a quick changes of clothes. We have a few hours to kill before the championship game begins and out of that a traditional dinner has evolved for our last night together. It’s always held at the Blue Mingo, an outdoor dockside restaurant right on Lake Otsego.  Unless you know where it is, or go there with someone who does, you’d never find it. For my money it's the best restaurant in the area as well as the best kept secret. The first year I went along, I started getting nervous about where I was being taken.  You pull off the highway onto a winding stone path that leads behind a row of trees and down a hill toward what appear to be abandoned boat warehouses.  It’s dark. Pitch dark. And desolate. And there’s no one anywhere around.  You start thinking about those old gangster movies where they take the unsuspecting gang member out for a ride and he winds up being fitted for concrete galoshes. You park next to one of the old warehouses and start down the stone path, hanging back a bit that first time in case you have to make a run for it. As you go around the corner in between two of the buildings you see a small shack-like structure with a lit hurricane lantern hanging on a hook by the double doors. As you enter you suddenly find yourself inside a cozy gift shop (where my wife’s souvenir for the week is traditionally purchased). Through the rear of the shop is a hostess stand adjoining a friendly little bar that leads to the deck where the restaurant opens up onto the water. The upper tier tables are arranged under rustic awnings. A grand stairway leads down to the lower level tables right on the dock, under the stars, surrounded by twinkling accent lights, with the waves lapping against the bulk head and the rocking boats. The atmosphere is perfect.  Handwritten on chalk boards, the menu is first class, and different every night. The wine list is extensive and excellent. Everything is top notch but at the same time unpretentious. Dave Hendrickson, Greg Patrick, Colin Ewing and I sat down on the lower deck not ten feet from the lake that year. Greg selected a fine wine and ordered the cheese course, as has become his custom. Dave, as you all know by now, ordered a Nectar of the Gods (Coors Light). Colin would have ordered a milkshake, but alas the Mingo doesn't serve them so he went with a Blue Moon instead.  As the drinks flowed and our new friendships grew we talked about the week and the subject of Tony and his obsession with navy shirts became the topic of our conversation. As we laughed over various Tony-isms someone, no one can remember who, probably because we were all hammered by then, (except of course for the designated driver) said “Wouldn’t it be funny if we got tie-dyed umpire shirts and wore them in front of Tony.”I replied “If we got tie-dyed shirts shouldn’t we get tie-dyed hats to go with them?” Greg paused looking as though he was about to say something profound and the rest of the table went silent. He was really giving the idea serious consideration. After a few moments we could see he’d made his decision. “No” he decreed, “that would just be silly.” Maybe it was the alcohol but the whole table exploded in uproarious laughter. We were probably disturbing the other patrons but no one complained. Colin fell over. The conversation continued after we caught our breath.  Dave decided our tie-dye idea needed a name and those who wore them needed an organization.  Thus was born what would become the legendary Haight Ashbury Umpires Association (HAUA).