words & art: mark mulroney

George Bell told me to get lost. Kirk Gibson told me to go fuck myself.

Ozzie Smith’s wife called me a parasite and accused me of profiting off her husband. Ozzie Smith was very nice and signed 4 cards. Dennis Eckersley yelled at me and let me know that if my pen got anywhere near his (equally loud) silk shirt there would be a problem. Cal Ripken, Jr. was incredibly nice but made all of us kids get in a line and then and only then would he sign our cards. Gary Carter would only sign cards from 1983 back otherwise you’d have to give him $25 for his charity. Daryl Strawberry was cool. Doc Gooden was cool. Randy Myers was not cool.

For three years I camped out at stadiums, hotels, card conventions, restaurants and bars waiting for players, pen ready, asking for autographs. Most of my time was spent at Anaheim Stadium, where the then California Angels played. Players would begin to arrive at one o’clock for a seven o’clock game and come in through Gate 1. They’d generally arrive in a van from either the Doubletree Hotel or the Marriott. Occasionally they would arrive in their own cars, so you had to keep your eyes on the parking lot; and of course the players weren’t in uniform, so it was important to try and memorize their faces because whoever could identify the player first stood a better chance of getting his autograph. Some players would stand around and sign for every- one, but most would walk and sign at the same time so that once they got to the door they were done.

As long as I didn’t get arrested, do drugs or come home with a tattoo, my parents didn’t seem to worry what I did while I was out getting autographs. Did they know that I stole, trespassed, forged, lied and didn’t eat a bal- anced diet? Probably not; but then, they didn’t ask, and I didn’t feel compelled to confess.

Bo Jackson was a big deal. At the height of his career, his celebrity exceeded that of a typical baseball player; he was a genuine superstar. So when the Kansas City Royals came to town, there were more people than there would usually be waiting by Gate 1 for player autographs. At 4:30, the team bus arrived and players began to get off the bus. Brett Saberhagen got off the bus with little attention, as did Frank White, Kevin Seitzer and Tom Gordon. George Brett pulled a few fans away, but most people were still holding out for “Bo.” He was the last to get off the bus. He was wearing Oakley Blades and looked terrifying. He walked as fast as he could without actually running. People were tripping over one another trying to maintain their ground in hopes of getting his autograph. Bo would sign a card and throw the card and pen high into the air over his shoulder so fans had to scramble to try to catch the card without damaging it before it hit the ground. I managed to trip a few kids in front of me, jam my card into his hand, and catch the signed card seconds later before it reached the ground. I never did get my pen back. Bo Jackson might still have it.