A Grip on Sports: It’s hard to believe but it’s been 100 years since the guy who taught me about baseball – and life – was born

A GRIP ON SPORTS • July 10 has always been an important day in the Grippi household. It was, after all, my father’s birthday. But this year’s July 10 is even more special. It would have been my dad’s 100th. I am sure, if he were still with us, he’d open his presents while complaining about the Dodgers’ losing streak.

•••••••

• My dad was born in the L.A. area. Like many of his fellow members in the self-titled Greatest Generation, he was the son of an immigrant. His father had emigrated from the little village of Borgetto at the foot of the hills west of Palermo, Sicily, leaving his family behind to find a new life. He did. In California.

Where he met my grandmother, a 4-foot-something spitfire with a handful of kids from her first two marriages. That didn’t stop Joe, even though Cosmo’s second husband, according to my eldest aunt, died as he lived, a gangster.

Cosmo and Joe tied the knot, she got pregnant and my dad was born at home in the little L.A. suburb of Sierra Madre. He was named after his dad, even though he had an older step-brother named Joseph. Sicilian families, am I right?

Nine months later, after a gas leak at work, my grandfather died. Quickly, painfully. Cosmo decided three times widowed was enough. Never remarried. Did my dad grow up in abject poverty? Yes he did, coming of age in the heart of The Depression. It shaped him in two crucial ways.

He had a work ethic second to none, believing in and living out the American Dream. And he developed a love affair with America’s pastime, baseball.

He passed one of those traits on to me, but we’ll delve into baseball in a bit.

As a child, dad was, well, incorrigible. Wild might be the better word. The youngest, too smart by half and pretty much unsupervised after my Aunt Margie married and moved on, dad roamed the mean streets of Sierra Madre.

OK, Sierra Madre’s streets weren’t mean, except maybe to a Model T, as most of them ran through orange groves, dairies and the like and weren’t paved. But a kid in the ‘30s could find trouble anywhere.

Things my dad admitted to included breaking into the nearby L.A. County Arboretum one night when a movie was being filmed, stealing a couple trained ducks and taking them into the mountains with a friend. They killed, roasted and ate them. Of course he got caught and spent time in front of a judge.

Then there was the night he and some buddies lit a palm tree on fire, waited for the doofuses – his word, not mine – from the volunteer fire department to show and pelted them with rotten oranges. Why does that stand out? Because one of the firefighters chased him, stepped in a hole and broke his leg so badly he limped the rest of his life. Turns out that was my future grandfather. And he never let my dad talk to my mom while he was alive.

There was one thing that saved dad, though. He was an exceptional baseball player. How good? A former Pasadena pro baseball player told me in my 20s dad was the best pitcher he ever caught. And there was more evidence, including a Stars and Stripes clipping from 1945, when dad threw a shutout to beat Virgil Trucks’ team. The 1-0 win came courtesy of dad’s solo home run. That fall, Trucks returned to the Tigers and won a World Series game.

But pro baseball wasn’t in the cards for dad. He wanted to stay in the Navy. Did until 1946, when a skin disease forced his discharge. He returned to Sierra Madre, courted and married my mom in a few weeks, and had a daughter less than a year later.

Baseball? He pitched semi-pro on Sundays, won 26 consecutive games at one point (according to family lore) but turned down all professional offers at my mother’s insistence – decisions I know he regretted the rest of his life.

He did, however, use his work ethic to build a comfortable life. Once worked three jobs. Saved money to buy a seven-days-a-week business, making sure the L.A. Times showed up in driveways. Coached local baseball teams. Served as chairman of Sierra Madre’s Parks and Recreation Commission. Led the effort to develop the nation’s first municipal Wilderness Area in the vicinity of where he roasted W.C. Field’s ducks. Founded the (fictional) Sierra Madre City College. That last one was just for laughs, something he did not do often enough.

He was also my first baseball coach. Taught me the game inside and out. How to hit. How to throw. How to cheat. How to win. He also taught me how to work. How to speak my mind. How to hone an opinion. How to learn from mistakes. How to, well, a million other little things we all hope our offspring learn from us.

As he aged, he had a goal. To see the 21st Century. He reached it, and added on another 10 years. Those last ones were the best for him and I. Though our families were separated by more than a thousand miles, we talked often.

Baseball was a part of the conversation. Always. But there was more. Truths never shared before. Honest reflections about his life, our lives and what was ahead. Behind. Might have been.

I miss him. I wish he were here to try to blow out those 100 candles. I know he would still have that spark in his eye. In his heart. The one that still burns in mine.

Hey, happy 100th birthday dad. I hope we’ll get to play catch again someday.

•••

WSU: Around the (current, old and future) Pac-12 and the nation, the Big 12 football media days finished up yesterday. We can pass along stories about Deion Sanders and Colorado (yes, in that order), as well as coverage about Arizona, Arizona State and Utah. The last one is also mainly about the coach, Kyle Whittingham. … Fresno State is starting its Pac-12 slate early in a way. It plays Oregon State this season. … Utah State is once again proving my recruiting theorem.… In basketball news, though most of America’s sporting intelligentsia is against it, it looks as if the NCAA men’s tourney will expand. … A USC freshman is finally ready to get going at summer workouts. … San Diego State has begun its workouts as well. … One Colorado State recruiting class changed the trajectory of the school’s program. …The Oregon State women finished filling their roster. … It’s official. Utah State is looking for a new athletic director. … MLB’s draft will have an Oregon State tinge to it.

Gonzaga: The NBA summer leagues have become pretty popular, haven’t they? And pretty well-populated with GU alums. At least this summer. Theo Lawson, who I’m guessing is either headed to Las Vegas or already there, has a story on the 10 Zags playing, starting today. … Chet Holmgren’s contract extension seems a good one for the Thunder.

Idaho: The Vandals have set all the starting times for their football games. … Elsewhere in the Big Sky, the men’s basketball teams lost most of their star players from last season. … A former Montana football player will be making his debut as the school’s TV analyst this fall. … Montana State and Weber State announced football start times. … The Northern California schools will be changing their conference affiliations after this upcoming school year.  

Indians: One thing my dad taught me about baseball is a walk is as good as a hit. Not sure it’s always true, but last night at Avista, in the bottom of the ninth, it proved to be. Then again, there were five walks, which is as good as home run. The last one forced in the game-winner, as Spokane accepted the largesse from Eugene for a 5-4 victory. Dave Nichols, whose pencil probably got dull from writing BB in his scorebook, has the story.

Mariners: The M’s hit four home runs, none by Cal Raleigh. The Yankees laughed, broke Logan Evans early, took advantage of a Julio Rodriguez error and won 9-6. … A year after being traded to Seattle, Randy Arozarena is beginning to assert himself at a high level. … Yes, Raleigh has a shot at the true single-season home run record. The non-steroid one. … If it’s good enough for MLB’s All-Star Game, automated umpiring should be good enough for the regular season. And postseason.

Seahawks: It was a big weekend off the field for a couple of Hawks.

Sounders: The Club World Cup finals are set and it seems like a Champions League final instead. PSG vs. Chelsea.

Storm: Connecticut had lost 10 consecutive games until last night. When they faced the visiting Storm. And won 93-83. What the heck happened? … The loss came on the heels of Mike Vorel’s column in the Times about resetting the team’s goals. We linked it yesterday and do so again today in the S-R.

Boxing: Mike Tyson. The name invokes thoughts of more fury than Nick or Tyson. Or any heavyweight alive today. There is a new biography of Tyson, the boxer, the man, the tiger owner.

Wimbledon: The women’s semifinals are going on as we type, so we’ll avoid those. The men’s? They will be tomorrow and the lineup is impressive. Jannik Sinner vs. Novak Djokovic. Carlos Alcaraz vs. Taylor Fritz. Taylor Fritz? Yes, the American is in the semis. … Too bad we all have to listen to the lazy commentary of John McEnroe and his brother, what’s his name. OK, it’s Pat, but we sometimes wonder if John knows that.

•••       

• Thanks for letting me honor my father’s birthday today. It won’t happen again. After all, it’s rare someone lives to be 168, and can write about their dad’s 200th. Until later …