MSU Baseball
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MSU Baseball
By now most of you know that I am obsesed with MSU baseball but I recieved the following in a email today and was shocked by who wrote it, he has since become famous and has given alot back to MSU and MSU Baseball. this probably want mean anything to most of you but when you live and breath MSU Baseball like myself I thought it was pretty good.
Thought you faithful Bulldogs would enjoy this story.
Read the short story below; you will be interested to see who the
author is
I guess every ballpark, in earlier times, was something else. Great
things
come from humble origins and all that, but it's difficult to believe
Dudy
Noble was once a cow pasture. I discovered it early in March of 1975
while a
sophomore at State. This was before Polk, and the crowds were small. On
those cool spring nights, I would take a thermos of coffee and sit by
myself
in the bleachers by first base. I was 20, older than some of the kids I
was
watching, and had just recently hung up my spikes because I couldn't
hit a
junior college curveball. I was sad because I wasn't playing, yet I
loved to
watch the game. It was a pleasant place to be in the spring, but the
park
wasn't magical, yet.
The following year State hired Ron Polk, and Dudy Noble snapped back to
life. He won, as he always has and always will, and suddenly the stands
were
full, the crowds were loud, the trucks and trailers appeared in left
field,
the Lounge was open for business, and the clouds of barbeque smoke
became a
symbol of baseball success at Mississippi State. We outgrew the old
park,
and he convinced us to build a new one.
The older I become, the more I find myself drawn back to Dudy Noble.
There
are many reasons. It's great baseball played by very talented kids. The
game
is pure and uncorrupted by money. The place is filled with memories,
both of
my college days and of the great games and moments since then. It's a
wonderful place to unwind. The mood is festive. Time is meaningless.
The
game is played without a clock. There are no telephones in Left Field.
Deadlines are more distant. Appointments seem insignificant. Regardless
of
wins and losses, I always feel better when I leave Dudy Noble than when
I
arrive. There are few places of which this can be said.
Several years ago, during a regional, Brigham Young played one of the
early
games in the first round. The gang I hang out with in Left Field always
adopts a visiting team. It's nothing official...like everyone, we live
in
fear of the NCAA and its regulations...It's just our effort to make
sure
these kids are well fed and taken care of while visiting Starkville. We
sent
word through our sources to the BYU players, and during the late game a
bunch of them arrived at our truck in the Lounge. They were hungry, and
tired of fast food. State was playing, and Dudy Noble was packed. We
fed
them for three hours. Late in the game, I sit next to one of the BYU
players
and watched with amusement as he tried to eat crawfish. He'd already
been
served spareribs, pork shoulder, catfish, frog legs, steak and smoked
sausage, and as we watched the game I helped with the crawfish. A dense
charcoal fog hung over left field. The mob pushed toward the fence. Jim
Ellis boomed from an amazing assortment of speakers. There was a
constant
roar. The kid was awestruck. "Unbelievable," he kept saying as he
looked
around. "Unbelievable."
I've seen this reaction many times from ballplayers, and for some
reason I
always feel compelled to share my knowledge of Dudy Noble and its
legends. I
filled his ear. Someone passed up a plate of boiled shrimp, and quickly
forget about the crawfish. I told stories about Polk, many of them
true, and
of the stadium and how it was built and the record crowds and the
history
(my version)of the Left Field Lounge. I unloaded a dazzling array of
statistics of past teams and players. I told tales I knew to be false
(how
could he know?). It was quite a performance, really.
He didn't hear a word. He ate his shrimp and watched the chefs at play
in
the fog. He studied the zany architecture of the trailers and trucks
and
vans packed together. He stared at the crowd of 9,000 rowdies who had
gathered for a college baseball game. "Unbelievable," he said again. "I
wished I played here."
I wish I had played there, too, but I never came close. And so I return
year
after year to watch the best of college baseball, to see old friends
and
make new ones, to cook and eat, to see the show. There may be larger
parks,
but not larger crowds. There may be prettier parks, but I doubt it.
Dudy
Noble is college baseball at its absolute finest.
-John Grisham
Thought you faithful Bulldogs would enjoy this story.
Read the short story below; you will be interested to see who the
author is
I guess every ballpark, in earlier times, was something else. Great
things
come from humble origins and all that, but it's difficult to believe
Dudy
Noble was once a cow pasture. I discovered it early in March of 1975
while a
sophomore at State. This was before Polk, and the crowds were small. On
those cool spring nights, I would take a thermos of coffee and sit by
myself
in the bleachers by first base. I was 20, older than some of the kids I
was
watching, and had just recently hung up my spikes because I couldn't
hit a
junior college curveball. I was sad because I wasn't playing, yet I
loved to
watch the game. It was a pleasant place to be in the spring, but the
park
wasn't magical, yet.
The following year State hired Ron Polk, and Dudy Noble snapped back to
life. He won, as he always has and always will, and suddenly the stands
were
full, the crowds were loud, the trucks and trailers appeared in left
field,
the Lounge was open for business, and the clouds of barbeque smoke
became a
symbol of baseball success at Mississippi State. We outgrew the old
park,
and he convinced us to build a new one.
The older I become, the more I find myself drawn back to Dudy Noble.
There
are many reasons. It's great baseball played by very talented kids. The
game
is pure and uncorrupted by money. The place is filled with memories,
both of
my college days and of the great games and moments since then. It's a
wonderful place to unwind. The mood is festive. Time is meaningless.
The
game is played without a clock. There are no telephones in Left Field.
Deadlines are more distant. Appointments seem insignificant. Regardless
of
wins and losses, I always feel better when I leave Dudy Noble than when
I
arrive. There are few places of which this can be said.
Several years ago, during a regional, Brigham Young played one of the
early
games in the first round. The gang I hang out with in Left Field always
adopts a visiting team. It's nothing official...like everyone, we live
in
fear of the NCAA and its regulations...It's just our effort to make
sure
these kids are well fed and taken care of while visiting Starkville. We
sent
word through our sources to the BYU players, and during the late game a
bunch of them arrived at our truck in the Lounge. They were hungry, and
tired of fast food. State was playing, and Dudy Noble was packed. We
fed
them for three hours. Late in the game, I sit next to one of the BYU
players
and watched with amusement as he tried to eat crawfish. He'd already
been
served spareribs, pork shoulder, catfish, frog legs, steak and smoked
sausage, and as we watched the game I helped with the crawfish. A dense
charcoal fog hung over left field. The mob pushed toward the fence. Jim
Ellis boomed from an amazing assortment of speakers. There was a
constant
roar. The kid was awestruck. "Unbelievable," he kept saying as he
looked
around. "Unbelievable."
I've seen this reaction many times from ballplayers, and for some
reason I
always feel compelled to share my knowledge of Dudy Noble and its
legends. I
filled his ear. Someone passed up a plate of boiled shrimp, and quickly
forget about the crawfish. I told stories about Polk, many of them
true, and
of the stadium and how it was built and the record crowds and the
history
(my version)of the Left Field Lounge. I unloaded a dazzling array of
statistics of past teams and players. I told tales I knew to be false
(how
could he know?). It was quite a performance, really.
He didn't hear a word. He ate his shrimp and watched the chefs at play
in
the fog. He studied the zany architecture of the trailers and trucks
and
vans packed together. He stared at the crowd of 9,000 rowdies who had
gathered for a college baseball game. "Unbelievable," he said again. "I
wished I played here."
I wish I had played there, too, but I never came close. And so I return
year
after year to watch the best of college baseball, to see old friends
and
make new ones, to cook and eat, to see the show. There may be larger
parks,
but not larger crowds. There may be prettier parks, but I doubt it.
Dudy
Noble is college baseball at its absolute finest.
-John Grisham
Last edited by duckkiller on Tue Mar 28, 2006 5:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Life is to short to only fish on weekends
- webbmaster
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I must confess, this part really got to me.
Tissue please....
Tissue please....
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- mshunter77
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- Duck South Addict
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- Location: Sylacauga Alabama via Louisville MISSISSIPPI
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- Duck South Addict
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- Location: Sylacauga Alabama via Louisville MISSISSIPPI
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- Greenhead22
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u dont work the pitch counts when ur the number one team in the nation against teams like bham southern, u freaking knock their ass down and then keep kickin them when they tryin to get up, u work pitch counts when lsu, bama, flordia, someone like that runs out a top prospect in this years draft, u work the pitch count against him..............not the kid from bham southern
If it wasn't for bad luck then i would have no luck at all........
"Its hard to be cool when your battery is dead." Anatidae at the boat ramp with a dead battery.
IN MEMORY OF #10
SCOTT LlOYD
1/8/92-4/5/08
"Its hard to be cool when your battery is dead." Anatidae at the boat ramp with a dead battery.
IN MEMORY OF #10
SCOTT LlOYD
1/8/92-4/5/08
jkb87 wrote:u dont work the pitch counts when ur the number one team in the nation against teams like bham southern, u freaking knock their !@# down and then keep kickin them when they tryin to get up, u work pitch counts when lsu, bama, flordia, someone like that runs out a top prospect in this years draft, u work the pitch count against him..............not the kid from bham southern
You realize that know matter the uniform a pitcher is wearing can OWN YOUR booty on a good night and you HAVE TO work the pitcher to be successful??? I think I read in another thread were you are a baseball coach? You should know that....This ain't football were you guys are twice the size and you just push em around.
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- Duck South Addict
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- Location: Sylacauga Alabama via Louisville MISSISSIPPI
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