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(Since Oct. 7, 1999)

Bob Andelman Articles Archive

Seeking autographs from baseball players is a spring ritual in Tampa Bay, like waiting for the backyard pool water to be warm enough for the season's first swim. But somewhere along the line, the sport of autographs became twisted. Players started charging for their signatures. And instead of scribbling on balls and trading cards outside the ballparks after a game, they're selling tickets and lining folks up for hours at shopping malls.

Today it's the Bay Area Outlet Mall in Clearwater, where full grown men are standing in a line that snakes around center court to an elevated stage. That's where former San Francisco Giants pitching great Juan Marichal is signing autographs, posing for snapshots and making small talk.

What makes this spectacle so colorful is not the variety of baseball caps being worn (no two are alike) or the fact that virtually everyone is wearing one, but the armload of collectibles many of these fans are delicately and patiently balancing: baseballs and bats in protective plastic display cases, brand-new baseballs still in cardboard boxes, leather-bound scrapbooks, baseball cards in rubber bands, baseball cards in "ultra pro platinum archival protective sleeves," baseball cards in snap-tight® cardholders, tattered and faded sports magazines from the mid-1960s ... the list is endless.

One by one they step before the Hall of Famer -- after flashing proof of purchase for a $10 autograph -- laying out treasured possessions more carefully than they would a Stradivarius. Each seems to share completely individual memories of Marichal's many feats in the big leagues. Some relate tales of their own brushes with greatness.

Some are selfless.

"I tried writing you a letter about our project to put up a statute of Al Lopez, but I couldn't find an address," says one. (Marichal directs him to write c/o the Giants.)

Seen on a T-shirt: "I was a Millionaire ... Then My Mother Threw Away My Baseball Cards!" (That's what every other adult male tells baseball card dealers. They say the same things about comic books.)

Collectibles dealers named Ken and Norm -- at least that's what it says in big blue block letters on their white polo shirts -- paid for dozens of autographs. They tie up the line for a long time as Marichal agreeably signs everything from a June 10, 1966 issue of Sports Illustrated with Marichal high-kicking on the cover to postcards issued in Cooperstown, N.Y. on the day of Marichal's Hall of Fame induction in 1983.

Later, another S.I. turns up, this one from Aug. 9, 1965, touting the "Latin Conquest of the Big Leagues." The same fan has a special edition San Francisco Giants/Eastern Airlines program from July 10, 1983, celebrating "Juan Marichal Hall of Fame Day" at Candlestick Park.

Seen across a baseball cap: "U.S.M.C.: Uncle Sam's Misguided Children." Individual pins add "Viet Nam" and "Fuck Jane Fonda." The man wearing the hat tells Marichal: "I was down in your home, the Dominican Republic, in '65 with the First Battalion, Sixth Marine." Marichal smiles politely, keeping his own memories to himself.

When another guy opens a hardcover book to two pages about Marichal, Marichal starts to sign in some white space.
"Oh, no! No, no, no!" says the fan, nearly having a heart attack. "Here! Across your leg."

This autograph seeker, like many of the others, comes equipped with different pens for different autographs. Ballpoint works best on some surfaces, felt tip for others. After all, you can't sign a Louisville Slugger with the same pen you'd sign a Spalding baseball, can you?

Even men who aren't waiting for a signature know who Marichal is.
"Who's he?" a little boy asks his father.

"He's a Hall of Famer," says the dad. "Used to pitch for the San Francisco Giants. Two-hundred, forty-three wins, 142 losses, 2303 strikeouts, 2.89 earned run average. Elected to the Hall in 1983."

"Oh, Dad."

Joe Lemieux is a Spring Hill baseball card dealer. He's wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers T-shirt. Lemieux stood on line like everyone else to get autographs from Marichal, some for his collection, some for resale.

"I like getting stuff personally signed," he says. "I've gotten to shake hands with Mantle, DiMaggio and Ernie Banks. Those are just nice experiences."

If Juan Marichal signs thousands of autographs in Clearwater, doesn't that devalue his autograph? No way.

"If you live in North Dakota," argues Lemieux, "what's the chance Juan Marichal is going to come to North Dakota?"

Seen on a middle-age man's T-shirt: "Bury Me With My (picture of a baseball bat) Just In Case!"

Bruce Allen, a Tarpon Springs sports collectibles dealer and promoter of this show, sits to Marichal's right and handles the flow of people. Every so often he hands over a special souvenir to be autographed. "Sign that picture to Judi -- J-U-D-I. She's the mall manager. And the other one goes to Mr. Stone. He owns the mall," says Allen.

In the first hour alone, Marichal signs 300 autographs. Only two hours to go and the line isn't getting any shorter.

And no, the woman pushing the baby carriage across the stage -- after lifting it up the stairs -- isn't accusing the famed pitcher of paternity. Nor does she want her child's head signed in indelible black ink. She just paid ten bucks to get a baseball autographed.

Whatever. Juan Marichal, of course, is happy to oblige.

©2000, All rights reserved. No portion may be reproduced without the express written permission of the author.

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