One summer when I was a kid, probably about eleven years old, my family and I drove the hundred or so miles to Arlington to see the Rangers play. One of my friends came with us. He’d never been to a game before, so he was very excited. I’d only been once or twice before.
Texas was playing Minnesota. Our seats were in foul territory in right field, right on the wall. Kirby Puckett was playing right field and I shouted at him a lot. It felt weird to be so close to a potential Hall of Fame player. I could see the eye black on his cheeks.
In the bottom of the ninth, the Twins led 5–4. The attendance at this game was incredibly sparse. Maybe it was on a weekday. I asked my parents if my friend and I could go find some empty seats closer to home plate. They said it was okay and we ran through the concourse to the area just to the right of home plate, about twenty rows back. I guess the ushers were super accommodating back then, or probably bad at their jobs. Truthfully, this was the mid-nineties and the Rangers were just beginning to be not awful, so some kids being excited about a baseball game was welcome.
Texas put a man on with one out. Let’s say Will Clark, because I can’t remember who exactly. Rusty Greer came to bat. At this time Greer was already beloved by Rangers fans for his blue collar playing style and shock of red hair. I knew Greer could hit. There was a good chance he could get a double and possibly tie the game.
Instead, he put a fastball into the right field porch to win the game. The fireworks exploded above center field and the theme from The Natural blared through the stadium. Greer rounded the bases quickly, his gait full of determination and pride. My friend and I yelled his name.
Afterward, the two of us stood near the dugout with about fifty other people and watched Greer give a post game interview. We all shouted congratulations at him. I remember him smiling a lot. When the interview ended, he walked by us and disappeared into the dugout. We asked for autographs, but he didn’t. I later found out that players aren’t allowed to sign autographs right after a game. Somehow we ended up with Tom Scheiffer’s autograph. He was president of the Rangers at that time. I didn’t know it, though. I just saw a bunch of people trying to get his signature and assumed he was someone important.
Rusty Greer became one of my favorite players after that day. I recently took my son to a card show, and at one table I found a Rusty Greer card. I asked the seller how much for the card, and he just smiled. “You can have it,” he said. “No charge.”
I thanked him and put the card in my pocket. It’s funny how a home run on a random summer night can make a guy one of your favorite players for the rest of your life.
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