THE BROO VIEW with Ken Broo

Good Monday Morning!

Bob Castellini is taking some public hits. Fans are upset with the way his ballclub is put together. Some of us would rather have had a ten million dollar ballplayer in left field, rather than a ten million dollar scoreboard, particularly one where there aren’t enough replays and the graphics appear to have been done on an Apple 3 computer.

But give the produce King this, he knows Cincinnati, and he appreciates the history that is Cincinnati Reds baseball. That’s the thing about baseball, it’s all about history. We revel in the stats, the stories, the players. Football offers us the national pastime, anymore. Basketball allows us to see the superstars closer and in more detail than any other sport. But baseball is the total story, weaved together by stats, by stories and by its history. You probably couldn’t name the starting defensive tackles on the 1992 Cincinnati Bengals. Hell, as bad as that team was, why would you want to/ But I’ll bet you know that the 1992 Reds finished 18 games above ‘500’, and that their starting outfield was Bip Roberts in left, Dave Martinez in center and Paul O’Neill in right.

For the record, the starting defensive ends on the 1992 Bengals were Lamar Rogers and Alonzo Mitts.

This week, the produce King welcomed the baseball world to Cincinnati for the Civil Rights Game. By all accounts the weekend was a slam dunk hit. The fly by media actually stopped in Cincinnati for once. Some big names in sports spent the weekend here and we got some good national pub.

But here’s what I saw that I liked. I saw Frank Robinson, embraced by Cincinnati again and willing to be so. As late as five years ago the chances of that happening were about as good as you landing on Mars. Robinson was run out of here in 1966, called an old 30 and in return from the Orioles, the Reds got a box of jock straps and Milt Pappas. We know what Robinson did when he got to Baltimore. We also know that he never forgave Cincinnati, or the misguided bunch that traded him away.

Robinson went onto make a little history himself, becoming baseball’s first black manager, and winning another MVP award wearing an Orioles uniform. He moved on to other jobs in baseball and we moved onto the Big Red Machine, other heroes, other stories. He didn’t like us all that much and we simply forgot about him. Except when Castellini picked up the phone a few months ago and reached out to him. Told Robinson it was a new day here, that he, Castellini was a Cincinnati born and bred guy and that, like a lot us, went to Crosley Field and watch Robinson do his magic act that baffled opposing pitchers.

In the roundtable discussion Friday at the Freedom Center, and last night on the radio and TV, you’d have thought Frank Robinson was Cincinnati’s official ambassador to the game of baseball. Good lesson from the produce King: extend an olive branch and you may wind up with a vineyard.

The other thing I saw this week that I liked a lot was Eric Davis, in uniform and working with the current Reds. To those of us who need a refresher court, Eric Davis went over the wall to rob the opposing batters of home runs, had remarkable speed in the field and on the bases, led the Reds to a wire-to-wire World Series win in 1990, lacerated a kidney in the process, hired his own private plane to fly back from Oakland when his doctors told him he should not fly commercial, and we won’t even get into what Marge Schott was overheard calling him.

Oh, and he beat cancer along the way, playing in major league baseball games the same day he took chemotherapy. Try that sometime and see how you do.

He also infuriated a lot of us because we thought he held his hands too low at the plate and seemed to come up with muscle ailments far too often.

But he was good, damn good and the wire to wire thing ought to be a ‘get out of jail free’ card with all of us.

But like Robinson, Davis was estranged from this Reds organization too. Too often, he’d come into town to see his friends and we’d wonder why the Reds couldn’t find a place for him, anywhere, somewhere.

Castellini found a place. Special assistant to the president, is Davis’ title. The title is insignificant. The real story is a reconnection with history. The Produce King figured it out. Under Marge Schott, under Carl Lindner, the Reds really never had any interest in it.

In a 300 television channel universe, in a DINS world….and you know what D-I-N-S means….in a climate where even if we have a job, we worry constantly if we’ll keep it, the appreciation, let alone the knowledge of it is a luxury to a lot of us. But to the business, and the sport, of baseball. In a lot of ways, history is baseball’s life blood. It was good to see Hank Aaron here this weekend. We reveled in the athletic royalty of Muhammad Ali. But the bigger story for us, we who call the Tri-State home, was two of our own back with the family. It was a good week.