Scram kid, you're going to give me an aneurysm

The Espies are quite a bunch. Truth be told, we are big fans of HR and were devastated when he was let go.

When we think of the on-air talent up in CT, one incident replays in our minds.

Back in 1994 in the hellhole that was Three Rivers Stadium (and the Vet always got a bad rap), for some God-forsaken reason MLB decided to spotlight the on-field talents of Ricky Bones, Mick "The Quick" Tettleton and John Hudek in Sienna Miller's favorite Western PA town. The game itself was exciting (as exciting as an exhibition game in Pitt can be) and operating a car wash and offering financial advice was merely a glint in the Dude's eye. (This, you may recall was before the game "meant something.")

The real excitement, however, happened at a post-game press reception, when a young 15-year-old high school ball player was lucky enough to have the opportunity to drink ginger ales in a room full of ex-pros, pencil pushing reporters and D-List ham and eggers.

My eyes lit up when I saw Leather himself sitting with two lovely blonds, HoFer Tony Perez and all-around great guy, baseball genius and super-duper insider Pete Gammons. Holding a commemorative collectors' ball in my hand that was already signed by Jose Rijo, giddily I approached them and asked that they also put their Herbie Hancocks on the fine piece of memorabilia. No sooner did I get the words out of my mouth did the G-Man suck his teeth, roll his eyes and disgustedly leave the table.

To his credit, Boomer, sensing my disappointment, and perhaps his cocktail, patted me on the shoulder and said, "You're with me, kid whose hat and ears are too big for your head," (paraphrased) and invited me to sip my Schweppes with them.

Fast-forward to just a weeks prior to 12-years to the day, and terrible news came out of Bristol that Mr. Baseball had a brain aneurysm rupture. We were not happy to hear this happen to him, or anyone else. But maybe, just maybe, it reminded people that they are human, and should treat grubby teenagers as humans as well.

So, when the outpouring of support came for the Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, my heart dropped, much as it did when he got all huffy more than a decade earlier. Only a handful of pals have heard this story - because tales of disappointment are difficult to tell, and frankly, can be embarrassing for a hormonal teen. I tucked it away deep in the recesses of my memory. UNTIL ESPN set up a site at which fans would send PPPE their well wishes and relive fond memories of Mr. Baseball.

My select support group encouraged me to tell my tale. But unlike school in summertime, I had a bit of class. But now, I feel, I hope, events and maturity change people. So I can tell my story of heartbreak, finally enjoy the man's body of work, and stick that Rijo/Berman/Perez ball on a mantle and finally appreciate it without resentment.

-posted by Ren McCormack