The Sunday Memory Drawer - Strat-O-Matic Baseball

When I was a kid, the baseball addiction didn't end when the major league game I was watching on TV or attending in-person was over. And that was also the case when I was in high school. And when I was in college. And even years later.

Because, in the off-hours for all those decades, there was Strat-O-Matic Baseball.

The vintage version of this baseball strategy game is pictured above and the one that dogged me and my friends for the first halves of our lives. Using last year's major league rosters or perhaps vintage teams from other eras, you act as the manager. You make the line-ups and the batting orders. You call for the sacrifices or the hit & runs. You change the pitchers during the later innings. You yourself are Gil Hodges, Tommy Lasorda, or Joe Torre. It was fascinating for us.

Back when, Strat-O-Matic Baseball wasn't available in regular stores. You had to send away for it, as if it was a secret club that nobody else could know about. I remember when I saved my allowance to buy it for the first time. I couldn't afford the high-priced postage level, so my game was being sent to me by horse and buggy. For about three weeks, I waited diligently on the porch as the US Parcel Post truck came at the same time every day. If it was a school day, I would run home and pepper my grandmother with queries. Did the truck go by yet? Did my package come? Grandma couldn't take the daily pressure.

"Stop asking me everyday. You make me nervous."

It seemed like forever but the game finally showed up and we were off to the races. The pennant races, that is.

Somewhere in the bowels of the Strat-O-Matic headquarters out on Long Island, there was some guy who decided on how to program each player's cards. The game had two sets of players: pitchers and batters. And their game cards were designed to mirror how they actually had performed the year before in the majors. All tied to the roll of three dice. Just like in Vegas.

One dice pointed you to either the pitcher's or the batter's card. The other two dice added up to a number that you would seek out on the the appropriate card. Sandy Koufax's pitching card had a lot of strikeouts. Mickey Mantle's card had a lot of home runs and a lot of strikeouts. Players also had defensive ratings. If you were a "1," you were a Gold Glove. If you were a "4," you made a lot of errors. If your speed was a "AA," you were as fast as the wind. If your running rating was an "E," you ran like you were carrying a piano on your back.

So, every time a batter came up, you'd roll the three dice to find out what he did. You'd read the three dice and frequently have to refer to about three charts to find out the outcome of his at-bat. It was all very intricate for a bunch of twleve-year-olds.

And we loved every moment. We played it all summer. Often on my kitchen table. But, we and the game were often portable. On hot nights, we'd move out to a front stoop on the block and lay out the game there. which gave industrious ants a great way to transport themselves into my house. Quickly, Grandma was not a Strat-O-Matic fan.

"You're bringing in all these bugs with that stupid game of yours."

Yeah, okay, sorry. I didn't really care. This game was keeping us occupied and out of a lot of normal teen-age trouble.

My neighborhood best chum Leo was naturally a major Strat-O-Matic cohort. To develop a league, we recruited other "managers" as well. Leo's younger brothers and some of the other denizens of South 15th Avenue were likely targets. Admittedly, it was a commitment to play in a league. You had to manually keep your team's stats. You had to finish your games on time. In many cases, Strat-O-Matic provided us all with the first "work" responsibility of our lives.

One summer, we decided to have a league with some of the "oldtime" teams that Strat-O-Matic made available. I managed the 1954 New York Giants, a team connection that my now-Dodger Blue blood finds abhorrent. Leo took a really safe route and captained the best baseball team ever, the 1927 New York Yankees. How do you not win with Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig in your line-up? Still, that didn't stop Leo from trying to fire up his team for each game. To get his batters to do better, he would place an unlit firecracker on each card. The threat worked. I think Leo and the Yankees won the pennant that summer.

Frankly, I didn't need anybody else to enjoy Strat-O--Matic. I could easily play games myself and manage both squads. One year, I replayed the complete 1969 New York Met season. In a tip of the hat to accuracy, that team won the pennant and the World Series all over again.

While I thought that those of us on 15th Avenue had exclusively cornered the market with Strat-O-Matic love, I soon discovered at Fordham University that there were others in the NY metropolitan area who had been spending their summers doing the same exact thing. When I started working at Fordham's radio station WFUV, I found myself amongst a whole new bunch of Strat-O-philes. Bingo. As soon as the summer months hit, we were clearing off the desk in the newsroom and starting yet another league.

One year, I was managing the Boston Red Sox. I didn't want to be typecast as purely a NY manager. That league was rather intense. I was dealing with people who took their teams seriously. There were no firecracker threats, but some of the other managers dealt with the game as if their lives depended upon each roll of the dice. One day, I walked into the newsroom to find one of my friends talking softly to his player cards and rolling dice every fifteen seconds. I asked Steve what he was doing.

"Having batting practice and a pep talk."

Okay. When it came to Strat-O-Matic, sanity frequently took a back seat.

Then, we had a cheater in our midst. Before long, the word was out that one of our fellow managers needed to be monitored closely. Because if he was down a run or two in the ninth inning, he would pick up the pace of the game so much that some of the batter outcomes were slightly exaggerated. Plus he would hold his cards up in his hand so you couldn't see them as he rapidly rolled the dice.

"2-7, single. 3-9, double. 4-10, home run, I win!"

We all got wise in a hurry.

"Excuse me, Gary, could you put your cards down on the table please? Oh, look, that 4-10 home run was really a ground out to second base. You lose."

When it came to Strat-O-Matic, honesty also took a back seat.

Once we all graduated and life took a hold of each of us, Strat-O-Matic entered the dust collecting phase in each of our individual existences. Oh, the game still existed and was thriving with lots of folks. Just not us.

About 15 years ago, the Westchester County newspaper chain ran a story on Strat-O-Matic fanatics. As a sidebar, they were looking for players to participate in a sudden elimination league tournament that would also serve as the subject of a follow-up story.

Even though I hadn't played the game in some time, I entered.

One night, I was summoned up to the newspaper headquarters in White Plains where I was hustled into a room full of Strat-O geeks. is this what the typical player had morphed into? Was this now a baseball strategy game version of a Star Trek convention? I was given the 1973 New York Mets to manage.

I lost in extra innings and was immediately eliminated. Maybe I should have conducted batting practice and talked more to my player cards.

In the high tech world of today, Strat-O-Matic Baseball is now loaded on your PC. You can play on-line with the actual backdrops of real major league ballparks. All the charts of old are gone, as are the continuous rolls of dice. The computer keeps the team stats for you. I was intrigued enough to buy the new version. And, truth be told, I have enjoyed it. I have replayed the seasons of the 1955 Brooklyn Dodgers, the 1963 Los Angeles Dodgers, and, for old times sake, the 1969 New York Mets. Indeed, the game is much improved and you can go through a whole season of games in lickety split fashion.

My buddy Leo, who now lives just twenty minutes down the 405 freeway from me, came over one Saturday afternoon to sample the "new" Strat-O-Matic. It was just like the old days. And, then again, it wasn't. Somehow, thinking back to my kitchen table with all the charts and dice, there was a lot more magic to our afternoons. It simply wasn't the same.

And, to make matters worse, Leo had left his firecracker at home.

Dinner last night: Deluxe pizza at Boho.