Baker01

     Earlier in this opus, I made mention of the different 'journalistic
worlds', that Charles Kuralt and myself operate within - the quasi-similarities. (Actually, I did some checking "earlier in this opus"-
and at no time, did I make mention of Charles Kuralt!)
     And on that note - my 1988 World Series assignment is a perfect example. (In light of this new evidence, maybe it's NOT a perfect example...just work with me, huh?)       For instance, if he lost his ticket, he would only have to call CBS and say "Book me a First-class ticket on the such and such, on this date, at this time, blah-blah-blah....." Me?       As soon as I landed, I had to call my mother, and have her wire me some money! And only after I got the 'you-should-be-more- careful' lecture!
     Mr. Kuralt would have a stretch limo waiting - complete with a guy wearing a uniform and hat, holding up a sign that would probably read: CHARLES KURALT, CBS NEWS....Me? A friend of the
station manager. A friend incidentally, whose car had been stolen the day before, and had to use his mother's Ford Rancho Station Wagon - only after he got the 'you-should-be-more-careful' lecture.
     He was holding up a sign that read ALAN BASKER (both names spelled wrong), was not wearing a uniform OR hat, and his white pants had a big, red stain in the front! After confirming that he was the friend of the station manager, we walked about half a mile to 'Mom's Rancho'.
    His door was jammed, so we both had to get in on the passenger side, and once we got out onto the road, it became very apparent, that this tank was in severe need of an alignment.
     At this juncture, Mr. Kuralt - no doubt in his air-conditioned 'stretch', complete with bar, TV, and 12 ft. of
legroom - would then be whisked off to his 5-Star hotel, where a basket of fruit, 3 bottles of wine, king-sized bed, and 24-hr. room service were waiting...Me?
      There was no A/C in Mom's Rancho, the seat was as far forward as it could be set (Mom obviously had been one of the Munchkins in "Wizard of Oz") - and couldn't be adjusted, thus giving me about 8 inches of leg room.
     I couldn't sit in the back seat because of all the tools and drywall
apparatus, and as far as food - 'my chauffeur' had stopped at Wendy's, and still had french fries left over.

    I had no hotel to go to - remember, I'd be staying at my friend's house, 2 blks. from Dodger Stadium - IF we could ever find it! 'My chauffeur' didn't seem to know his way around very well...of
course, I didn't have a clue either. (see map #1) But in addition to
finding my friend's house, I now had a much more immediate priority:
figuring out a way to walk, once I was able to get out of the car - because in case you've forgotten, my knees have been imbedded in my chest for an hour and a half!!
      Then - purely by accident - I recognized one of the streets
that was in the directions I'd been given, and we managed to find my friend's house shortly thereafter ....naturally, with no one home. While we waited, I wondered if my accommodations would include a king-sized bed, 24-hr. 'room
service', and a hot-tub...and much-needed at this point - a stretcher! I went out on a limb and thought to myself, "Probably not". Current score - Charles Kuralt 12, Alan Basker 0.

          My friend showed up about ten minutes later (she'd been out getting pasta, bread, wine, and ice cream for our dinner), dispelling any thoughts I may have been having about this day being cursed. We had a great dinner (I bet Charles Kuralt wasn't having Haagan Daaz Vanilla Swiss Almond, two blocks
from Dodger Stadium), caught up on all pertinent gossip, and then - with a full stomach, and the knowledge that I was 'gaining ground' on Mr. Kuralt - looked at my watch, and realized it was time to get to the stadium.

Bursting with excitement (as well as all the pasta and bread I wolfed down), I bid adieu to my hostess, and then, with great enthusiasm - not to mention altered coordination - headed for the door, tripped on the bottom step (suffering only a minor gash), and was on my way......

     Editor's Note:   We're now presenting the notes, jottings, and....'table scraps' of the never-before-seen (and aren't we all glad for THAT!), much-anticipated (well, 'semi' anyway), diary of A. R. Baker. He wore us down with his begging and whining, thus this (you don't often see those two words together, do you?) is what we - and sadly, all of you out there - were
left with.....(And in the event, that other offerings from his flotsam- filled diary** are 'touched upon' - well, you've been warned!!)