As promised, I am stealing several paragraphs from the great Greg Prince. I have no doubt that Greg would want his words about Ed Charles and Gil Hodges to be read by as many people as possible, so I “steal.” But you really should read the entire piece.
Ed Charles accepted the invitation and accepted the award in the spirit in which it was presented. He spoke graciously and thoughtfully. He took us through his career, the lengthy delays imposed upon it in the minors and its overdue major league beginnings in Kansas City. He brought us with him to New York as he described the 1967 team he was traded to (one not markedly better than the 1962 version) and then described what happened when, in 1968, “the Marine came in and took over.”
That’s when the Mets got serious about winning, and Ed Charles grew reflective about how Gil Hodges made all the difference. The Glider remembered the Marine so warmly that it gave you chills. Ed Charles, however, was the warmest man you could imagine listening to on a cold night. He continued to speak, to recollect, to connect (for the Mets are “my team,” too) and, at last, to recite a bit of the verse that earned him the other sobriquet by which he’s known, “The Poet Laureate of Baseball”.
For out there on the diamonds before thousands of fans
We players perform as best we can
Perform we must both day and night
In search of victory with all our might
The Queens Baseball Convention concluded with a standing ovation for the Glider’s performance; the bundling up of topcoats; and the reassurance that spring will arrive soon, if not soon enough. Like the Rajah, we were all about to return to our windows to do in winter what we do when there’s no baseball. At least for one Saturday in the middle of it, though, there was some baseball. There really was.
