The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 312: BONUS STORY: Big Stars, Little Stars

Episode Date: April 14, 2023

Phil expected to have a ball at the game, but he didn't expect it would change his life forever.

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You can apply for a work ethic scholarship right now at microwworks.org. We've set aside $10 million for this year's applicants, thanks to a number of very effective fundraisers, including the one with my grandfather's name on the label. I refer, of course, to Noble Tennessee Whiskey, K-N-O-B-E-L, which is now available in a variety of delicious mash bills, all of which you can peruse at noblespirates.com. In fact, if you spend 100 bucks and use code Carl, C-A-R-L, you'll get one tube of orange bitter-infused sugar cubes for free. That's code Carl with a C to get nine sugar cubes, ingeniously engineered to make nine perfect old-fashions every time. It's my favorite way to support Microworks and my favorite whiskey

to sip responsibly after a long day of interviewing people on this podcast. Pick up a bottle at noblespirates.com. K-N-O-B-E-L-Spirits.com. Soon may the noble men come to bring a bottle for everyone. One day when the waitin is done, we'll take a drink and go. I got a story to tell every word of it true, except for the parts I made up for you, just some history that has been reworded into,

a mystery called the way I heard it. Bonus episode. Yes, it's 312, and it is a bonus, just for you. No obligation, no strings. All you have to do is listen. Another short mystery for the curious mind with a short attention span. This one is called Little Stars, Big Stars. And Chuck, it's about a, well, it's about a subject near and dear to your heart.

I know that. I don't want to say what it's about, Mike. it's a mystery, right? We don't want to give it away. Well, yeah, but I mean, you know, we can talk tangentially about the fact that it's, uh, it involves America's pastime, which I believe is baseball. Of course, a great game, a wonderful game. And here with a new baseball season upon us, I thought I should sit down and share, share with our friends here, one of my favorite baseball stories of all time. Although I'm not sure it's fair to call it a baseball story. But it's not a story that I could tell you without a little help from a baseball.

It's about a guy who goes to a baseball game. Let's just leave it at that. I feel like we've already said too much. It's a bono bonus episode. Number 312, big stars, little stars. This is the way I heard it. The goal of the Human Genome Project was to improve the human condition through a better understanding of basic biology. The work was complicated, but rewarding, and Phil felt privilege to be part of such a noble endeavor.

If they could successfully map the human genome, doctors would be able to detect and diagnose all kinds of diseases much faster and save countless lives. On the downside, the money sucked. $30,000 a year was not exactly a pittance in 1998, but was it enough for a 26-year-old research assistant to marry his girlfriend and start a family? Was it enough to set something aside for their future, to care for his aging parents, and to support the charities he cared so much about? Phil didn't think so, but he knew a raise was simply out of the question. And so the young research assistant found himself with a job he loved but couldn't afford to keep. One Sunday in September, Phil went to a baseball game. He sat in one of those party boxes just below the left field bleachers.

Like most of those in attendance, Phil enjoyed a few Budwisers, along with an overpriced pretzel and a very expensive hot dog. It was a tight game, and the score was tied in the bottom of the seventh when Phil's favorite player came to the plate with two men on. 370 feet away, Phil saw the first pitch explode off the center of the bat before he heard the crack echo through the stadium. It was a scorching line drive to left field, hit about as hard as a baseball could be hit,

and headed straight for Phil. The ball cleared the outfield fence two seconds after it left the bat and entered the party box at roughly 90 miles an hour. Someone, a few rows in front of Phil, reached up to snag the ball from mid-air. Bad idea. The resounding smack of cowhide on flesh was followed by a squeal of pain

as the sphere ricocheted off the wounded hand, careened off the ceiling, bounced off a few more flailing fans, and rolled to a stop at Phil's feet. At which point Phil bent down and picked it up. Phil was delighted. In all his years as a fan, he'd never snagged a game ball,

much less a home run ball. He was further delighted when two team officials approached him at the end of the inning and told him, that the slugger who hit the ball would very much like to have it back. Sure, said Phil. I'll give him the ball back, but I'd like to do it in person. He's my favorite player, you know, and I'd really like to meet him and shake his hand.

The officials glanced at each other. I'm afraid that won't be possible, said one. He just doesn't like to meet people, the other one said, or shake hands. Phil was surprised. A handshake didn't seem like a little. a lot to ask, all things considered. In exchange for that unsigned ball, said one official, we can offer you an autographed ball, along with an autographed bat and an autographed jersey. How's that sound? Phil calculated the approximate value of three pieces of autographed memorabilia.

It was not insignificant, but he was disappointed that his favorite player wouldn't take just a moment to shake his hand. So Phil played hardball. How about season tickets, he asked. Season tickets? What? Are you serious? Yeah, said Phil. Something close to home plate. Do you have any idea how expensive those seats are?

Phil nodded. He knew exactly how much season tickets cost, a heck of a lot more than he could afford. Be reasonable, said the first official. We're offering you three autographed collectibles for one unsigned ball. It's a fair trade. Phil considered. Maybe it was a fair trade.

But then again, maybe it wasn't. Thanks for the offer, guys. I appreciate it. Can I get back to you? One of the men handed Phil a business card. Sure, he said. Call us when you change your mind. Phil put the card in his wallet and watched the men walk away.

Maybe he was being silly. An autographed bat ball and jersey would be easy to sell in the collectible market and worth a couple thousand dollars, at least, maybe more. God knows the extra money would come in handy. The next morning at work, Phil and his team of scientists continued their quest to improve the human condition by unlocking the mysteries of our genetic code. As always, Phil became engrossed in the detail of his work and was surprised to look up and see that it was already time for lunch.

Where did the time go? Phil really did love his job, and he really did believe his work would save lives. But in spite of the lousy pay, he just couldn't bring himself to quit and look for a more lucrative pursuit. So Phil removed the business card from his wallet and considered the offer one more time. Three autographed collectibles signed by his favorite player in exchange for one unsigned ball. Then Phil dropped the business card in the trash, picked up the telephone, and dialed a different number. If you Google Phil's name, you'll see the nerdy,

research assistant, exactly as he appeared in 1999, moments after the auction at Madison Square Garden came to its shocking conclusion. He's wearing pleaded cackies, a button down Oxford, and a polyester necktie with a double helix design printed on the front, the physical structure of a DNA molecule, and the focus of his life's work. It's his smile, though, that's impossible to miss. It's the smile of a man who just learned he could afford to marry his girlfriend and buy a house, and start a family, and buy another house for his aging parents, and donate $70,000 to the Leukemia Society, and another $70,000 to the American Cancer Society, and another $70,000 to his favorite team's charity of choice. all without quitting the job he loved. It's the smile of a man who just sold a baseball that cost five bucks at any sporting goods store for a little over $3 million.

That's right. $3 million. Not a bad return for the 26-year-old research assistant who played hardball with his favorite team and won, a die-hard fan named him. Phil Azersky, who would have settled for a handshake, but wound up instead with the most money ever paid for a Major League baseball, thanks to a wealthy collector named Todd McFarland, who was willing to pay whatever it took to own a piece of history. Of course, Todd McFarland would have a difficult

time getting $3 million for that same baseball today. A few years after he bought it, The slugger, who shattered the previous record, was awarded a star for his accomplishment, a little star that would forever shrink the value of his balls, all of his balls, including the one he drove into the left field bleachers of Bush Stadium during the final game of that unforgettable season in 1998. The game winning, record-shattering, 70th home-run ball that rolled to the game. defeat of a research assistant who wanted to improve the human condition, driven to him by a slugger who had already improved his own. And so it goes. Another little star called an

asterisk for another big star on steroids. A really big star named Mark McGuire. Anyway, that's the way I heard it. which we hope that you'll do. Tell us who you are. Tell us who you are. And before you go, won't you leave? Stop.