Memories among the collectibles
WRENTHAM -- He drank beer with Hall of Famer George Brett, slept on top of the batting cage at the Kingdome, and got broken bats signed by the likes of Mr. October, Reggie Jackson.
``I used to have the coolest job in the world," says John Orrico, who served as visiting batboy for the Seattle Mariners in 1986-87 when he was 17 years old. He played pepper with Don Mattingly, cards with Kirby Puckett, and witnessed Oil Can Boyd go ballistic and bite his locker in the visiting dressing room. He still doesn't know why.
And along with the memories, he has the memorabilia. His trophy room is filled with autographed bats and balls, helmets, caps, and clippings.
None of it will ever be sold -- no matter the price.
``I have absolutely zero intentions of selling it," Orrico says. ``If the house was burning I'd get him out [pointing toward his 1 1/2-year-old son, John] and then come back and get all this stuff."
He pulls down one of many plexiglass cases from the wall and opens it.
``That's my favorite bat," he says, gripping a gooey, broken Brett bat, given to him by the Kansas City Royals star not long after the infamous ``pine tar incident" in July 1983. On that afternoon, Brett, after hitting a ninth-inning, two-out, two-run homer against the Yankees that gave the Royals an apparent 5-4 lead, was called out by plate umpire Tim McClelland for excessive use of pine tar on the bat, erasing the blast -- and prompting an outburst of epic proportions by Brett.
``It's pretty close to the limit," says Orrico. ``I think you can go up to the label. He showed me how to do it. Pine tar, dirt, pine tar, dirt. I was getting close to the label and I said, `George, how far am I supposed to go on this?' He said, `Don't worry about it. They'll never do that to me again.' "
Orrico, now 37, eventually went to college and made enough money in the family food business that he doesn't have to work anymore. In fact, on most days he plays golf. But he readily acknowledges his best job paid just $1 an hour. ``Man, if I could do it again, I would.
``A friend of mine knew the Mariners' general manager," he says. ``At the time, nobody cared about the Mariners, they drew only 3,000-6,000 people a game. You had to be able to drive because sometimes you wouldn't leave there till 2-3 in the morning. I found out later they only paid $12 a game for 10-12 hours, but you don't care. It's the best time of your life."
One night, Brett invited Orrico to join him and his teammates after the game.
``They took me out to a bar across the street and I had a can of beer with George Brett, [Bret] Saberhagen, and a few other guys. They all had good stories about girls and when you're 17 that's good. Probably one of the coolest moments of my life."
But Orrico also saw the conflicts that tugged at players.
``I learned that the baseball players, as cool as we see their lives being, it's hard. That travel and being away from your family."
Orrico says he never really thought about collecting memorabilia. ``I wish I knew then what I know now," he laments. ``I would have got a lot more souvenirs, I can tell you that. The players were fun. You're just a kid, and the majority of them were good guys to kids.
``Brett and Reggie Jackson were the best. Reggie got a bad rap, but he was great with us. He'd give us anything we wanted.
``One time he sent everybody in our clubhouse shoes. Instead of addressing it to us, he addressed it to one of the batboys and wrote `clubhouse manager.' Reggie was a class guy."
Orrico didn't know the value of his collection.
``I made the mistake once when I sold my Kirby Puckett bat and Kirk Gibson bats when I was in college for $100 each, and I wish I had 'em back. I'd gladly give $500 to get each of them back."
But he still has more than two dozen models. ``These are all game bats," he says, running his hand up and down the case. ``Most of 'em are Seattle [players], but some crossed over to Boston, Dave Henderson, Rickey Henderson. See that Mattingly bat, it's all filed down. I think Rickey Henderson broke it, and Rickey didn't have any bats left that [Mattingly] liked. That was the last one of the weight that he liked. So as a joke, the guys filed it all down and put Band-Aids on it and put it back in his locker, like he could use it. I should have kept the Band-Aids on it."
Orrico got a real inside look at The Show. Some of it wasn't pretty.
When Baltimore came to town he saw legendary manager Earl Weaver make an Oriole cry. ``A rookie pitcher came in and he had a bad outing and he was mad at himself," says Orrico. ``In comes Earl Weaver, and he tears him up one side and down the other, yelling at him. Ninety-nine percent of it you can't say here, and the guy started to cry. A grown man weeping. I couldn't believe it."
He has signed balls from a slew of Hall of Famers -- Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams, Harmon Killebrew and Brooks Robinson, Don Drysdale and Frank Robinson, Hank Aaron and Al Kaline -- and a game-used hat from Yankee manager Billy Martin. ``Look how small his head is -- 6 7/8 -- smallest in the league," said Orrico.
Although Orrico has added some new items to his collection, they are mostly from the mid-1980s. Concerned about forgeries, he usually buys at celebrity auctions or from reputable dealers such as Arthur D'Angelo at The Souvenir Store, where he purchased a Carl Yastrzemski autographed bat.
So about that Oil Can Boyd story . . .
``He was a piece of work," Orrico attests. ``He was this wiry, crazy guy, and he's out tossing the ball. Then he came in and there was these wood lockers and he started biting them. I don't know why, but if the Kingdome was still there, you'd see a full impression of his teeth in those mahogany-stained lockers. You could have taken dental records off them."
Twenty years later, The Can instantly remembers the incident. ``Yeah, it happened," he said on a recent visit to Fenway Park. ``Bad outing. Really bad outing." 