The title of this may seem way out of line, but sadly, it's true. First of all, I loved my grandfather immensely. It's merely due to the actions of others that I am glad he's no longer with us.
You see, Joe Fisher loved the game of baseball. Matter of fact, he'd been a semipro catcher for the team of Harris, Missouri. JoJo once hit three home runs in a game during the deadball era, a time when a double was a feat and a triple a rarity. Another time he caught a major league pitcher, which he said was the easiest game he ever had, as the man just put the ball wherever he placed his mitt. So needless to say, JoJo had some great stories for us.
If you went to a baseball game with JoJo, you didn't talk. The man knew his baseball. He was an apt student of the sport, who knew as much about it as anyone on the field, if not more. The man could tell you what pitch was coming--and why. He'd let you know who was going to be positioned where for what batter--and why. JoJo should have been a big league manager, I kid you not.
We lost JoJo in November of 1980. I wept an amount the size of Niagara Falls that morning. As a matter of fact, I owed him $2.50 in baseball bets. I sent it to Baseball Chapel.
Now the sport he loved so much is in shambles. Since he died, baseball has had a drug scandal, strikes (one costing us a World Series), steroids and now HGH. The main player in the recent scandal isn't facing responsibility like a man should (JoJo would have told him to man up!), and we wonder what will hit baseball next. As someone who's been a fan since 1975, I'm shattered.
But my loss is nowhere near what JoJo's would have been. Were he still alive, the situation today would devastate him. So yes, I'm glad my grandfather's no longer with us.
And for that, I curse those of you who have made the game what it is.
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