I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that I’m doing this book on the 1975 Cincinnati Reds. Big Red Machine. Did I mention that? Anyway, so I’m driving back home from Cincinnati Tuesday night as mentioned, and I really don’t think I’m speeding — I realize this has become something of a trend on this blog — and suddenly I see the red flashing lights behind me. I am just one of these people. I have friends who consistently drive way over the speed limit, and they never get pulled over — it’s like they’re driving Wonder Woman’s invisible plane or something. Me, if I go a few mph over the speed limit even for a moment, I will inevitably get pulled over. I’m really not complaining, I live a charmed life. Flashing red lights must be my penance.
Anyway, the officer comes over and taps on the window, asks for the license and registration and all that, and he asks me if I know why he pulled me over. Now, why do they ask that? I probably have a pretty good idea. But I say something like, “I didn’t think I was speeding, but I guess I was.” And he said, yes, he caught me at 76 mph, which would be pretty bad in a school zone but doesn’t seem all that bad for a major interstate. Maybe it was in a 65 mph zone, I don’t know.
He says: So, where you going? I tell him I’m going back home, and he says, “what were you doing in Cincinnati?”
Well, I have to take my shot here, right? So I say: “Yeah, well, I’m doing a book on the 1975 Reds.”
And he just stops. And he says: “Hold on. Rose. Bench Morgan. Perez. Uh, Foster. Right? Concepcion. Um, hold on here, Griffey? Yep and uh, centerfield, sure, Geronimo.” He’s naming every member of the Big Red Machine. He has this huge smile on his face. Trucks are rumbling by. The car is shaking. The wind is whipping. This guy is back 33 years, when he was a kid, when the Reds were the best team ever.
Then he says: “Wow, sure wish we could have another team like that one.”
Then he gives me a warning ticket. This book has already made me money. I love America.
