Bobby Valentine holds an important place in the history of eyeblack. A decade ago, while working for the Texas Rangers, Valentine managed a game while wearing wristbands, sunglasses, and eyeblack. Apparently, Valentine thought the outfit indicated his intensity and love for baseball. Last month, after he was ejected from a game, Valentine, who now manages the New York Mets, used eyeblack to paint a mustache on his face. Then, augmenting his disguise with a hat and glasses, Valentine stood in the doorway next to the dugout to continue watching the action. Valentine thought it was a clever prank. The National League wasn’t amused. It suspended Valentine for two games and fined him $5,000 for returning to the dugout.
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John Randle, the standout defensive lineman for the Minnesota Vikings, also owns a prominent perch in the annals of eyeblack. He was fond of painting his entire face with the stuff — a habit that resulted in two hefty fines from the National Football League for wearing too much eyeblack. The first time, Randle was fined $5,000. The second time, after a game against New Orleans, the NFL socked him for $10,000. After that, Randle told reporters, “I’m done with face paint.”
Eyeblack, the pasty black goo that athletes wear on their cheekbones, has become so ubiquitous that it’s almost become invisible. Athletes of all stripes, from the youngest Pop Warner football player to the most accomplished major leaguer, regularly don the substance, believing it will improve their vision. It has become a sports accessory. Smearing the black stuff on your face allegedly reduces the amount of glare that reflects into the eye from the cheekbone, but that has never made sense to me. After all, players wear it during night games. They even wear it for games played inside, where glare from the sun is not a factor. So, for the past couple of years, I’ve been casually researching eyeblack. After consulting a variety of experts, from athletes to ophthalmologists, I’ve concluded one thing: Eyeblack doesn’t work. Even some makers of the product admit that the benefits of this mixture of beeswax, paraffin, and carbon are more psychological than actual.
Although he has been making and selling eyeblack for 37 years, Curt Mueller, the owner and president of Mueller Sports Medicine, has never seen any studies proving the effectiveness of eyeblack. “I believe some of it is psychological,” he says.
Dr. Anne R. Sumers, the team ophthalmologist for the New York Giants and a spokesperson for the American Academy of Ophthalmology, says athletes wouldn’t wear eyeblack if they didn’t get results. But when pressed, Sumers later conceded, “It’s really war paint.”
Rooster Andrews sells 2.75-ounce tubes of eyeblack for $7.95. It also sells the patented fabric No Glare Strips ($5.95 for 36 strips) made by Mueller Sports Medicine of Prairie du Sac, Wisconsin. The strips, which are not as messy as the paste, are favored by many professional athletes, including Charles Johnson, the sure-handed catcher for the Baltimore Orioles.
Where did eyeblack come from? Calls to the Baseball Hall of Fame were fruitless. Researchers there could find no discussion or photographic records of eyeblack. Interviews with historians and authors also turned up nothing. Paul Dickson, the author of the Baseball Encyclopedia, says eyeblack is part of the arcana of the game, akin to the path between the pitchers mound and home plate. (In the Thirties and Forties that stretch of real estate was dirt. Then, inexplicably, that same stretch of land was covered with turf.) “All I can say is, it’s one of those things. Nobody seems to be aware of it,” said Dickson.
Interviews with players and coaches yield apocryphal evidence which suggests that players used to burn cork and then smear the ashes on their cheeks. Researchers at the Pro Football Hall of Fame say the earliest photographic record of eyeblack dates from 1942, when Washington Redskins fullback Andy Farkas wore it in a game against the Philadelphia Eagles.
But how did eyeblack become so common that people like Valentine are now using it for disguises? Well, there are more questions than answers. But perhaps the best theory is the one posited by Boog Powell, the Orioles’ legendary power-hitting first baseman: A couple of years ago, Powell recalls, it wasn’t cool to wear sunglasses during games. So he, along with many of his cohorts, opted for eyeblack. “I don’t remember it ever doing any good,” Powell admits. “If there was any value, great. But in the process you looked cool.” —Robert Bryce
Manor Downs: Horse Power
Have the kids been screaming for that trip you promised them to Evangeline, La.? Do you love to watch the dog races in Corpus Christi but just can’t spare the five hours it takes to drive there? Or maybe, just maybe, you’ve got a hankerin’ for an Earl Campbell brand sausage that just won’t quit?
Well, we’ve got two words for you: Manor Downs. Just a few short miles east on 290 in Manor, you can satisfy all these needs (and then some) every Wednesday through Sunday. How can this be, you ask? Well, Manor Downs features simulcasting — that’s 25 televisions featuring live feeds of horse and dog races, from all over the country, beamed via satellite right down to Manor for your betting pleasure. Yes, you can tell the kids, even races from famed Evangeline Downs!
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Manor Downs |
Most of the 60 fans that gather here nightly have one thing in common: They (or a loved one) just love to gamble. But that’s where the similarities end. Come, let’s take a closer look at who attends a typical night of simulcasting:
�The Family Member: Usually a child or spouse, the family member tends to have no interest in racing and is there as a polite gesture or because their parents told them to. They can be easily spotted reading, running, or throwing a football.
�The Visitor: Visitors tend to come straight from work and only visit the track once every few months. They are usually the best-dressed — and the loudest — patrons at the track. Visitors, despite a general lack of racing knowledge, tend to win the most money — and you’ll hear it when they do.
�The Regular: Regulars are simulcasting’s heart and soul. They’re at the park every night, will give advice to anyone who will listen, and if you show an interest, will recount stories about how they had that $10,000 trifecta last month. They’re easy to spot: If someone you don’t know starts giving you unsolicited betting advice, that’s a regular.
This simulcasting society is really quite mutualistic. Without the Visitors, the Regulars would have nothing but the TV screens to talk to. The Family Members help minimize the seediness factor inevitable to off-track betting and keep the snack bar in business (Did we mention the Earl Campbell Sausages?). But once a race begins on the TV screen, the Regulars take over — as illustrated by this exchange during the third simulcast race from Lone Star Park in Dallas. Horse Number 2, named What’cagottado, seems to be a favorite of the 10 or so regulars crowded around the screen. Let’s listen in:
“C’mon, Number 2!”
“C’mon, Ronnie! You’ve got the horse, now go with it.” This is classic Regular-speak. Regulars sincerely believe that loudly pleading through the TV can affect a jockey’s decision-making. “Ronnie” is jockey Ronald Ardoin, who is aboard What’cagottado.
“That’s it, 2!” (The long-distance advice seems to have worked). “Die out 8!”
“C’mon 2!”
Now,sometimes in an attempt to fit in, a Visitor will join in the yelling. But too often they make the fatal mistake of calling their bet to the television. Saying things like: “C’mon 2! I got $5 on you to win!” is an absolute no-no. See, Regulars may frequently discuss their bets with other Regulars or with Visitors, but they will never yell it at the TV. It’s bad luck.
At this point in the race, the Number 3 horse, Matt’s Marq, is gaining on the Number 2. A chorus of Regulars begins their song:
“C’mon 3! You got the horse!”
“C’mon 2!”
“C’mon 3!”
As Number 3, Matt’s Marq, wins the race, the dominant Regular turns to his friend and says: “Oh, Roy, why did you do that to me? You jinxed me. You had to bet the 3!” This, too, is classic Regular behavior: After losing a race, a Regular will always find something besides his own misjudgment to blame.
As each race ends, the Regulars discreetly let their losing tickets fall to the floor as they head to the next TV screen. The Visitors high-five each other, proudly proclaiming they could never make this much money at work. The Family Members make another trip to the snack bar.
It’s just a few short minutes to post at Penn National, when the cycle will begin anew. —Craig Campanella
Directions: Take 290 East 6.2 miles to the one stop light in Manor. Take a left, go two blocks, take another left on to Hill Road. Call 272-5581 for simulcast schedule.
Demolition Derby: The Scene in Killeen
You want that truck. Orange fireball burning gulps of air in the snap of its chrome-covered jaws. Imagine it chewing off the platform’s steel braces and leaping out onto the track to set the dirt course on fire. You pose on its bumper for the last photo of the night before the raffle. In the hours before this moment of longing, you were wearing a plastic checker flag as a hat, and before that, you were chugging Miller Genuine Draft, and a few minutes before that, you got your picture taken with the local sheriff. Shaded from the track floodlights by his broad cowboy rim, he allowed as how you oughta drive home sober. What the sheriff didn’t realize is that you’d been high for the last three hours already and if you weren’t driving that bodacious incendiary beast off the ramp, you weren’t going to be driving at all.
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Texas Thunder Speedway, Killeen |
Considering what you’ve seen this evening, it’s no wonder you’re in love. An army of stock cars with their widebelt tires hit the semi-banked turn on the track, churning clumps of clay into a brown wave over the screaming crowd, mouths open wide for the assault. You’ve named one, and suddenly it’s yours: Mullet94. Its driver is no different than the others; the Grand Am an unremarkable burgundy. But the big appeal is the wave the driver gave you as he drove onto the track, so you ran down the aisles to an opening at the fence in front of the stands where the little kids hang out and you screamed for Mullet94 to kick some ass. And when he does, a spray of clay gets in your face and you’re beaming as his back bumper smashes another car off the track and over the embankment. It’s your mile of heaven, and if you can’t have the truck, you can have these hours, this Saturday night under the hood, drivers spitting and circling a thousand times under the crunch of the crowd, the final floodlights staring down the darkness beyond. —Louisa C. Brinsmade
Racing/Demolition Derby in Central Texas
Alamo Dragway, San Antonio (asphalt dragstrip); directions: 3.5 miles south of I-410 on SR 16 (SE side of San Antonio); 210/628-1371– track, 210/923-8801 — office
Central Texas Raceway Park, Round Rock (asphalt dragstrip); race type: special events only; directions: I-35 north to FM 620 exit, go west; 512/338-2704
Heart O Texas Speedway, Waco (clay semi-banked oval track); race type: IMCA stock cars; directions: I-35 north to Elm Mott (exit 343), then .6 mile north of E. Frontage Rd.; 254/829-2294
Longhorn Speedway, Austin (asphalt semi-banked oval track); race type: Sportsmans, Bombers, Streets, Dwarfs; directions: 3.8 miles south of SR 71 on US 183 (near Bergstrom airport); open Saturdays; 243-1122 — track, 243-1624 — office
Navasota Raceway, Navasota (concrete dragstrip); race type: NHRA (National Hot Rod Association) division cars; directions: 1.6 miles west of SR 105, then .9 mile south on FM 379, then straight 1.7 miles on FM 1227; 409/825-8725 -track, 409/825-3202 — office
River City Raceway, San Antonio (asphalt dragstrip), race type: special events only; call 210/344-1315
Rocky Point Speedway, Copperas Cove (clay semi-banked oval track), race type: UMP (United Midwestern Promoters, or “King of Dirt”) division cars, Streets, Midgets, Dwarfs, Karts; directions: 10 miles north of Copperas Cove on FM 116 near Pidcoke; 817/865-8002 — track, 817/547-6834 — office
San Angelo Texas Speedway (clay semi-banked oval); race type: IMCA division stock cars; directions: one mile west of US 277 on FM 2105; 915/655-1178 — track, 915/653-7030 — office
San Antonio Speedway (asphalt high-banked oval); race type: NASCAR, Winston Racing Series, Super Street stocks, Chargers, race trucks; directions: 3.5 miles south of I-410 on SR 16 (south side of San Antonio); 210/628-1499
Temple Dragway, Holland (concrete dragstrip); race type: IHRA division cars; directions: 6.8 miles south of US 190 on SR 95 (SE of Temple); 254/982-4512
Texas Dirt Speedway, San Antonio (black gumbo clay semi-banked oval); race type: IMCA division cars, stock cars; directions: 3.5 miles south of I410 on SR 16 (SE side of San Antonio); 210/628-4009
Texas Thunder Speedway, Killeen (dirt semi-banked oval); race type: IMCA division cars, Street, Mini, Thunder, Go Karts, Dwarf cars, U.S. 190 to SR 195, then 2.2 miles south to Stand Schlueter Loop, then 1.6 miles west. Phone: 254/628-2888 (track), 254/290-6262 (bus)
Thunder Hill Raceway, Kyle (asphalt semi-banked oval); race type: stock cars, race trucks; directions: I-35 south to exit 210, then north on east frontage rd.; (no phone number available)
Waco-Bellmead Raceway, Waco (clay high-banked oval); race type: IMCA division modified cars, stock cars; directions: 3.2 miles east of I-35 at exit 338-A on US 84, then one mile south on Shelby Lane; 254/867-1500
Wall Dragway, Wall, near San Angelo (dragstrip); race type: test & tune; directions: 12 miles southeast of San Angelo on US 87; 915/947-0588
For more information on race schedules, divisions, and results all around Texas and the U.S., check out: http://www.whowon.com —L.C.B.
Bouldering: Big Little People
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“Little routes for little people,” is how one mountaineering purist in Colorado describes bouldering, a contrivance of rock climbing. And in terms of cultural structure, it’s true that boulderers sport the big pants and boards among climbers, and may prefer Sunny Day over the Foo. It’s more mental and body technical — a severe gymnastic puzzle requiring overall gracefulness and good brain flow. A bouldering “problem” may mean 15 feet up and around the side of a rock to top out and then jump back to the ground where your pals are hanging out and waiting to try. Short it may be; easy it is not. Austin and the surrounding area has a fair amount of bouldering both inside and out, and due to its near gearlessness and sociability, bouldering can be ideal for climbing newbies. It has a purity and clean efficiency all its own determined by the following set of rules: You can definitely get high, if you want. Or not. You may not play drums or mourn Jerry. Bring your own Cordless crash-pad, shoes, and chalk bag. Bring an old toothbrush to clean holds. Spot others well. Do not give random beta , and do not spray. Do not bring newbies to everyone’s favorite spot (I’ve never been to Area 57; I don’t even know where it is, and I’ll bet I don’t get invited until I can flash V6). Don’t pay too much attention to the V rating. Do not chip holds. No contrivances on the rock, or at least make it interesting. Off the rock, follow natural lines. Congratulate your friends often. Share chalk and tape. You don’t have to share your Power Bar if you don’t want to. Be prepared for road trips at any time. —Louisa C. Brinsmade
Bouldering in Town
Austin Rock Gym, 4401 Freidrich Lane, Suite 300, 416-9299. Clean, padded, with A/C, lots of traversing, and variety of problems for all skill levels.
Greenbelt, “Enclave,” up a creek bed at the washed-out footbridge between Campbell’s Hole and New Wall. Bountiful and difficult, also slightly loose and dangerous.
Pseudo Rock indoor gym, 200 Trinity St., 474-4376. Downtown, lots of traversing.
10th Street bridge, under the bridges at Ninth and 10th near Lamar. Downtown, beautiful flagstone problems.
Zilker Parks Sunken Gardens, accessible from south side parking off Robert E. Lee. Vertical traversing on limestone walls, a little glossy from overuse.
Bouldering Out of Town:
Belton/Temple area, Rogers Park on FM 2483, (254) 939-1829, no entry fee. Limestone, some overhanging, big variety of problems.
Enchanted Rock State Natural Area, 16710 Ranch Rd. 965, Fredericksburg, TX 78624, 915/247-3903, $5 per person entry fee. Try Triple Crack, Lunch Rock, Buzzards Roost areas. —L.C.B.
Regressive Recreation: Come Out and Play
Although you justify your aversion to sports by citing the evils of the Nike corporation, you know deep down that the real roots of your alienation among the be-Spandex’d behemoths and throngs of thongs at the local gym is your cottage-cheese thighs and that pack-a-day habit. As we learned in the Eighties, such self-destructive behavior and feelings of low self-esteem stem from childhood, when the older kids ganged up on you, the neighborhood wimp, to inflict their peculiar, incisive brands of cruelty. And as we learned in the Nineties, everything retro is cool. Perhaps your first step on the road to proper circulation and cut thighs, then, is to re-create those epic adolescent struggles — revisit those intricately regulated tag games and dodge-ball variations. Here are a few ideas:
� Buns up. Whereas many kids’ games involve keeping the least-respected peer in the dehumanized “It” status as long as possible, in Buns Up, the punishment is overt. To play: Gather a group of friends at a racquetball court. Each person takes turns throwing a racquetball at the wall, then the same player must catch the ball with one hand before it bounces more than once. If the player misses or drops the ball, he must run to any wall and touch it before another player can retrieve the ball and chuck it at the wall. If the original thrower fails to reach the wall before the racquetball hits, he must assume the position (as if being frisked) and let the other player throw the ball at his butt.
� Kick the Can. In this politically charged individual-vs.-group struggle, one person is “It,” and the rest of the group scatters and hides. It has two methods of capture: seeing a player and calling out his name and where he’s hiding, or tagging someone en route to kicking over the empty coffee can (or similar object) that It is guarding. If a player kicks the can, they free the capturees, and It has to close his eyes and allow the liberated players to hide again. The prisoners can revolt and creatively facilitate can-kicking by free players (their own can-kicking days are over), as long as they stay within a predetermined radius of the can. When It wins by capturing everyone, the first capturee of that round becomes the new It.
� Laser Tag. The true beauty of laser tag is that God distributes natural laser tag skills in an utterly random manner — even if you go in thinking you have terrible aim, you could quickly end up being an awe-inspiring sniper in the tower or most-feared dogfighter, who makes opponents turn tail with every sighting. Rules and game types vary widely between laser tag facilities, but what most have in common is elaborate, multi-storied, black-lit, smoke-filled, mirror-walled, maze-like rooms and smart suits and phasers that send information on who you tag and who tags you to a central computer. You can pre-arrange team-style tournaments, show up without an appointment and get absorbed into existing teams, or play solo, every-tagger-for-himself games.
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Laser Tag |
� Sharks and Minnows. This pool game is a more cerebral and less alienating version of Marco Polo. The Shark stays in the pool; the Minnows line up outside and on the opposite end of the pool. The Shark picks a category (“The seven deadly sins,” say, or maybe “Eastern Seaboard states.”) Then the Minnows think of something within that category and silently stick with it (honor system applies). The Shark, eyes closed, starts naming items within the chosen category, and when a Minnow hears his thing called out, he must jump in the pool and try to reach the other side without the Shark tagging him. The first Minnow tagged becomes the new Shark. The strongest minnows choose the most obscure thing within the given category and can swim quickly and quietly.
The beautiful zing of a red rubber kickball sailing through the air can blow through years of accumulated cynicism. And remember the Internet is at your disposal to research the best way to throw a Wiffle ball. Just watch for cars and try to stay out of the neighbors’ yards, kids. —Kim Mellen
This article appears in July 2 • 1999 and July 2 • 1999 (Cover).