I normally don't get all teary-eyed over baseball anniversaries, because I save it for my annual viewing of Ken Burns' Baseball. But, today being "Cowhide" Kelp Johnsonians' twentieth rolling over in the grave, combined with the fact that jock itch has pretty much been eradicated from the planet, I just have been feeling that mix of blue and wacky all day. I'll admit it, I miss Kelp. He was not just a great player, but was a great insane man.

I mean who else, but Kelp, had back-to-back inside-the-park bunt home-runs? Who else herded and slaughtered his own cattle to ensure a stiff yet supple glove? Who else was not only a master grounds-keeper but could also explain the Brownian Motion of his knuckleball? Don't answer. I know the answer. Ripple-faced, limp-legged Kelp.

Only Kelp would dare you to love the game more than he did. Only Kelp would call for the 7th Inning Stretch of the Imagination. Only Kelp would have the largest collection of beach balls that accidently made it onto the field of play such that play was halted during a World Series seventh game.

When I got home from work, I was flipping through the Baseball Encyclopedia and it brought back some memories. I had forgotten that Kelp was the only player to pitch, to bat, and to umpire. Yes, on July 30, 1976 in Baltimore he impersonated an umpire. His longtime rival was making a bid at Kelp's "strike-outs during a solar eclipse" record. Kelp gave out lots of bases on balls that day and latter in the week when he was exposed by a reporter, he explained: "I don't mind losing the record, just not on my mother's birthday."

Kelp was loyal that way. And, his mother and his other couple of fans loved him back all the more. He would get to you. He got to me. I was lucky enough to be at the game in Arlington, Texas when he pitched a shutout against those bastards, the Royals. He looked buff and mighty on the mound that night. And who can forget, with just one more out to go, he produced a puppy from beneath his jersey and presented it to a young fan in the front row. He had the whole stadium bawling, including the Royal's clean-up hitter who proceeded to swing three times lamely, tears in eyes and lump in throat.

Kelp was a fierce competitor with that madman edge. Kelp once had a bat made out of rare and brittle type of balsa wood. The bat exploded upon contact with the baseball. The catcher left the game with 50 toothpicks in his face. Oh, the Cowhide Brand! That Kelpian Insanity! Kelp once told a reporter he would slide head first into third base because he always pictured it to be a naked young woman with her legs wide open. Which might not only explain all of the triples, but also the chatter of the little league kids: "Batter-batter-schwing!"

Sure, he was a silly madman, a baseball evil genius, and a bastard low-life drunk grounds-keeper licking life's spitball with his own tongue... but Kelp had no qualms about winning. He was a great near-champion. It is said by his teammates that Kelps' thirst for winning was mightier than his thirst for a Banana Daiquiri.

Kelp got his start in the minor leagues, as a regular caller to a local sports radio show. Kelp complained so much about the hometown team that the host of the show finally said to Kelp, "Sisu or tissu! Do you think you can do any better?" And so what started out to be the radio promotion dare of the decade, turned out to be start of an not-so-quite Hall of Fame career.

Some say, if Kelp had ever bothered to tie his shoelaces, he would have been bronzed and placed along side the Legends. But, regardless, he was the only player to ever stub a toe on homeplate and go on the 15-day disabled list, his baseball card is still worth well over $3.52, and he taught me that life is baseball and baseball is insane.

I know it is unpopular to be a "Cowhide" fan. After all, wasn't it Kelp that said, "They call the damn umpires umpires, because 'Dumb Fuck' is reserved for the fans." But, I've got a theory going that he considered himself the biggest fan of the past-time ever. Why else would he have spiked himself to death on that day today twenty years ago? Perhaps he just liked all things to do with corks, logically putting wine bottles and baseballs at the top of the list.

Here I am living amongst the "primitives" and adopting their ways. One of the really basic problems with this is that I am finding myself starting to like beer and their dumb jokes.

The most difficult problem is what sociologists call culture and what bagboys call mold.

The norms, values, ideas, and ways of doing things in a particular society are funner than a six pack and a Sex Pistols record.

All means of communication, art, material things and objects that a society has in common are all pretty nifty once you get a handle on the volume knob of your amp.