The television was tuned Sunday night, like it always is late at night, to ESPN’s SportsCenter to catch the latest scores and highlights. It’s always a chance to see how my fantasy baseball players are performing, a chance to catch the Mets lowlights and get my daily dose of the thing I’m most addicted to, namely sports.
However, last Sunday night, the focus changed from light-hearted, mindless entertainment to downright sadness and sympathy when a feature highlighted the physical and emotional demise of an old friend, Mike Norris.
You might remember Norris as a pitcher for the Oakland Athletics in the 1980s, perhaps the best starter on the Billy Martin-managed team that collected complete game after complete game while shocking the world and going from worst in the American League to first in a heartbeat.
That era dawned a new word, “Billyball,” which was the brand of brash baseball that the late Martin employed at that time. Using the speed of future Hall of Famer Rickey Henderson and the rubber-armed five-man rotation that never left the mound, Martin manufactured plenty of wins and earned two divisional titles during the early 1980s.
Norris had a wonderful year in 1980, winning 22 games and losing nine, posting a 2.53 earned run average and leading the American League with an astounding 24 complete games. Norris threw an ungodly 284 innings that year, finishing second in the AL Cy Young Award voting to Baltimore’s Steve Stone.
However, just two years prior to becoming one of the best pitchers in the American League, Norris was a pitcher in the minor leagues with the Jersey Indians of the Eastern League, playing its home games at the since-razed Roosevelt Stadium (at the site where the current Society Hill housing development now stands).
Ironically, Norris was a teammate and roommate of Henderson, who also played on that team. Henderson and Norris shared an apartment on Duncan Avenue with two other players, both of whom had cups of coffee in the major leagues, namely Ray Cosey and Darrell Woodard.
In 1978, Norris was relegated to his assignment in Class AA, which was the affiliation in Jersey City. He already had some success in the big leagues, winning games with the A’s in 1975 as a 20-year-old and in 1976, when he was being groomed as the A’s right-handed version of All-Star Vida Blue.
But then Norris had some shoulder problems and he couldn’t regain the form that got him to the big leagues at such an early age. He appeared to be a player on the way down when he arrived in Jersey City.
One might think that a player on the decline would be surly and nasty, angry about his fate. Norris was the complete opposite. I got to know Norris very well, because I worked for the team in a variety of capacities, from official scorer, public address announcer and public relations coordinator – all while I was still attending high school.
Norris was an engaging character, full of fun and life. I vividly remember him putting straw under his hat and uniform shirt, stuffed to make him look like a big, fat scarecrow and dancing around the first base coaching box to John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy.” The first time I witnessed Norris doing that dance, I couldn’t announce the next batter because I was laughing so hard.
When we traveled on the road Norris was always good for a story or two, because he had spent some time in the big leagues. His biggest contribution was doing the exact impersonations of big league superstars and what they did when they came up to the plate. I remember a rainy July 4 in a Holyoke, Mass. hotel room, waiting to see if the game that day was going to be postponed, and Norris was in my room swinging the bat the same way Reggie Jackson, Willie Stargell and Willie Montanez did. It was priceless.
He never once treated me like I was a kid. He was always funny, laughing and took care of me every time I gave him a ride back to his apartment. I can’t say the same about the current member of the Newark Bears.
When Norris got called up to the major leagues later that year, he told me to make sure to give him a call, that he would leave me tickets whenever he was in town. When he came to Yankee Stadium, he left me at least two tickets. When he came to Milwaukee, where I went to college, he left me about 15 tickets, so I could bring all of my college friends.
I’ll never forget in 1979, when Henderson and Norris were with the A’s, I told my friends in college that I personally knew two major leaguers. They weren’t that impressed, because in 1979, Henderson was a rookie and Norris was a pitcher with a 5-8 record.
However, a year later, Henderson was breaking the modern stolen base record and Norris won 22 games, so everyone at Marquette wanted to know if I could introduce them to the All-Stars..
In 1983, when I finally became a sportswriter, Norris was already dealing with his share of troubles, both on and off the field. He had another shoulder surgery and was dealing with his demons, namely drug addiction. Norris was suspended from baseball for a month for testing positive for cocaine use in 1983 and was gone from baseball later that year.
However, he made a triumphant return in 1990, making a comeback that eventually brought him back to the A’s. He was apparently clean and sober, ready to give it one last try at age 35. He pitched 14 games that year for the A’s, winning one game, posting an ERA of 3.00 in 27 innings as a reliever. But he was released by the A’s before the season ended and he was never to play baseball again.
I went to Yankee Stadium that year to write a story about his comeback. It was a happy reunion, 12 years after I drove him home in my 1976 AMC Pacer. We were happy to reminisce and he opened up to me about the things he had done wrong in his life.
Sure enough, it was the last time I spoke with my friend. Once he was out of baseball, he fell back into his old habits and was bouncing around the streets of Oakland.
I hadn’t heard much about Norris until last Sunday, when the feature appeared on ESPN. I knew he had medical problems, because Henderson told me that last year when Rickey made his comeback with the Newark Bears. But I never realized how serious the problems were.
Norris had a disease that caused nerve damage to his back. He is virtually paralyzed in his right leg and has very little movement in his left leg. He became a total recluse, until former A’s teammate Claudell Washington helped Norris to get some medical treatment and therapy to help him walk, as limited as it is.
It was sad to see my old friend walking with a cane, slowing maneuvering in the same fashion that stroke victims or those with paralyzing injuries walk. But throughout the entire piece, there was one theme. Don’t feel sorry for Norris. He’s smiling, he’s alive, he’s happy. He’s enjoying life with his daughter for the first time and he’s getting around enough to play golf again.
Typical Norris, making me smile once again in the light of tragedy.
I’d do anything to see him dance with the straw in his hat and belly to John Denver just one more time again.