Saturday, March 29, 2014
Baseball autographs, for example, Mariano Rivera's-NY Times, Kepner
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3/28/14, "In an Era of Squiggles, You Can’t Tell the Players Without a Handwriting Analyst," NY Times, Tyler Kepner
3/28/14, "In an Era of Squiggles, You Can’t Tell the Players Without a Handwriting Analyst," NY Times, Tyler Kepner
"The
walls of the steakhouse at Yankee Stadium are decorated with signatures
of past Yankee greats. David Robertson, the team’s young closer,
marvels at the fact that he can read the names.
“All the old-time autographs are really neat,” Robertson said. “It’s a lost art.”
Robertson,
28, is the heir to the retired Mariano Rivera, who leaves behind a
legacy of brilliance in the bullpen and precision with a pen. Rivera may
have spent more time on his signature than any of his peers,
meticulously crafting his M’s and R’s and all the lowercase letters that
followed.
Few
modern players take similar care. In the last generation or so, the
classic script of Babe Ruth, Harmon Killebrew and Rivera has largely
deteriorated into a mess of squiggles and personal branding.
It
is not just baseball, of course. The legible signature, once an
indelible mark of personal identity, is increasingly rare in modern
life. From President Obama, who sometimes uses an autopen, to patrons at
a restaurant, few take the time to carefully sign their names.
Baseball
fans still clamor for autographs — as keepsakes, commodities or both.
But today’s treasures have little of the elegance of those that came
before. A recognizable signature, let alone an artful one, now seems as
quaint as a Sunday doubleheader.
“Fans
say, ‘Can you put your number on there?' ” said Javier Lopez, a
reliever for the San Francisco Giants. “Because there’s no chance they
can read them.”
Curtis
Granderson, a veteran Mets outfielder, said he used to write his name
neatly. But as a young player, he often found himself with hundreds of
items to sign at a time — for memorabilia companies, for his team, for
fans.
For a person with a 10-letter last name, it was overwhelming.
“As
you’re sitting there signing, your thought process is, ‘How do I get
out of here as quick as possible?' ” Granderson said. “That’s how things
start to shorten and shorten and shorten. And that translates to, ‘Hey,
I’m down by the bullpen signing, I need to get to the dugout, I’ve got
five minutes — how can I get through as fast as I can and still make
everybody happy?’”
Granderson added: “A lot of people just want the fact that you signed it. They really don’t care how it looks.”
If
they do care, fans of Carlos Gonzalez, Cliff Lee, Tim Lincecum and
other prime offenders will be disappointed. Toronto’s R. A. Dickey, a
former Cy Young Award winner, said he had a neat version he might use in
a private setting. But at the ballpark, he said, he makes two
discernible letters and moves down the line.
Washington
reliever Drew Storen, 26, said he could rarely read the autographs he
collected growing up. Now his signature looks more like a butterfly than
a name.
“I
put my number on it, usually, but I think of it as a design,” Storen
said. “I challenge people to try to do it, to see if they can, but it’s
just autopilot for me, like, ‘Boom.’ It looks cool. It’s like your own
little logo, because most of the time you’re signing a card, so they
know who it’s supposed to be.”
Some
players, like Brett Gardner, Manny Machado and Mike Trout, offer little
more than initials. Even Jackie Bradley Jr., a Boston prospect who
usually writes out each letter, can lapse into the habit. He once signed
for Scott Mortimer, a fan and avid collector from Merrimack, N.H., with
a simple “JBJ.”
Mortimer,
43, said he was not very choosy; he just enjoys the pursuit and the
experience. But he also has a signature on nearly every card in the 1983
Fleer set and can say with authority that times have changed.
“You
can make out the names of everyone,” he said, referring to the players
from 1983. “Bob Forsch had a great signature. Even Pete Vuckovich, he’s
notoriously grumpy about autographs, but you can read his signature.
Ozzie Smith signed nicely. Rollie Fingers’s is like artwork. Don Sutton
always signs big. Carl Yastrzemski’s got that cool, looping Y. You can
almost go through the entire Hall of Fame, and they all had nice
signatures.”
Kate
Gladstone, a handwriting instructor from Albany and the director of the
World Handwriting Contest, said Ruth had a model signature. Ruth
attended St. Mary’s Industrial School for Boys, a Baltimore orphanage
and boarding school where a scribbled name, Gladstone guessed, would not
have been tolerated.
Whatever
players’ upbringing, signatures mostly stayed legible for decades. Even
after Depression-era budget cuts de-emphasized handwriting in schools,
Gladstone said, people born in the 1940s, ‘50s and early ‘60s tended to
be taught by well-trained instructors.
Today’s
players, many born in the 1980s, were not. Children learned print and
cursive then, as now, but handwriting was generally less of a priority
in curriculums.
“In
the ‘80s, we started to have people basically say, ‘Oh, handwriting’s
not important, because in five or 10 years everything in the world will
be computerized,' ” Gladstone said. “But I don’t think we’re yet at the
stage of typing our names onto baseballs.”
Players
with clean signatures often cite an instructor or relative as their
inspiration. For Robertson, it was his grandmother, Martha Robertson,
who implored him to sign his full name, instead of “DRob,” when he
reached the major leagues in 2008. For Andre Dawson, a Hall of Fame
outfielder who played from 1976 to 1996, it was his aunt and first-grade
teacher, Alice Daniels, who kept him after school to practice on a
chalkboard.
“I
thought it was punishment,” said Dawson, whose graceful script starts
in a loop and ends in a tail, with stylized D’s in between. “But from
that point, I always took pride in it. I get compliments about my
penmanship, and I never took it for granted.”
Killebrew,
a Hall of Famer who played from 1954 to 1975, mostly for the Minnesota
Twins, was considered the dean of the dignified autograph. After he died
in 2011, the Twins honored him by recreating his signature across the
right-field wall at Target Field.
When
young Twins players signed baseballs, Killebrew watched closely, said
Tom Kelly, a former manager of the team. If their penmanship did not
meet his standards, he corrected them until it did.
“I
had a swerve like everybody else — a T and a line, a dot dot, an H and a
line, and something like a t,” said Torii Hunter, a veteran outfielder
who now plays for Detroit.
But, he added, Killebrew told him a story.
“Think
about this: 150 years from now, you’re dead and gone, and kids are
playing in a field,” Hunter recalled Killebrew saying. “A kid hits a
home run, hits the ball in the weeds — far. They’re looking for the
ball, they find it, and it says, ‘T, line, dot dot, H.’ They don’t know
who it is. They’re like, ‘Oh, we found another ball to play with,’
because they can’t read it.
“But
just rewind that. A kid hits a ball, hits it in the weeds, they’re
looking for it, they pick it up and they can read it. It says,
‘T-o-r-i-i H-u-n-t-e-r.’ And they’re like, ‘Wow.’ So they go and look it
up and they see this guy was a pretty good player, and they put it on
the mantel and cherish it.”
Killebrew said, “You didn’t play this long for somebody to destroy your name,” Hunter recalled.
In
a sea of puzzling loops and lines, it is no coincidence that former
Twins like Hunter, Michael Cuddyer, LaTroy Hawkins and Johan Santana now
have some of the smoothest signatures in baseball.
Pat
Neshek, a former Twin who now pitches for St. Louis, collects
autographs and tries to make his special, like Tug McGraw, the former
reliever who drew a smiley face next to his name. Inside the loop of his
P, Neshek sketches the seams of a baseball.
When
he played for Oakland, Neshek said, he admonished teammates to write
legibly, the way the old players did. Sometimes they even complied.
“You’ve
got to tell some guys, ‘Hey, your autograph stinks; give me your good
one,' ” Neshek said. “And then you’ll have the only good one they ever
did.”" images from NY Times
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