At Wednesday’s Hot Stove we had a second guest: Greg Curry, former FSU Seminole and brother of former Red Sox pitcher Steve Curry (above). Greg and Steve grew up in Florida playing baseball. Steve was a natural, signing with Manatee Junior college as a 6’3” flamethrower. He quickly grew four inches and was drafted by the Red Sox. I recognized his baseball card from the late 1980’s.
Unlike his brother, Greg had to work at baseball. At 13 he quit, but returned to lead his team in hitting as a senior. After a stint in the army Greg joined an amateur team, enrolled at a junior college, and eventually walked on at FSU in 1988. One of dozens at a tryout, Greg gained notice by slugging four home runs. Then his luck ran out: a pulled hamstring, plus an injury from a car wreck.
Later Greg traveled to Virginia to join a wood bat league, where his bat eventually earned him playing time. The team was loaded with Puerto Ricans who spoke little English. They wanted fish, so Greg bought them generic tuna-flavored cat food. When they discovered his prank they screamed “You feed me meow meow!”
Later Greg traveled to Virginia to join a wood bat league, where his bat eventually earned him playing time. The team was loaded with Puerto Ricans who spoke little English. They wanted fish, so Greg bought them generic tuna-flavored cat food. When they discovered his prank they screamed “You feed me meow meow!”
Greg fell victim to the old Sluggo’s Lift prank, where three players lay on the ground with interlocked arms, and those watching poured junk on the helpless rube in the middle. Wanting payback Greg later instigated the prank, participating as one the outside men – but it backfired when the team still poured the junk on Greg.
Steve’s career took off, climbing the ranks from Elmira, Winter Haven, and Pawtucket. Oftentimes Greg had to keep his brother focused. Finding him fishing thirty minutes before a start, Greg drug Steve to the ballpark all dirty and smelling of fish. Steve went out and threw a no hitter. “I guess I did ok” he muttered.
Once Steve picked up Greg at the Boston airport. Riding to the park, Greg spotted a piece of paper on the floor of the car – a undeposited $7,000.00 check from Topps. Greg: “Steve! What’s the deal?” Steve: “Guess I ought to put that in the bank, huh?” Greg had to follow Steve into the Fenway Park players entrance, a single file gauntlet past dozens of autograph seekers. When Greg wouldn’t sign the fans complained, so to appease the faithful he started autographing. Once Greg had to park Jim Rice’s Jaguar.
In his MLB debut Steve loaded the bases but worked his way out of it, drawing cheers from the Fenway crowd. His career lasted twelve years, eventually bouncing around to the Indians, Royals, Mexico, and overseas – where he missed the birth of his second child. Steve developed a bone spur and was treated by Dr. James Andrews. These days he’s working as a journeyman pipefitter in Ohio.
Greg now lives north of Atlanta and works for Verizon. Wednesday he crossed paths with Tom Glavine at Lifetime Fitness on Windward Parkway.
No comments:
Post a Comment