51s press box: 96 stories, no elevator

By Ron Kantowski

Wednesday, Aug. 5, 2009 | 4:05 p.m.

NOW

The best pleasures in life are the simple ones. I think, in fact, that's the 11th commandment. These would include a Las Vegas sunset, a cold beer on a hot day after mowing the lawn and Kevin Gregg only giving back three runs of the six he had to play with in the bottom of the ninth.

Similarly, if you ever find yourself stuck at Cashman Field two hours before the game starts or they tap the Budweiser kegs, head up to the press box -- don't worry, there's no security to prevent one from just walking in -- and find a seat at the first table in the breezeway, just in front of the big cooler.

From there, you'll be able to get a free hot dog before they begin to stew in that yellow-gray hot dog water and morph into something you would never, ever feed your dog.

Plus, it won't be long before Dick Calvert and Bob Blum arrive.

I should have mentioned that do not, under any circumstance, sit in the first seat on the aisle of the press box door side of the first table. That is Calvert's "office." The first seat on the aisle is to him what the men's restroom at Arnold's restaurant was to The Fonz. You sit in Calvert's seat, whoa. He's gonna let you hear about it.

Whenever I think of Calvert and Blum I think of the great Stan Musial, who once famously said after his playing days "I have a great job with the Cardinals, but don't ask me what I do."

Blum is the special assistant to the GM. I couldn't find what Calvert, the longtime public address voice of the UNLV Rebels, does for the 51s in the media guide. I think it has something to do with making sure the umpires know where the Gatorade is.

Calvert is 74 and looks 44. Blum is older than that and looks it.

I challenge you to find two better storytellers or name-droppers in Las Vegas.

When I arrived, they were talking about Robert Smith and UNLV's Hardway Eight and the late Glen Gondrezick and Al Capone and the son of the guy who kept his books, who shot down a bunch of Japanese Zeros in the war and wound up getting a famous airport named for him. That would be Lieutenant Commander Edward "Butch" O'Hare.

Before long, Jerry Reuss, the big left-hander, sidled up to talk 1960s' pop music, which, next to getting guys out in the major leagues from 1969-90, is his specialty.

Then Calvert and Blum dropped a few more names, some I hadn't heard in 20 years or more. Like Danny Thomas, for instance.

The next thing I knew, they were playing the national anthem and the hot dogs had turned yellow-gray.

THEN

Jerry Reuss pitched a no-hitter on July 27, 1980 for the Dodgers against the Giants in Candlestick Park. He was deprived of a perfect game when shortstop Bill Russell committed a throwing error in the first inning to allow the Giants' lone baserunner.

Of all the times we've spoken, he has never mentioned the no-hitter, or that Russell blew his perfecto.

On the other hand, when I was in high school I dated a girl who sort of looked like Ali MacGraw, a story I must have told a thousand times.