Cookie
Back in the sun-soaked days of the summer of 1976, maybe 1977, I was 8 years old and had just started playing baseball, and really started to like the game. That summer, I also started to collect baseball cards, too, but more about that later. While I really liked this game of throwing and batting and catching, my baseball knowledge was minimal, at best - its rules, its strategies, its history, its players. So along with my general lack of understanding the game, my recognition of any baseball player themselves wasn’t all that great either. Back then, it wasn’t like today where you can scan the Internet and watch videos to get to know star players from teams and leagues all over the country before they’re even on a Major League roster.
Now time has passed, and I can hardly remember what I did or said yesterday, but for some reason I remember being in San Francisco that summer with my folks. My dad was in the menswear business and we must have been in the Bay Area on a buying trip for his men’s store, and we had caught a train up the Pacific Coast from Union Station in Los Angeles, along the edges of the ocean, to San Francisco. Everything out the window was so big and so new to me from my seat on the train, like some of the baseball cards I held in my hands and read over and over to pass time as we traveled.
On that trip, I can remember being with my parents and sister in a huge warehouse in the garment district. Dad was somewhere doing what he did, probably looking at fabric swatches or a line of clothes he was considering for the shop, while Mom was taking care of me and my younger sister, keeping us out of his way. Being a kid, the waiting for Dad to finish his work was tough; I wanted him to be done so we could move on to the next place and the next thing. While trying to be patient with my mom and sister, a group of three or four men appeared where we were seated. There were a couple of big dudes - I couldn’t tell you who they were - but I knew they weren’t regular Joe’s just because of their size and the way they walked. But I didn’t get a sense they were dangerous in any way because there was another one with them and he was just this tiny, bespectacled fella - he barely seemed bigger than me. When I reminisce about it now, I’m fairly certain the four of these guys had arrived at that warehouse to get custom-fitted for some suits.
Like I said, I had no idea who these cats were, but it WAS the 70’s, and they looked pretty sharp with the way they were dressed. Myself, I’m pretty sure I had plaid on somewhere. A couple of the guys were greeted by someone, and then the three of them disappeared into the factory. I must’ve been in an office or big room of some kind with my mom, waiting. The guy with the glasses didn’t go off with the others into the warehouse, instead standing around with the fourth guy, until he came over and started talking with me: small talk, finding out about me, the kid waiting around for his Dad.
As he was talking with me, I remember him asking if I liked baseball. He then asked me my name, and I responded. He kinda broke the ice, and then said, “Hi Jason, I’m Cookie. Cookie Rojas. I play baseball.” I remember shaking his hand, even though I had no idea who this guy was. For the next little bit, Cookie and the other guy were talking baseball with me. They sat there and could’ve told me that the moon was made of green cheese and I would’ve believed them. They didn’t stay too long, maybe ten minutes at most, as they got up to go into the factory where the other two guys were. In hindsight, those two big guys must have been ballplayers, too.
After Cookie and the other guy joined the other two, my dad came back from his work off in the factory, and I remember telling him about this baseball player I had just met, and the other guys he was with. A guy from the warehouse who was with my dad told us those fellas were big league players from the Kansas City Royals and that they were in town to play the Oakland A’s, and they were there buying some clothes.
Now I never saw Cookie Rojas again after that day in San Francisco, but I was a 100% certified Cookie Rojas fan. Over the years, I spent a ton of spare change on those old, wax packs of baseball cards, tossing aside the piece of gum and hurriedly flipping through the cards, hoping I might come across Rojas’ face on one of them. I don’t think he played too many more seasons after I had bumped into him that one day, and growing up where I did, I never had a chance to see the Kansas City Royals play, as they were a mid-western team mainly out of our regional TV coverage. But I was a fan of the little guy with glasses all the same. I had a connection. I’m sure it meant more to me than it ever did to him, but that hook was set: Cookie Rojas of the Kansas City Royals was the greatest ballplayer I knew. Just like kids today who might be lucky enough to randomly meet and interact with a player and become a lifelong fan, that happened to me that day, too.
Years later, after his playing career was over, Rojas became a member of the coaching staff for the Class-A Palm Springs Angels. One afternoon, probably in the fall of 1987, I went out to the baseball field at College of the Desert to check out the squad. I was going to school at the time, but no longer playing baseball. While I was at the park talking with some of the guys, I happened to strike up a brief conversation with a guy I didn’t know, but who was on the team. Turned out, it was Cookie’s son, Victor. I never shared the details of meeting his dad to him that day. Actually, I had forgotten about it. I don’t think I even made the connection.
I had forgotten about that chance meeting until recently, when I saw Victor share a post on social media with his dad, and his description of his love and affection for him, that the clouds and fog of that day lifted, and the memory of that day re-surfaced. Victor Rojas’ post made me stop and think about that day, so long ago, when I was just a young kid and met and talked with Cookie Rojas, the big league ballplayer, who was waiting around to buy some clothes, but might have been missing his family, including his young son, and found it in his heart to take the time to talk with me, just a kid about his son’s age. Maybe, I’ll never really know, but I’ll just go with that. I shared this story with Victor not too long ago. I guess I never realized how meaningful that day was until all these years later. Now, thinking about it again, I’m an even bigger fan of Cookie Rojas. Thanks, Cookie.
Article from Jason Beck, Top Fan Rivalry Contributor