Hello friends — thanks for being here. I appreciate it.
Hometown Hero
Early November 1979
Manchester, New Hampshire
The local area was abuzz. Manchester hometown hero Mike Flanagan, a pitcher for the Baltimore Orioles, had just won that year’s Major League Baseball Cy Young Award.
On an early Saturday morning at Memorial High School, he was signing autographs for kids from the area.
I was four and a half years old, and I’d never met anyone famous before.
My dad drove me and my nine-year-old big brother, Matt.
“Can I tell him he’s my favorite player?” I asked my dad.
“Sure,” he responded.
“Isn’t Jim Rice your favorite player?” my brother asked, knowing the Red Sox left fielder was definitely my favorite.
“Yeah,” I said with a smile, “but not today.”
We pulled into the high school parking lot, already filled with cars.
Inside, a line snaked through the hallway leading into the library — dads and their sons clutching baseballs and worn leather gloves, waiting to be signed.
“Can we go to Dunkin’ Donuts when we’re done?” my brother asked my dad.
“Sure, Matt.”
“Can I get two donuts this time? I’m hungry.”
“Sure, Matt.”
After what felt like forever, it was finally our turn to meet Mike Flanagan. I was shocked when I saw him perk up upon seeing my dad.
“Coach Wade, so good to see you.”
“Congratulations, Mike.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“These are my sons, Matt and Adam.”
“Hi, guys.”
“Hi, Mr. Flanagan,” Matt and I said in unison. He had such a cool mustache and I thought he looked just like the actor Jan-Michael Vincent, from Disney’s The World's Greatest Athlete movie.
We both shook his hand. I noticed he was wearing Old Spice cologne — he smelled just like my dad.
He signed both of our baseballs, then waved over the event’s official photographer.
“Let’s get a photo of the three of us.”
I couldn’t believe it. This was really something. He hadn’t done that for anyone else.
Later, at Dunkin’ Donuts, we sat at the counter. My dad had a corn muffin and a coffee. Matt had two chocolate-frosted donuts and milk. I had three chocolate Munchkins and milk.
I stared at my autographed baseball.
Matt nudged me and said, “Wanna play catch when we get home?”
“Sure.”
My dad patted us both on the back.
“Boys, just make sure you don’t use your autographed baseballs to play catch. Those are special.”
Thanks for reading,
Adam