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Sunday, December 31, 2000

In memory of Morris


Hal Morris was more than just a pretty good player; he was a great guy who deserved a proper sendoff from Cincinnati

By CHRIS HAFT
The Cincinnati Enquirer

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Morris
        Among the regrets of the 2000 baseball season was the failure to bid Hal Morris a proper goodbye.

        Morris made a dizzyingly hasty departure to the Detroit Tigers on July 18. Not only did the Reds discard him in the middle of the season, but they also did it in the middle of a game. It was comical to see Morris standing in the bowels of Comerica Park, still wearing his Reds uniform while clutching a Tigers refrigerator-magnet schedule as if it were a map.

        Comical, but also kind of sad. Though Morris had ceased being productive on an everyday basis, he was deeply woven into the Reds' fabric — the type of player who helps give a team an identity.

        Obligated to explain hits, runs and errors, baseball writers often neglect laughs, souls and character, which offer much better stories. So here, before the year ends, is a belated tribute to William Harold Morris, professional ballplayer and consummate gentleman.

        Morris was smart, which alone distinguished him from most clubhouse dwellers. “Our team I.Q. just went way down,” right-hander Scott Williamson said after Morris was sold to Detroit.

        Williamson was among a handful of Reds who huddled with Morris to solve the daily mysteries of crossword puzzles. Though I wasn't privy to these mental gymnastics, Morris' handy vocabulary was evident.

        “You're looking very erudite today, Butch,” Morris told Reds publicity director Rob Butcher, who was sporting new eyeglasses one afternoon. Another day, Morris addressed the dangers of becoming a “pariah.” Must have been some sort of umpire.

        Sometimes Morris conveyed his intelligence not with what he said, but the way he said it. “It was (ITAL)sheer folly(END ITAL) to think I could come back so soon,” he said several years ago, criticizing himself for returning prematurely from a hamstring injury and aggravating it.

        Don't think for a second that Morris' brains made him a misfit — or, as he might say, a pariah. He exuded baseball as much as Wrigley Field's ivy.

        After three years of covering the Bengals, I returned to the Reds beat following the 1998 NFL season. Yet after a month and a half of covering off-season transactions and three weeks of spring training, I didn't feel like I was truly back in baseball until the Reds played an otherwise forgettable exhibition game at Dunedin, Fla., in early March. That morning, another reporter and I happened to be standing next to Morris, who spontaneously began a 10-minute monologue of Lou Piniella stories that rivaled any stand-up comic's best material. That stuff never happened on the pro football beat.

        This past spring, I paused at Morris' locker as a nearby television relayed news about the deliberations of the Hall of Fame's Veterans Committee. We then spent a half-hour discussing Hall of Fame criteria and whether certain recent stars deserved enshrinement. Morris truly cared about the game and its greatness more than most players.

        Morris also seemed to sense that he was part of something bigger, unlike others who believe the game revolves around them. I think this is why he appeared almost embarrassed by the ovations he received with nearly every plate appearance at Cinergy Field the last two years. He didn't like drawing extraordinary attention to himself.

        But he has. Reds fans will remember Hal Morris for many reasons. He was a link to the 1990 World Championship team. It was neat to watch him fling away his chewing gum as he strode to the batter's box, then keep moving by shuffling his feet in his unorthodox fashion as the pitch approached. He played first base with obvious enthusiasm and remained gracious in public. Officially, he wasn't an All-Star, but he seemed like one to a lot of people.

       



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