If there is one objetivo primario in the media business, a singular Holy Grail sought by newspapers, magazines, television and internet communications mavens, it’s the discovery of The Next Big Thing. In April of 1985, Sports Illustrated seemed to have found it. George Plimpton, a highly respected writer and journalist reported in SI that Hayden “Sidd” Finch, a recently signed New York Mets rookie pitcher, could throw a baseball faster than anyone in the history of the sport. Way faster. For the non-athletically inclined, all records in sports are achieved incrementally. Baby steps. If the record for the 100-yard dash is 9.58 seconds, it will probably be superseded by a time of 9.57. When Roger Bannister ran the first sub-four minute mile, his time was 3:59.4. There have been major league baseball hurlers able to zip the spheroid in at speeds approaching 104 miles per hour. What Finch was alleged to be doing was preposterous.
Moreover, the new phenom had a colorful history and an unconventional lifestyle, not unlike storied pitchers of the past in fact and fiction, like Nuke LaLoosh, the zany hotshot in Bull Durham. According to Plimpton, Finch grew up in an English orphanage and was adopted by an archaeologist who later died in a plane crash in Nepal. After briefly attending Harvard, Sidd went to Tibet to learn “yogic mastery of mind and body” under the great poet-saint Lama Milaraspa, and this was the source of his pitching prowess. Finch was not interested in baseball at this time, expecting to wind up “playing the French horn or golf or something” before eventually changing course. The magazine article was accompanied by photos of Finch with Mets center-fielder Lenny Dykstra and pitching coach Mel Stottlemyre. The team appropriately gave Finch a locker between stars George Foster and Darryl Strawberry.
It was Lenny Dykstra who amazed the public and whetted Mets’ fans appetites when he claimed he had once turned up the dials which controlled the motors of the team’s pitching machines and the baseballs whizzed out at 106-mph, the highest velocity pitches he had ever seen. Sidd Finch’s fastball, said Lenny, was tons faster than that. The fastest projectile ever measured by the extremely accurate JUGS machine was tennis player Roscoe Tanner’s 153 mph serve. The Mets allegedly brought out a JUGS Supergun II, which looks like something Buck Rogers might have used….big snout, about five pounds….which is pointed at the pitcher from behind the catcher. On March 17, Mel Stottlemyre was handling the gun when Finch let his fastball go. The astonishing figure of 168 mph appeared on the glass plate, which should have alerted any sane baseball fan that something foul was afoot. Then, as the sports world was going absolutely crazy, Finch announced his retirement at an April 2 press conference. It was about this time a few savvy readers noticed that the subhead of the Sports Illustrated article read “He’s a pitcher, part yogi and part recluse. Impressively liberated from our opulent life-style. Sidd’s deciding about yoga---and his future in baseball.” The first letters of each word conspire to spell out “Happy April Fools’ Day.”
Siddhartha Finch turned out to be Joe Berton, a junior high art teacher from Oak Park, Illinois, who stood 6-4 and wore a size-14 shoe. But even when SI admitted the fraud, jazzed-up Mets’ fans refused to believe Finch didn’t exist. They weren’t the only ones. The St. Petersburg Times sent a reporter to find the now-retired pitcher and a radio talk show host swore to his audience he had seen Finch pitch. On eventually accepting the bad news, many fans were furious with the magazine for getting their hopes up. The chastened sports mag promised to never do it again. Even now, however, some people just can’t let Sidd go. On August 26, 2015, the Brooklyn Cyclones baseball club offered a Sid Finch bobblehead give-away for the thirtieth anniversary of the hoax. Joe Berton attended the event and signed autographs on the dolls, which showed Finch in a Cyclones uniform with a French horn and one bare foot. George Plimpton had died, so his son Taylor threw out the first pitch.
Ah, baseball! Is there anyplace else you might convince the rabid fandom to believe that a phony superstar with an unbelievable talent is on his way to save the day? Okay, except for a Trump rally.
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| Sidd Finch unleashing a rocketball. |
April Eurofoolishness
On April 1, 1957, the BBC TV show Panorama ran a segment about the Swiss spaghetti harvest enjoying a bumper year thanks to mild weather and the elimination of the dreaded spaghetti weevil. Television was new in those days and it never occurred to those serious Brits that Auntie Beeb would pull a fast one. The story was ranked the No. 1 April Fools’ hoax of all time by the Museum of Hoaxes website. Not to be outdone by its European rivals, the Swedish National Network put a technical expert on the air who advised the public that black-and-white broadcasts could be seen in color when viewed through nylon stockings.
In 1976, the BBC aired an interview with an astronomer in which he told listeners that at precisely 9:47 a.m. the planets Jupiter and Pluto would be in a rare alignment that would briefly diminish the Earth’s gravity. He further explained that by leaping into the air at that exact moment a person would experience a fantastic floating sensation. Hundreds of leapers called in to say they felt it.
Everybody knows that pilots can be wild and crazy guys. In 1915, a French World War I pilot flew over the German lines and dropped what looked like a monster bomb. The German soldiers scattered yelping but nothing happened. Eventually, they slithered over to the phony bomb and saw that a note was attached. “Gotcha!” it smirked. “April Fool!” Who said war is never any fun?
What’s It All About, Tammy?
Nobody is exactly sure but the speculation is that April Fools Day traces back to 1582, when France made the move from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian alternative. The change by Pope Gregory XIII moved the start of the new year from the end of March to January 1, making “fools” of those still using the original calendar. Late night TV hosts began teasing those who refused to make the move, playing pranks on the fools who still were on old calendar time. By the 1700s, English pranksters popularized the tradition of April Fools by playing tricks on what was then referred to as All Fools Day. Over time, some of these ruses have become extravagant.
On April 1, 1977, The Guardian published a special seven-page supplement devoted to San Serriffe, a small republic said to consist of several colon-shaped islands located in the Indian Ocean. A series of articles described the geography and culture of the obscure nation. Its two main islands were named Upper Caisse and, of course, Lower Caisse. Its capital was Bodoni and its leader was General Pica. The Guardian’s phone rang all day as readers sought more information about the idyllic holiday spot. Only a few wary newspapermen noticed that everything about the island was named after type faces or some other print terminology. The great success of this hoax is widely credited with launching the enthusiasm for April Foolery that gripped the British tabloids in subsequent decades. While many of you out there may give this only grudging appreciation, we journalists think it’s just hilarious. But then again, we’re a sick bunch.
What A Dick!
On March 31, 1989, thousands of motorists driving on a highway outside London looked up in the air to see a glowing UFO descending on their city. Oh-oh, is this the end? Traffic pulled to the sides of the road to watch the bizarre craft float silently through the air. The flying saucer finally landed in a field on the outskirts of London where local residents called the police to warn them of the alien invasion, as if that would do any good.
When police arrived, they were none too eager to accost the saucermen. A solitary officer eased up to the disc, truncheon extended before him. When the door in the craft opened and a silver-suited figure emerged, the cop ran lickety-split in the opposite direction. But he needn’t have worried. It was only silly old Richard Branson in a hot-air balloon decked out to look like an interplanetary vehicle. Branson’s original plan was to land the craft in London’s Hyde Park in time for April Fools Day, but an errant wind blew him off course and he was forced to land a day in advance in the wrong location. Come on, Richard! Nobody appreciates guests who show up 24 hours too early.
And speaking of Richards, on April 1, 1992, National Public Radio show Talk of the Nation advised that Richard Nixon was a surprise candidate for President yet again. His new campaign slogan would be, “I didn’t do anything wrong and I won’t do it again.” Accompanying the announcement were audio clips of Nixon delivering his candidacy speech. Listeners went nuts over the announcement, flooding the airways with shock and outrage. Finally, on the second half of the show, host John Hockenberry revealed that the announcement was false. Nixon’s voice was cleverly impersonated by comedian Rich Little, whose mother gave him a serious spanking as soon as he got home.
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| THE WASPS ARE COMING! THE WASPS ARE COMING! |
Close The Door, They’re Coming In The Windows!
On April 1, 1949, New Zealand DJ Phil Stone of radio station 1ZB warned his listeners that a mile-high wasp swarm was headed toward Auckland and protective measures should be taken immediately. Stone suggested residents wear their socks over their trousers when they left for work and leave honey-smeared traps outside their doors. The citizens of Auckland dutifully heeded his advice as widespread panic grew. The clamor was so great that Stone was prematurely forced to admit the whole thing was a big joke. Several irate New Zealanders demanded Stone come right over and iron their pants.
The April 1995 issue of Discover magazine reported that biologist Dr. Aprile Pazzo had found a new species in Antarctica---the hotheaded naked ice borer. These fascinating creatures had bony plates on their heads fed by numerous blood vessels that could become burning hot, allowing the animals to bore through the ice at high speeds. They used this intriguing ability to hunt penguins, melting the ice beneath their flippers and causing them to sink into the resulting slush, where the hotheads promptly consumed them. After much research, Dr. Pazzo theorized that the hotheads might have been responsible for the mysterious disappearance of noted Arctic explorer Philippe Poisson in 1837. “To the ice borers, he would have looked like a penguin,” she theorized. Discover magazine got more mail about this article than they had received about any other in their history. Some of them used cuss words.
On April 1, 2008, the BBC announced that camera crews filming near the Antarctic for its natural history series Miracles of Evolution had captured footage of Adelie penguins taking to the air. The network even offered a video clip of the flying penguins, which quickly became one of the most viewed videos on the internet. Presenter Terry Jones explained that instead of huddling together to endure the Antarctic winter, the birds flew thousands of miles to the rainforests of South America where they spent the winter basking in the tropical sun. Nobody suspected anything until Jones pulled out some photos of the penguins drinking pina coladas.
The Unfortunate Demise Of John Partridge
In 1708, a previously unknown London astrologer named Isaac Bickerstaff published an almanac in which he predicted the death by fever of his famous rival astrologer John Partridge on March 29 of that year. Partridge, outraged, denied the likelihood of the prognostication. Nonetheless, on March 30th, Bickerstaff released a pamphlet announcing that he had been correct, Partridge was indeed dead. The latter’s protestations went largely unheard and on April 1st the joke came to full fruition when Partridge was awakened by a sexton outside his window wanting to know if there were any orders for his funeral sermon. Try as he might, Partridge couldn’t convince people that he wasn’t dead. Eventually, it was discovered that Bickerstaff was a pseudonym for the Satirist Jonathan Swift, who apparently had an aversion to almanacs.
Would You Like Fries With That?
On April 1, 1983, New Scientist magazine ran an article about the first successful “plant-animal hybrid” which had resulted in a tomato containing genes from a cow. The cow-tomato was had to have a tough, leathery skin, as you might imagine, and grew discus-shaped clumps of protein sandwiched between an envelope of tomato fruit. The article playfully included hints that it might not be on the level, using the names of researchers MacDonald and Wimpey, supposedly based at the University of Hamburg. The clues were not recognized by the Brazilian science magazine Veja, which ran a major feature story about the new hybrid several weeks later. Veja dubbed the cow-tomato “Boimate” and created a graphic to show how its hybridization occurred. When the truth was finally discovered, Veja was mercilessly ridiculed by other Brazilian media, causing its editors to apologize. “Gee, it seemed like such a good idea at the time,” one of them said.
On April 1 of 2002, the British supermarker chain Tesco ran an ad in The Sun announcing the successful development of a genetically modified “whistling carrot.” The ad explained that the carrots had been specially engineered to grow with tapered airholes in their sides. When the carrots were fully cooked, the airholes would emit a “97-decibel signal” to indicate they should be removed from the stove. 97 decibels, as we all know, is roughly equivalent to the noise level of a jackhammer or pneumatic drill, which caused feverish opposition to the plan by naysayers who envisioned “a nightmarish scenario for future generations becoming deaf as a post, albeit with improved vision.”
That’s all, folks….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
