Marty Fleischman Blogs – Pelota Press

Opening Night- 1971-72 Tampa Jai-Alai Season (15 of 91)

By Marty Fleischman

The players, all carrying their cestas, descended the movable metal stairway which abutted the Eastern Airline prop jet. Their flight, Bilbao-Madrid-Miami-Tampa, was a long, tiring ordeal. But, these 40 young Basque athletes all had smiles on their faces, posing on the stairway for the many media assembled to get the obligatory picture for the newspaper sport’s section.

This was a big day. It signified the 1971-72 Tampa Jai-Alai season was about to begin. I was there to coordinate the photo-op. Every year, the newspapers ran this picture on page 1 of the sports sections with the caption: “Jai-Alai players return from Spain to kick of Tampa Jai-Alai season on December 27th.” It was our most valued media exposure letting the fans know that soon they would be hearing the crack of the pelota.

I couldn’t help but notice the mass of gorgeous young women, also, greeting the players. Some were past girlfriends, but many were future hopefuls. I would soon find out that these young athletes had a following of Jai-Alai “groupies” similar to the rock stars of the 70s.

And, of course, I was not opposed to the possibility that my close proximity to the players might afford me a few opportunities of my own. They didn’t know I was just a “pakete” amateur. Wearing an actual player jersey might just confuse them, make them think I am one of the pros. I will tell Ernie that I was told my game would improve with an old player jersey. It’s not how you play, it’s how you look.

While some players searched for new apartments, many returned to their past rentals in South Tampa, like The Cove on West Shore or Tampa Villas. They, also, began their daily practice sessions at the fronton. This was my chance to watch and get to know some of the players. This would become invaluable to me not only dealing with the press but getting the trust of the players.

Even though my job now was preparing the program, checking out the equipment, testing the music and march tapes, preparing press releases, and answering media questions about the upcoming season, my favorite time was hanging out during the player practice.

Being less than two weeks from opening night, the seasonal workers still needed to be hired and licensed. That night was known as “Roll Call”, the pari-mutuel job fair where betting tellers, ushers, box office workers, janitorial staff, Tele-Wager girls, bartenders, and cocktail waitresses were interviewed and hired. This was done all in one night. And it was incredible. I was like a kid in a candy store, just wandering around the main lobby, like a shark circling for the kill.

During the day, the box office lines were ringing off the hook. Opening night was already sold out, all 3,792 reserved seats, from lower Loge to upper Orchestra sections. There was nothing left but the $1 Standing Room admission, where people stood on the sides or just watched on closed circuit television from the lobbies.

Finally, December 27th, opening night arrived. Cars were lined up for almost a mile in both directions on Dale Mabry. The box office had at least eight windows open, but the lines of fans still stretched around the corner into the parking lot.

From the announcer’s booth, I could see the seats gradually filling in. Our background music was playing, and the early game players came out to practice. The tension and excitement was building as we approached the 7:30 first game post time and player’s parade, the salute to the fans.

And then it happened. As I was gazing out into the crowd, eyeing the Tele wager Girls in their short mini-skirts and the cocktail waitresses in their white Hot Pants, I noticed a group of girls entering the middle section, directly eye-level to our elevated announcer’s booth. One looked very familiar. Yes, it was my ex-girlfriend. It was the girl that I dated my final year at UF, where I had said, “It’s not you, it’s me.” I was attempting to end the relationship in a civil manner as she had another year to go and I was venturing into my next step in life, which did not include her.

Unfortunately, I guess it did not work because she was surrounded by four, very tall, assassin-like sorority sisters, all staring directly at the booth. Any one of them could have kicked my a… Not once did any of them look at the practicing players, just stared straight at me. I asked Ralph and Mike to protect me if there was trouble. Ralph was too busy planning his next quinella box and Mike said he needed to concentrate on the statistics. I might survive my first opening night but wasn’t sure I was going make it home.

I spent the entire night in the announcer’s booth. When I announced a game, my voice was quivering, not from the record crowd, but from what could await me if I ventured downstairs. Fortunately, they departed back to Gainesville after the 8th game without any incidents. I still left through the player’s quarters back door.

Opening night ended well beyond midnight, smoke suspended like fog throughout the fronton. There were losing tickets scattered all over the floor, but fans still seemed happy as they lined up in valet parking, all thrilled that their favorite sport was back.

We set records that night, both in attendance and betting handle. I was now on the inside, venturing into the restricted player’s quarters during the games, and conversing with the players that spoke English. In the back of my mind, I carried the thought that maybe one day they would tell me who was supposed to win a game and I could make a big score.

After all, everyone knew that Jai-Alai is “fixed.” That is what my buddy told me the first time I snuck into the fronton. That is what everyone said when I told them I was working at Jai-Alai. My family even believed it. So, it must be, right? After all, humans are involved. It’s a gambling sport. Everyone seemed to know, except me. But I was about to find out.

What a Pakete! (14 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

When I first started playing amateur Jai-Alai on the Tampa court, I heard Alex Borges, one of the Cuban amateurs, call me a “pakete” every time I missed an easy shot. And that happened often. It became very apparent to me that this was definitely not a compliment. Not knowing much Spanish, I turned to Alex and said, “What does pakete mean?” He replied, “You are a pakete!” “Maybe I am,” I shot back, “but why do you keep calling me that?”

Alex finally explained that “pakete” means package in Spanish. Some Cubans used it as slang for somebody that does something stupid, like me missing so many easy balls. I, also, found it fits so many situations, including the day I walked into the Tampa Tribune to give Tom McEwen, the venerable sports editor, a bottle of Scotch. Indeed, I was a pakete that day, and many days to come.

“Fleischman, don’t walk into the sports department with a bottle of liquor under your arm,” he yelled at me that day in late 1971 as I was passing out Christmas gifts to the media. “People think you are trying to bribe us with Scotch. The Tribune has a policy about that.” He probably should have added, “pakete.” Ernie Larsen failed to tell me about media policies. McEwen finally whispered that he would follow me down to my car later and grudgingly make the transfer.

I, then, sat down in front of his desk and started to discuss the upcoming Jai-Alai season, about how we could get some publicity. Then, I became a “Super Pakete.” Ernie had told me to remind them about how many advertising dollars we spend on the Tampa Tribune each year. That implication should carry some weight. Sure, Ernie!

So, I mentioned that to Mr. McEwen, knowing I was already reeling from the Scotch fiasco. He looked straight at me with his Wauchula dead pan face and sternly said, “Never, ever, think that because you spend money with us, you get anything extra. The Sports Department is completely separate from the Advertising Department! I don’t give a damn what you spend with us!” Now, I’m sure he was actually thinking of doing his next column on “Marty Fleischman – Tampa Jai-Alai’s Biggest Pakete Ever.” Might have won him a Pulitzer.

Later on, he was generous enough to give me a tip. He told me the time between Christmas and New Year’s is the deadest time of year for sports. There are only bowl games, not much else. They actually have space to fill. If I bring them a feature story on a player, they would probably run it. I was extremely grateful for that. But that was nothing compared to what that man, a lifelong media associate and friend of my father, would do for me about nine years later.

Some of you reading this may not be that familiar with Tom McEwen. Media was different then. There was no internet, no Facebook, no Twitter. People actually got their news from television, radio, and newspapers. Tom McEwen’s Morning After column was a must-read every morning by anyone interested in sports in the Tampa Bay area. His influence on this community was astounding. He was instrumental in getting a stadium built. Then, came the Bucs, baseball, hockey, the Yankees, you name it. Tampa would not be a big-time sports town, if not for the support of Tom McEwen.

But his strongest attribute was not just bringing people together or making things happen. It was loyalty! Loyalty to his family, his friends, his city. And, somehow, he showed that loyalty to me, the “pakete” son of his good friend, Salty Sol, my dad. when I needed it most.

I won’t go into detail about it here, (saving it for my tell-all book) only to say that my career was on the line in 1979. No one would help. I was in trouble. My last resort was to call Tom. Without hesitation, he said, “no problem.” He saved me. Without him (and my wonderful lawyer cousin), I would not have had 32 more years of a successful Jai-Alai career. But loyalty runs in his family.

Rick McEwen, Tom’s son, has been my friend since facing each other in junior high golf and local junior tournaments. While his dad was working behind the scenes to help me, Rick maintained our friendship when few others would. McEwen Loyalty!

We still laugh to this day about how, when Tom was going through some marital issues, he crashed on my dad’s couch. So, when Rick had the same problems, he found his way to my apartment where a similar sofa awaited him. While Tom and Salty are playing some heavenly rounds of golf together, Rick and I are still close friends to this day.

So, I did bring back my first feature story on a player. I remember writing this beautifully, long, insightful story on frontcourter Renedo. It was filled with beautiful complex sentences, flowing introductory adjective phrases, as poetic as Shakespeare prose. I was so proud of it when I handed it to Mr. McEwen that holiday night.

He quickly picked up his red “editing pen” and….. ripped it apart! Working at warp speed, he marked lines through my beautifully constructed sentences, added simple phrases, deleted words, and tossed it back to me.

“This isn’t English class, Fleischman,” he told me. “You are writing for the general public. They don’t have time. Keep it simple, straightforward, nothing fancy.” He told me to follow his notes and resubmit it to him. I was totally destroyed. It looked nothing like what I handed him. Forget my UF English classes. But it was one of the greatest writing lessons I ever learned.

The next day, I went back to the Tribune sports department and handed it in. I opened the coming Sunday sports section, and a smile came over my face. There was an action shot of Renedo and my first published story, word for word, with no edits. I had “graduated” from the McEwen School of Journalism and was now ready for whatever lay ahead in my new career. Or was I?

Excitement Builds for First Season (13 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

By the summer of ’71, I had already trained somewhat as Public Relations Director, announced some Jai-Alai games, and made my first trip to Europe with the U.S. Amateur Jai-Alai Association contingent for the world tournament. Now, I was doing what I really loved, playing the sport (to which I was clearly addicted) almost every morning. Serious program advertising selling would not start until September.

Looking back on it, we were nuts! Ernie Larsen, fronton GM, was kind enough to allow amateur play in the mornings, but without court lights and no air conditioning. Also, we actually played WITHOUT HELMETS! (Helmets became mandatory for the pros and amateurs later in the 70’s)

The Tampa Jai-Alai fronton had windows along the sides for available sunlight to shine through illuminating the court somewhat. But a pelota thrown at over 100 m.p.h. was not easy to see, even with court lights. So, we were playing in very dangerous, low light conditions. On cloudy days, forget it. Can you imagine the liability, even though we signed releases before playing?

Some mornings, a few of the pros would stop by and watch us practice. They had American spouses or were now legal residents and did not have to go back to Spain with the rest of the 45-man roster.

I remember how thrilling it was when Tampa star Almorza would hang out and watch us play. Sometimes, he would come with a bushel of oysters and a bottle of scotch. He would sit outside the player’s quarters in the back with a hose and shuck them. He was as adept at a shuck, a swallow, and a swig of scotch as he was at throwing his long carom shot to score.

Some mornings, I saw another player watching us. He was shorter than “Big Al”, stockier and with a round, Basque face. I heard some of the Cuban amateurs call him “Ricky.” I later found out he was feature game frontcourter, #30, Jose Ricardo Solaun.

While Almorza would quickly disappear to his oysters and scotch, Ricky would stay and watch us until we were finished. I tried to talk some with him but quickly found out his English was limited to, “No English” and “What?” He had married a local Tampa girl, Marian Fernandez, and remained in Tampa working some shifts at Wonder Bread in the off season.

Now, I cursed having taken Latin in school instead of Spanish. I realized that this was definitely going to be a problem for me I needed to communicate with the players and most spoke little English.

But what I didn’t realize was fate had just introduced me to my second brother. I already had an older brother, Sol Fleischman, Jr. Jose Ricardo Solaun would be and still is an integral part of my life. Much more about Ricky later.

September arrives, I have Bob’s Cheese Shop ad contract safely in my folder (no briefcase) and I’m ready to conquer the retail world armed with my “You get two FREE V.I.P. Tickets if you buy an ad” spiel. Dressed in black bell-bottom jeans, Nik-Nik polyester shirt, and platform shoes, I stopped at Ernie Larsen’s office at the fronton before venturing out.

He told me, “Don’t worry about the International House of Pancakes (not yet known as IHOP) ad. There is this nut-case lady, Brandy Primak, in Miami from their agency that places it. She renews every year.”

He, also, warned me not to touch the back cover. That was Budweiser’s and “Buddy will take care of that one. I am not even in the room,” he went on with a nod and a wink. “Of course, you don’t get any commission on that.”

His implication was something nefarious was going on. I later found out that it was just part of the total package between Miami and Tampa using Budweiser products in the fronton. I think Buddy figured Ernie would probably screw up the negotiations, so he would ask him to leave. Smart man.

So, I visited the easy ones first, the vendors we used. I knew they felt obligated to show their support. There was Fonte Cleaners, St. Pete Printing, and others like our office supply company. Then, I went to the places where the players hung after the games: Lamas Club, The Pad, Big Daddy’s. Restaurants were next, like The Sweden House (the owner loved to gamble on Jai-Alai), Zichex, and even McDonalds. I might have sold two that were not renewals, including Bob Cohn’s.

It’s now December, and we are approaching opening day. This is the most exciting time of year for all involved in pari-mutuels. It’s like opening day for baseball, football, or even a Broadway play. Seasonal employees (which are almost all) have to be hired and licensed, the facility and new construction has to be ready and the players arrive from Spain. There are practice sessions attended by fans and, yes, groupies.

All pre-season publicity has to be planned, sports departments contacted, teletype machines in place, interviews completed, and most importantly, a bottle of Cutty Sark delivered to the area media as a Christmas “gift” from Tampa Jai-Alai.

That, so-called, Christmas gift almost got me bodily thrown out of Tom McEwen’s office when I naively walked into the Tampa Tribune Sports Editor’s office grinning with a gift-wrapped bottle of Scotch under my arm. “Fleischman, get the hell outta here with that,” he screamed. I wonder what would have happened to me if he had not been a such close friend of my dad’s. But this was only the beginning for me and Mr. McEwen.

Tourney Ends, Job Begins (12 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

Joey Cornblit’s parents immigrated from Israel to Montreal. They soon moved to the warmth of Miami, shortly after Joey was born.

Charlie Hernandez’s parents immigrated from Cuba to Miami to search for the American dream. They were now living it. The Hernandez’s had traveled to France to watch their son play in the World Olympics for the sport of Jai-Alai. But, would they?

As the entire U.S. contingent, still feeling the exhilaration of the win by Kirby and Nick over the French team the night before, met for coffee and croissants the next morning, you could see trouble was brewing. In fact, it was already brewed. Rudy Hernandez, Charlie’s father, was threatening Piston from withdrawing his son from the tournament to an actual lawsuit against the U.S. Amateur Association. After two matches, his son Charlie was still on the bench.

You could see the pain on Piston’s face. Having never won a single match in past world competitions, the Americans were now 2-0. But he knew it was only fair to give Joey and Charlie their shot against the talented Spanish team of Uriarte and Mirapege. Still, what if this costs the team a gold medal?

Uriarte (played under the name Cachin later in his pro career) was the top amateur player in Europe and was certain to get a future contract in the U.S. (probably Miami). Mirapege was one of two brothers who played for Spain. He was the top backcourter, who would have had a phenomenal professional career, but for the fact his parents emphasized going to college. He was one of those rare athletes that would always remain an amateur.

The decision was made. Joey and Charlie would face Spain. Kirby and Nick would head to the bench. We all ordered more French coffee and extra croissants as it appeared harmony was once again restored with Piston’s decision.

Joey, being only 15 years-old, was cool and relaxed, at least outwardly. Charlie warmed up prior to the match with his parents cheering from our section. Understandably, they were extremely nervous as the four players did the traditional march out prior to the start of the 35-point, head to head partido.

Joey and Charlie had trained under the tutelage of Epifanio, the amazing Jai-Alai instructor at North Miami. Joey, not particularly overpowering in the frontcourt, had perfect form on his right side (forehand) and reverse (backhand). You barely heard the ball strike the cesta as he made a catch, signifying almost flawless style. But Joey’s major asset was this amazing backhand two-wall shot known as a “remate” or “costado.”

When most frontcourters in the sport catch a ball on their reverse, they merely throw it deep to the backcourt, a more defensive shot. But Epifanio trained Joey to throw this sharp breaking two-wall remate that hit the side wall, front wall, and the edge of the court shooting straight to the screen. The shot was almost unreturnable. Joey could score nearly at will while catching the ball on his reverse.

Charlie, being a young, slim backcourt amateur did not possess much power, but was extremely consistent. His job was to catch the deep balls and try to throw it beyond the awaiting opposing frontcourter, keeping them on the defense. His hope was for Joey to be able to catch one in the front and put them away with his remate.

Joey had another major asset. Having trained on the short Miami Amateur court where many balls rebounded off the back wall, he developed a fantastic “rebote” shot… a ball that comes off the back wall. He rarely missed those and placed it in such a way that it became an offensive shot, too.

So, the partido began… this long, physically challenging 35-point match. Joey and Charlie were smooth and patient. Uriarte and Mirapege were throwing all their shots, moving on the court with familiarity and ease. But our team stayed with them, as Joey amazed the French aficionados with his remate, scoring time after time.

But it soon became obvious that Charlie’s consistency would not erase his weak throws. The Spanish team would take advantage of it and keep the ball deep, away from Joey. Where Nickerson’s power and awkward throws were an advantage, Charlie’s throws were predictable and began to cost the American duo.

The partido ended with a 35-33 win for the Spanish team in what was a gutsy, hard fought loss for us. Joey and Charlie had nothing to be ashamed of, they fought their hearts out. They lost the match, but the youngsters won the respect of all the fans that night. After all, they actually lost by only two points to the best team in the world.

In the end, the U.S. team took home 3rd place, a bronze medal as Spain won gold and France took silver. It was the first medal a United States team ever won in world competition for the sport, and we were all very proud.

At breakfast the morning after the conclusion of the competition, Katie Harrington representing Dania Jai-Alai pulled out a professional contract an offered it to Kirby. He signed it quickly with us all proudly witnessing the event. Remember, at that time, very few Americans were playing professional Jai-Alai. Joey was too young and had to wait. Nick was looking for his next wave to surf in Daytona.

Shortly after returning to Miami, Joey, now 16, was in Buddy Berenson’s office accompanied by his parents. He was offered his first pro contract, while still attending Carol City High School. He was too young to sign it without his parent’s co-signing. (I will be discussing Joey’s career in more detail in later articles, as he was one of the most important and impactful figures in the sport).

Nick Nickerson did make it back home to the U.S. and subsequently played at his home fronton of Daytona Beach. Charlie Hernandez would get a chance to play for World Jai-Alai in later years.

Upon my return home, I still had no actual job until December when I would actually do my first pre-season prep. I took the film footage over to WTVT and gave my Dad back that heavy Bell and Howell camera. He edited the footage and had me on, as promised, narrating the grainy, sometimes out of focus, black and white footage of our victories and defeats in St. Jean-de-Luz. It, indeed, was great publicity for Tampa Jai-Alai and the entire sport. I’m sure Ernie Larsen was glad I did not include any footage of La Palanca.

I spent the next few weeks playing amateur Jai-Alai in the mornings at the fronton. Since I had no money, my mother was nice enough to let me live with her in her apartment near West Shore. I was like George Costanza, no money, no job, and living with my mother.

But life was great. Ernie told me my first duty was to sell the program ads starting in September. He told me this would carry me through without a paycheck until the end of December. But he didn’t tell me that I wouldn’t get the 20% commission check until after the season started. So, I was still pretty broke all those months.

I absolutely hated selling anything, especially advertising. It just seemed difficult to measure whether an ad under the game lineup in the program actually delivered customers to the advertiser. But Ernie told me as an incentive, I could tell buyers that they got on our VIP ticket list for two free seats any performance for the season. So, I pushed that as the bonus worth more than the cost of the ad.

My first call and “sale” went to one of my best friends, my college roommate Bob Cohn, who had opened up “The Cheese Shop” on S. Dale Mabry. I still owe him big-time because he said, “Flash, for you I’ll buy an ad.”

I knew Bob had just opened and was struggling. This was before wine, and cheese was a big deal. But he bought one without hesitation. I designed the hokiest ad with a graphic of a piece of Swiss Cheese that looked like a mouse had taken a bite. And I told him we could do it in “reverse,” making it black on white so it would stand out. I was an advertising genius. Bob probably lost business from that ad.

But, with a sale under my hat, I was on my way. I could not wait to write my first feature story on a player for the Tampa Tribune. I certainly did not know what awaited me the first time I brought one to the revered, renowned, Sports Editor of the Tampa Tribune, Tom McEwen. But, when I left there, I felt like I should look for a new job.

Black Jack (11 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

Jai-Alai is one of two sports in the entire world where it is against the rules to play professionally left-handed. The other is……polo. The sport of Pelota Vasca (Jai-Alai) was designed for right handed players because of the long side wall on the left and no wall on the right.

When right handed players throw the pelota, the natural spin would force it inside, to the side wall. It would remain in play. If a lefty threw it and it touched the side wall first, the ball usually would sail out of bounds. So, to add uniformity to the sport, it was decided the cesta (throwing basket) must be on the right hand.

But, this rule was in the professional ranks, not for amateurs. And, the team representing France, our next opponents, had a left-handed frontcourter. Never had any of our players faced this type of player. It would be very difficult to anticipate where his throws would land. Positioning is essential when dealing with a ball going 150 mph.

Having made his decision to once again start Kirby Prater and Nick Nickerson, Piston told his teams to rest, relax, and be ready for the following night’s big matchup, U.S.A. versus France, in partido two. So, most of us decided to have dinner and check out the St. Jean-de-Luz Casino.

When we entered the casino, I headed toward the Blackjack tables, only to find Nick casually draped over a stool, beer in hand, and a large stack of chips. I sat next to him and started to play, asking him if he thought he might consider resting up for his big match tomorrow. Nick smiled and said that this was his way of relaxing. I watched him drink at least 3 beers and go on a win streak of more than $300, which was big money for a beach bum in 1971. Of course, I lost almost everything I had.

Again, he was the talk of the casino. Many patrons had been at the fronton the previous day and witnessed our big win. Whispers of “Neek-er-sohn”, the French version of Nickerson, could be heard throughout the room. Again, it did not seem a good look for one of our U.S. team members to be drinking and gambling the night before another big match.

Awakening the next morning at the Edouard VII hotel, I immediately went outside to the garden to have my French coffee and delicious croissants. Piston still had that worried look on his face as he sat with Grossberg and Pettit. The Hernandez family, including Charlie, our frontcourter, sat at a table by themselves. Again, they would be spectators to tonight’s match. I honestly did not know if they were actually pulling for our team to win, since Charlie, again, was on the bench.

Meanwhile, Ernie Larsen was summoned that a call was coming in from the U.S. from Mr. Berenson, so he left our table. It was not unusual that Buddy would call him, as they spoke frequently, usually after the matches. But this was a little different, so early in the morning.

When Ernie returned to table, he had a slight smile on his face and a look like he had some “big news.” And he did.

“Buddy just told me Marion County passed the referendum by a slim margin! There is now going to be an Ocala Jai-Alai,” he said. We were all shocked! How in the world did an outsider from the big sin city of Miami convince the “Bible Thumping” conservatives in the small town of Ocala to approve gambling? But he did and this meant that there would be a new Jai-Alai fronton in the state of Florida, a first in almost 20 years.

While I was trying to fathom the meaning of this news, Ernie told me that this was great for us, “for obvious reasons.” This was one of his favorite phrases. But I never seemed to know the “obvious reasons.” They were never that obvious to me. How was that going to affect me or any of us in the future? This new facility would probably take two years to actually open, a virtual lifetime for a 21-year-old. But I would soon find out.

Now, it’s game time. I was watching the players warm up on the court, astounded by this French “lefty” navigating the side wall and keeping the ball inbounds. It looked like I was watching in a mirror.

Now, it was our team’s time to warm-up, and I realized that only three of the four walked out on the court. Nick was missing. We had 15 minutes of practice before the start of the 35-point partido… and no Nick. Panic shown on Piston’s face. We had no cell phones to call and the hotel was 10 minutes away. But, with five minutes left on the clock, “Neek-er-sohn” strolled out onto the court, threw four or five hard forehands, and said he was ready.

Kirby and Nick, again, played near flawlessly. Kirby dominated the frontcourt French amateur with his power and kill shots, Nick kept the ball deep with his hard-forehand throws. Though it was close, the U.S. team won its second match and was now 2-0, vying for not only a medal, but a possible gold medal.

Now, Piston, one of the all time great frontcourters and the youngest to ever turn professional, a gentile gentleman with impeccable honor and integrity, with nerves of steel having played in front of thousands of screaming fans, looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Piston would have to make another huge decision. How would he deal with the Hernandez family if he didn’t start son Charlie? We were now about to face the number one seeded, undefeated Spanish team of Uriarte and Mirapege. The American prodigy, Joey Cornblit, and the U.S. Amateur Backcourt Champion Charlie Hernendez had yet to play a single point.

A Difficult Decision (10 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

With the glow of the U.S. victory fading, you could see a worried look Piston’s face. The team “head coach” had a very difficult decision to make. Kirby Prater and Nickerson had pulled a major upset. No one expected them to win a single game. No U.S. team ever had. So, how would this affect Piston’s plan to start our other team, Joey Cornblit and Charlie Hernandez, in the second match against home team France?

Meanwhile, 7,000 miles away, L. Stanley “Buddy” Berenson, president of Miami and Tampa Jai-Alai, was walking the streets of Ocala, Florida, shaking hands and talking to every local resident he could find. After making a successful purchase of Tampa Jai-Alai in late 1969, Buddy was looking for greater expansion of the “World’s Fastest Sport.” But, his options were limited.

In 1971, Florida was the only state in the country where betting on Jai-Alai was legal. In the 1930’s and ’40s, Jai-Alai was actually played in New York, Chicago, and even New Orleans. But, in those days, gambling laws were rarely enforced. As those frontons closed, the Florida legislature passed legalized gambling on Jai-Alai, dog and horse racing. However, later on, to limit the number of Jai-Alai facilities, one could not be built within 50 miles of an existing track. Therefore, with the many dog and horse tracks in Florida, options were extremely limited.

But, here was the big issue. If you could find a spot that fell within that 50-mile limitation, you had to get a local referendum passed by the residents approving the Jai-Alai facility. Marion County (Ocala) was Berenson’s target. With the two cities of Gainesville and Ocala within 30 miles of each other, and many smaller rural communities to draw from, Buddy felt that this could be a successful venture. It could, also, provide the answer to utilizing his Tampa players and personnel in the summer, when Tampa Jai-Alai was closed.

Some thought Berenson was crazy. After all, Marion County is in the “Bible Belt” of North Florida. And, the resistance to bringing gambling to the extremely conservative, church-going residents was fierce. But, Buddy was the consummate promoter. Marion County was not generating enough tax revenue for their schools and local projects. Employment was very low. The economy needed a boost. The taxes and jobs generated by a local fronton was, indeed, the answer. Buddy’s arguments were beginning to hit home, though being challenged by the staunch, anti-gambling Baptist preacher, Reverend Bledsoe. Their radio debates became legendary. As Buddy pressed on, alone in his quest for an Ocala fronton, he kept close tabs on what was going on in Southern France.

The tournament schedule in St. Jean-de-Luz showed the U.S. team had the next day off. This would give Piston a chance to discuss our next move with U.S. Amateur Association president Bob Grossberg, VP Fred Pettit, and the rest of us who wanted to put our two-cents into the discussion. Piston held an afternoon practice session to further re-evaluate his players. There was little doubt there was more power in Team Kirby and Nick versus the finesse of Team Joey and Charlie. But, there became another factor that reared its ugly head.

Charlie’s mother and father, who traveled from Miami to see his son play, began pressuring Piston. They became similar to the typical Little League parents who think their son is the best player on earth and should play every inning, every down, EVERY PARTIDO! Piston was trying to navigate this minefield.

Being the gentleman he was, he tried to explain to them that this was a U.S. team. All of us were trying to accomplish the same goal, to bring back a medal for the U.S. There were still many matches to go and he would make the decision that gave us the best chance to win.

Piston, one of the all-time past greats in the sport of Jai-Alai, the youngest player to ever play professionally at the age of 9, the man who faced players throwing a rock hard ball at over 170 m.p.h., a player who faced thousands of screaming fans from Madrid to Miami, had no idea what he was about to deal with as he chose Kirby and Nick to face France in Partido #2.

USA, USA, USA (9 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

The Jai-Alai fronton in St. Jean-de-Luz, France was unique. First, I was amazed that this tiny resort/fishing village on the southwest corner of France had any kind of a Jai-Alai fronton. All the frontons we had visited in the Spanish Basque villages were surprisingly small, except for the court, that is. Most professional Jai-Alai courts are between 174 and 180 feet long, with one in Mexico reported to be almost 200 feet. But, the viewing areas for the fans in the Spanish Basque towns were comprised of about 5 rows of seats. There’s a long, wooden bar running the length of the arena with mostly men leaning on it, cigars in their mouths, and betting slips in their hands.

Another amazing aspect of the Spanish frontons was the fact that tennis balls were flying all over the place. I don’t mean on the court, but in the stands. You see, this is how you bet on the sport in Spain. Men in jackets stand in front of those 5 rows, called corredores, yelling out odds on either the red or blue teams (they play head-to-head matches in Spain called partidos). When a fan wants to place a wager, he signals the corredore, who then writes the bet on a slip of paper and inserts it into a sliced flap in a tennis ball. He, then, tosses the ball to the bettor in the audience who removes the slip and throws the ball back. Thus, tennis balls “flying all over the place.” No money changes hands until the match is over. If you lose, you put the money in the tennis ball and throw it back. I always wondered what would happen if the fan just left… without paying. Would this system work back in America? No way!

But the St. Jean-de-Luz home of Cesta Punta was very different. First, it was larger than most of its Spanish counterparts. The stark contrast between American frontons, which seat from 3,000 to 5,000 fans, and the Basque frontons went even further. I could not help but notice sponsorship banners painted all over the side and back walls. This was never done in American facilities. All of our frontons had large, painted green walls, with nothing more than line markers painted on them for a frame of reference. Also, the screen or fencing that protects the fans in the audience from the rock-hard pelota was merely a fabric fishing net. Betting on Jai-Alai in France is illegal. It is strictly an amateur sport and fans watch the big pro matches strictly as exhibitions. So, no tennis balls flying around, just fans mostly cheering.

One of the most exciting plays in the sport is when a player makes a catch and climbs the screen to make a difficult return throw while still suspended in mid-air. But here a player running to the “screen” cannot climb or bounce off it, he actually tumbles into the first row of seats.

The first match of this world amateur competition was scheduled for tomorrow night as we watched the teams’ practice. All courts are different, and our guys, Kirby, Joey, Charlie, and Nick needed to get the feel of the court before facing off against the Philippine team, our first match of the tournament. Yes, Jai-Alai is played in the Philippines, probably because of the long Spanish heritage there. Many of our pros had played in Manila prior to getting a contract to play in the U.S.

After observing the practice, Piston, the “Head Coach” of our contingent, made the decision he would start Kirby Prater in the frontcourt and Nick Nickerson as his partner in the back. Piston, knowing the United States had not only never won a medal in the past world amateur tournaments, but they had never even won a game. But, with Kirby’s experience and Nick’s power, maybe we could, at least, make a good showing.

The following evening, we all met at the fronton, wished our guys good luck, and sat together in the small seating area. Piston, visibly nervous, stood in the player’s quarters near the bench, to coach the team during a time-out.

The tournament adhered to the Partido format, the physically challenging, 35-point head-to-head match. This is quite different from the U.S. version of Jai-Alai where the games are to 7 points, using the round-robin format, with usually eight post positions In our games, if you lose a point you sit down and wait for your turn to return to the court. Here, there are no breaks, no sitting, with two one-minute time outs allowed during the entire match. Endurance is a major factor in winning or losing a match.

Our guys got off to a good start. The Filipino team had trouble with Nick’s unorthodox style and big forehand throw. Kirby was steady, keeping the ball in play, occasionally throwing a kill shot to score. But Nick was keeping the ball deep, often throwing the ball past the frontcourter, and with such power that he was scoring points, too. This is unusual in Jai-Alai as most backcourters are defensive, keeping the ball in play, waiting for his partner in the front to throw a kill shot.

When it was finally over, Kirby and Nick had upset the Philippine team. This was not only a great win for the U.S. team, but it was the first win ever of a single game in the history of the tournament! We were all standing and cheering, knowing we had witnessed amateur Jai-Alai history.

There was another match to be played that evening, Spain versus Mexico. So, we all sat back down, waiting for our guys to shower and join us in the audience. Eventually, Kirby and Nick emerged from the player’s quarters. We greeted them with hugs and congratulatory applause for pulling out the first win for us.

Nickerson proceeded to find the fronton bar and brought back a large beer to the seats. Sitting directly in front of me and wearing his cut-offs and sandals, he promptly settled back in his seat and draped his legs over the chair in front of him, his near bare feet dangling. All eyes from the French fans turned from adoration to disgust as he displayed such a lack of respect. We were guests of their country, bringing amateur athletes to compete in Olympic style competition, and set an example for their young kids who were aspiring amateur Jai-Alai players. But this was Nick. Surfer, devil-may-care, huge forehand, beer drinking Nick.

With all of us still feeling the glow of the big win, we still had a long way to go… with Mexico, Spain, and France coming up. And now Nick’s behavior was causing an embarrassing situation. I could see the pained look on Piston’s face. He was known as a first-class gentleman of the game, the consummate professional. Having been the coach for the first U.S. win ever, how was he going to deal with his star backcourter’s unorthodox, classless behavior? This would prove to be only the beginning of his problems.

La Palanca… Part 2 (8 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

No one really knows the origin of the Basque race. The Basques have a unique blood type, not associated with any other in Spain or France. Their language has no roots in the Romance languages of the area and sounds almost like Chinese. They have such pride in their heritage that their drive for independence caused them to be an enemy of Spain’s dictator Francisco Franco, causing a ban in displaying their flag and a prohibition of speaking their language.

Yet, the pride and stubbornness of the Basque people has guaranteed their survival. Franco is no longer around. Spain now seems to embrace their culture, liberalizing their policies on this small region, roughly the size of Connecticut.

The sport of Jai-Alai began in this area of the world, first played against the church walls on fiesta days. It is called “Pelota Vasca” (Basque ball) and Cesta Punta (point of the basket) in that area. We adopted the name “Jai-Alai” in America, which means “Merry Festival” in Basque.

With La Palanca in our rear view mirror, Ernie Larsen, Tampa Jai-Alai’s general manager, my new boss, and I now headed for our destination, St. Jean de Luz, France. This small resort city, located on the Bay of Biscay, is just across the border in the French part of the Basque country. It would be the site of the 1971 World Amateur Jai-Alai Championship.

St. Jean de Luz was small and extremely picturesque. Along the water were multi-colored sail boats moored in rows, a sandy beach, and a casino complex for tourists. We were looking for Hotel Edouard VII where the U.S. delegation was staying. We found this boutique hotel located in a neighborhood of small French homes, about 4 blocks from the beach, casino, and Jai-Alai fronton. We could actually walk to each, if we wanted.

After checking into our separate rooms (thank goodness), I was given this huge room key on a key chain that had a brass ball on it. I couldn’t believe people lugged this thing around in their pocket while out of their room. After two days of that, I found out you were supposed to give it to the front desk when departing and get it back upon arriving. I can just hear the hotel personnel muttering under their breath, “Americains stupide.”

After checking in, we walked out the front door to a beautiful garden with tables and chairs, where some of our team were sipping French coffee and having a snack. At one table sat our players that would represent the U.S. on the court. Frontcourt amateur champion Kirby Prater sat with Katherine Harrington, who was PR Director for Dania Jai-Alai. They were accompanied by Les and Marilyn Blumberg, huge Dania Jai-Alai fans and avid lovers of the sport. They could be found at Dania almost every night.

At another table sat 15-year-old frontcourt amateur phenom Joey Cornblit. I had actually played with Joey one night at the North Miami Amateur facility during my first year of playing. Hearing guys moaning about the youngster (I think he was about 13 at the time) coming onto the court, I thought he was going to hold up the game with his poor play. But, after about 15 minutes of him destroying all of us and not losing a point, I realized that this kid was something special… and I had a long, long way to go in my quest to be a good Jai-Alai player.

Joey was sitting with U.S. Amateur Jai-Alai Association President Bob Grossberg and VP Fred Pettit. They organized and ran the amateur tournaments throughout Florida. They would both become very dear friends even to this day. They coordinated the U.S. participation in this world competition and were both good amateurs themselves.

Sitting at another table was one of our backcourt players, Charlie Hernandez. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Rudy Hernandez had traveled all the way from Miami just to support their son in the tournament.

At their table sat the team “Head Coach”, the very famous and venerable retired Jai-Alai great, Piston (pronounced “pis-toan”). Piston will go down in history as the youngest player to turn professional. In 1922, he made his debut in the large fronton in Madrid at the age of nine. He went on to become one of the all-time greats in the sport.

He was now around 60 years old, a full head of black, neatly combed hair, and in shape to still go out on the court and play a few games. Piston’s job was to choose which of our players would play together and against which country in this five-country competition.

Ernie and I grabbed some chairs and joined Bob Grossberg’s table, talking about our visit to the small Basque villages on the way. There was no mention of La Palanca as one of our visits.

Then, walking toward us with a grin came the fourth member of our player delegation, Daytona Beach backcourt player, Charles “Nick” Nickerson. I mentioned Nick in one of my early articles, as one of the players that I faced the first time I walked on a full-sized Jai-Alai court in Daytona Beach.

Nick, with his deep tan, was wearing cut off shorts, a tank top, and beach sandals. He was your prototypical surfer of the ’70s but had a killer forehand that dominated the amateur ranks in U.S. amateur Jai-Alai.

He quickly pulled up a chair, looked at our coffee with disdain, and ordered a beer. This should have been a signal that there were storm clouds on the horizon, that the “proper” French culture was about to clash with the uncouth American.

Also, little did I know that we would come close to getting expelled from the tournament, and we would have such conflict within our ranks that one of the world’s greatest Jai-Alai players would nearly have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the tournament.

La Palanca Part 1 (7 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

By Marty Fleischman

L. Stanley “Buddy” Berenson was the President of Miami Jai-Alai and, also, Tampa Jai-Alai since purchasing the Tampa facility in 1969. He was not only an astute businessman, but Buddy was a promotional and marketing genius. (Much more about the Berenson’s coming in later stories)

Having successfully completed my four weekends of training at Tampa Jai-Alai, I was now back in Gainesville finishing my final courses. My first duty as the future public relations director was to sell the program ads starting in September.

“You won’t start on payroll until mid-December,” Ernie Larsen had told me. “But you get 20% commission for each ad you sell… payable after the season starts.” So, I was going to have quite a few months after school ended with no job and no money. Yet, I was very excited about the future.

One evening, our phone rang in our apartment, and I instantly recognized Ernie’s voice. “The Jai-Alai Olympics (basically the world championship for amateurs) is going to be played in late June in St. Jean-de-Luz, France this year,” Larsen told me. “I’m going over for the company to scout some players… Buddy thinks it might be a good idea to take you along, too.”

He went on to tell me that Buddy (I refer to him as that instead of Mr. Berenson not out of any disrespect, but only because everyone seemed to call him Buddy) thought it might give me something to talk about with the media since I was just starting as PR Director.

Not only was that a terrific PR idea, but here was the real genius behind Berenson’s thinking. My father, Salty Sol, who had a nightly sports show on WTVT Channel 13 might want to have some exclusive coverage of this world tournament, provided by his youngest son, the new public relations director for Tampa Jai-Alai. This, of course, would generate thousands of dollars of free publicity for Tampa Jai-Alai.

I mentioned this to my dad, and he thought it was such a great idea, he asked if I would take one of Channel 13s Bell and Howell 16 mm cameras with me to shoot some footage of the matches. When I returned, he would have me on his show 2 consecutive nights talking about the tournament, narrating the video. Buddy was absolutely right! Genius!

There were only two problems. First, I had no money. Second, I had to spend more than a week traveling with Ernie Larsen. Tattoo arm, martini drinking, hippie-hating Ernie Larsen.

With some arm twisting, it was agreed that all my expenses would be paid by the company for the trip. Now, I just had to figure out how to survive with Ernie. I had never been out of the country. This was my chance to see the birthplace of Jai-Alai, to learn about the culture of the Basques, even if it meant tolerating Ernie’s excessive drinking and irrational rants.

So, Ernie and I flew to Bilbao, the 4th largest city in Spain, in the foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains, in the summer of ’71. I didn’t know Ernie was thinking of the movie “The Summer of ’42”

After checking in at the hotel Torontegui in downtown Bilbao, Ernie told me to meet at the bar for a martini. He said he had “big” plans for us later. I figured we were meeting with some local Jai-Alai people, maybe some ex-players. Was I wrong!

Ernie hailed a cab and told the driver, “La Palanca, por favor.” Apparently, he knew a few words in Spanish since his wife was from the Philippines. I figured, La Palanca was a famous Spanish restaurant. He nodded at me and winked.

As the driver passed many restaurants and bars, we started getting into a very seedy area of Bilbao. When the cab stopped, we got out and Ernie led me to this run-down hotel with flashing neon lights, “La Palanca.” He said to the clerk “cuanto?”

I knew I was in trouble. We were in the bowels of Bilbao, the shadiest of red-light districts, didn’t speak the language, Americanos with money. I was sure my dream of a career in Jai-Alai was ending this night.

Ernie agreed to a price and quickly disappeared up a flight of stairs. I sat in a chair in front of this desk, telling this woman over and over, “no, gracias… no gracias.” Thankfully, Ernie didn’t take very long and reappeared with a grin on his face. Somehow, we found a cab and made it back to the hotel. I survived my first day!

The next day, we rented a car. Before we headed to St. Jean de Luz, located just across the border in the French Basque Country, we were going to tour many of the Basque villages in the mountains. Loving to drive, I took the wheel and Ernie had the map.

He wanted to go to Ondarroa, a small fishing village, home of our Tampa player Lecue. He told me Lecue’s family owned a small restaurant there and wanted to see it. So, we headed off, through all the famous Basque towns…Markina, Guernica, Durango, Lekeitio, Elorrio, Eibar, Bolivar, Berastegui, San Sebastian, and finally Ondarroa (many of our players played under the names of their towns).

Lecue welcomed us with open arms and some of the best seafood tapas I ever ate. We mostly communicated with gestures since he spoke almost no English. But, I was getting an education of a lifetime, sitting on a stool in a small Basque bar, drinking Spanish wine, eating freshly caught fish, in the cradle of Jai-Alai civilization. I already had one amazing story to tell, but I could not tell it on Channel 13. Tomorrow, we would meet the Jai-Alai delegation representing the United States, in St. Jean-de-Luz, France, where I would witness history being made and major controversy in a huge U.S. coaching decision.

A Legend Lost (6 of 91)

Marty Fleischman Blogs

During the 1971-1972 Tampa Jai-Alai season, which ran from Dec. 27th, 1971, to June 2, 1972, the Pari-Mutuel handle was $19,071,050. Pari-Mutuel handle is the actual money bet. Almost 80% of that total is returned to the fans in the form of winning tickets. Ralph Amadeo, fronton announcer, was a major contributor to the more than $19 million dollars wagered that year. Unfortunately for Ralph, most of his money was distributed to the other winners in the fronton. Ralphie Boy, the best announcer in the sport, was a big loser at the betting windows.

It did not take long for me to find out where Ralph went between every game. That first weekend of training, I ventured out of the booth to check on the lobby brochure racks only to find Ralph standing at the betting window, program in hand. He gave me a smile and a nod, dashing back up to booth just as the lights dimmed and the player’s march music began to play, signifying the start of the next game.

Watching and listening to Ralph in the booth was completely different from the more than 3,000 fans who experienced his orations below in the audience. He was perched on his stool in the far corner of the booth, almost directly behind and above the court serving area. In front of the announcer was a “Thomas Edison-type” contraption with multiple plunger-like buttons in vertical rows, the center being a rotating telephone dialer. This was the invention of Willie Spiller, Miami Jai-Alai’s building superintendent. It controlled the large scoreboard at the top of the side wall of the court.

Miami Jai-Alai purchased Tampa Jai-Alai in late 1969, and instituted the same score keeping apparatus as was in Miami. In 1971, there were no computers. This looked like Lt. Sulu’s control panel in the original Star Trek.

As each team of players came on to the court, Ralph would push the small, black switch on the microphone up to turn it on, announce the names, then slide it back down with his thumb to mute it. During the play of the point, he would push the switch, and say, “Great save by Pablo,” and push it back down. But, here was the amazing part. Almost every point, when he gave his commentary, “Another great catch by Kepa,” he would push it to mute and shout, “Kepa, you SOB, DROP THE BALL!” On with the mike, “Long carom by Kepa, SCORES! Point 2.” Off with the mike, and more expletives.

Ralph’s timing was impeccable. It became obvious to me he had not bet on Kepa. Yet, he had to make the call when there was a good play. Believe me, most of the time, his players were not making winning plays for Ralph because there was more cursing and ranting than actual announcing. I was absolutely amazed that not once did he ever have the microphone open when he was complaining and yelling at the players. What an amazing feat of dexterity and coordination. Sometimes he was loud enough where the backcourt players could hear him and give him a look as they walked off the court. Thank goodness most spoke no English.

I couldn’t wait until I had learned the procedures, trained adequately on how to work the scoreboard, and grasped all the playoff situations. By the second weekend, I felt I was ready to announce my first Jai-Alai game. So, on a Saturday matinee, Ralph put me on his stool, handed me the microphone and said, “I’ll be right back, just start the game.” He, again, dashed out of the booth, and I knew where he was going.

I did the post time warnings. I said with authority, “Telewager Girls, please call in all your wagers,” as they looked up at me smiling, with their short skirts and headphone earpieces. I was in control! “Final call, you have less than a minute. Make your selections, place your wagers!” I was ready! Until…. it was post time, and Ralph wasn’t back.

Now, there are pressure situations: like having a 3-foot putt to win the U.S. Open, or kicking a 50 yard field goal to win a football game. But, when you have thousands of bettors relying on your accuracy in keeping the scoreboard correct because their hard-earned money is riding on it, that is serious pressure.

If you made an error, boos would start cascading throughout the fronton. The players would sometimes, but not always stop playing. All eyes are on you to correct the score. Sweat starts to pour down your forehead, your heart is pounding, your ears are on fire. The boos keep getting louder as you try to figure out who actually got the point. If you press the “delete” plunger, it takes all the points away from the team and you need to put back the correct number. It is a nightmare and I didn’t want that to happen my first game.

I started the introductions, my voice probably higher than normal. Where the heck was Ralph? Thank goodness it was a quick game, without a playoff for Place or Show. I dialed in the results, they became “official”, the winning payoffs posted, and my first game announcing was done.

Ralph, then, returns to the booth, throwing his losing tickets on the floor cursing. I asked him why he left me alone for my initial game of announcing with a possible impending disaster. He told me he was 30 feet away, just outside the booth watching from the standee area in case I got into trouble. Ralph showed me he had a good heart and I quickly became part of the team along with Mike Menendez. But, one thing I learned is not to lend him any money.

I felt awful that fateful Saturday night when I looked down from the booth, three minutes until post time, with almost 6,000 fans in the audience, and saw Ralph being led out of the main auditorium in a hammerlock by one of our Tampa Police Department officers working security. Apparently, Ralph had borrowed some money and it was time to pay up. I don’t think his “benefactor” liked Ralphie saying to him, “Jussssttttt a minute!” A tussle ensued and the legend of Ralph Amadeo ended that night. He never announced another game at Tampa Jai-Alai.

I returned to Gainesville. The end of the season was near. I had one more weekend to go. Just before that final Friday, I received a phone call from my boss Ernie Larsen. I was about to get a unique opportunity, where history was made, and would help launch my Jai-Alai career.