Before I turned my pre-adolescent brain to rock n roll statistics, I had a few years of total immersion in baseball. From the age of 10 to 15 I was a whore for all things MLB-related. Spring would come and with the thaw came baseball. The only thing more exciting than opening day was the first day that the new season of baseball cards would hit the shelves. My neighbor JP, my brother Ben and I would bike over to Piggly Wiggly and drop twenty to thirty bucks (each) on whatever brand came in first (it was usually Topps) and spend the whole morning opening packs (chewing mega-wads of gum if indeed it was Topps that came in, as that was the only brand that actually came with gum; Fleer came with stickers and Donruss came with puzzle pieces). We’d marvel at each card, getting to know that year’s design, holding up our heroes, acquainting ourselves with new faces and names, trying to assess which rookies looked the most like future stars, adrenaline PUMPING the whole time. The only greater sensation was the less frequent release of new Star Wars or G.I. Joe action figures. After that initial buzz wore off, we’d spend the rest of the year memorizing stats, aping the commentators, doing our best to sound like we knew what we were talking about, like we had a voice worth hearing.
Baseball’s best players were nothing short of rock stars. Those who were heroic on the field were held up like titans, and they were rewarded in the eyes of fans for being consistent. It was one thing to have a great season, but to stack up a series of great seasons was how you became a legend. When I first started to pay attention to baseball it was 1985. The stars were Dwight Gooden (though in his rookie year, he was my fave), Steve Garvey, Rod Carew, Tom Seaver, Dale Murphy, Kirk Gibson, Eddie Murray, Rickey Henderson, Nolan Ryan, and George Brett. Of all those players, Brett most closely resembled a movie star. He was baseball’s Spartacus. A batting champ who could hit homers and field the ball, he led his team to a World Series victory that year. And we was willing to raise a stink or — even better — get into a brawl on the field.
There are so many incredible George Brett stories, but there’s only one greatest George Brett story. And luckily for us (thanks to the wonders of Youtube), we’ve got it captured straight from the horse’s patute. Yes, it’s the infamous "George Brett shitting himself story" and it is a must hear. There’s much I could say about it, but it’s best left to Brett himself. It’s his greatest story. You deserve to hear it from him.