Editor’s note: The following is part three of Evening Sun sports editor, Patrick Newell’s account of the 2007 Baseball Hall of Fame inductions of Tony Gwynn and Cal Ripken Jr. and the events of that day.
So the official induction ceremony was over, and all that remained was the final stage shots of Ripken and Gwynn. Our intrepid Speziale duo – father and son – worked the photographer’s pit until the last possible moment before the baseball immortals made their exit. I met with the two of them and we had a quick decision to make: Take the shuttle bus back to our car or walk the mile-plus back to Cooperstown High School. Considering the exceptional amount of pedestrian traffic – a fact that made bus travel unlikely for at least 30, we hoofed it back to our car. Turns out that saved us time, but it really didn’t matter. It took us nearly 30 minutes before we made it out of the parking lot and back onto Chestnut Street. Progressing slowly to our turn off, Francesco suggested we take the longer route to Oneonta, whereby we would get on a bigger highway. (Yes, another pivotal choice to make.) That decision was an easy one. Our back-road bypass, county Route 26, was the road less traveled, so we turned right with approximately a four-mile drive to Fly Creek before a left turn back onto Route 80.
Moving slowly along with busy traffic, we made it about three miles until our trip home hit a road bump. Actually, it wasn’t so much a road bump, but an animal darting in front of me, and I hit it flush under my front bumper. I had no idea what it was – it certainly wasn’t a dog and it was much too big for a house cat. I wondered to myself if I had injured and most likely killed someone’s house pet. I slowed and looked back into my rearview mirror and noticed the animal was still spinning like a top. Francesco asked me, “what was that, a stuffed animal?”
I assured him it was quite alive. After traversing approximately half a mile, my car began to make a sickening noise, and we pulled over at the nearest available stop – only half a mile from Fly Creek and our turn-off home. While the unknown animal had lost the battle with my car, it won the war. Pink fluid poured out of the front end of my car. Francesco diagnosed my problem as an issue with one of the compression hoses. It was either the power steering or transmission, and the exact injury my car suffered was a moot point. My 2003 Taurus was not taking us the rest of the way home. Considering the amount of traffic, the significance of the day for Cooperstown and its surrounding area, getting a tow truck to my car was not happening any time soon. So there we sat, approximately half a mile past this unknown beast – a car out of commission and a wild animal no longer in commission.
Francesco made a call home to his wife Liz, who made the 35-mile trip over to Fly Creek from Norwich. I made the appropriate calls to the authorities, and I was given permission to leave the car overnight until a towing service was available Monday morning.
I had no idea that the Speziale clan – now with Liz in the fold – were at a local restaurant and talking about our accident. News traveled fast, and they heard from a local policeman directing traffic that we had intersected paths with an animal uncommon to upstate New York. What was it you ask? A bobcat.
Count me among the disbelievers when “bobcat” was uttered by my co-passengers. There was talk that the coat of a bobcat was worth substantial dollars. There was also discussion amongst us of taking it to a taxidermist and having it stuffed. Another suggestion was that we donate the animal to Rogers Center in Sherburne.
But before any of that, we wanted to see for ourselves what this animal looked like. Was it indeed a bobcat? We brought garbage bags and planned to pack it up upon retrieval. Sure enough, we spotted the animal roadside. It was a beautifully marked feline, and a heck of a lot bigger than your normal housecat. At around 25 pounds with long canines and razor-sharp claws, it was easy to understand why this cat is such a successful solitary predator. After a few pictures, we loaded it into the bags carefully and put him in the trunk. Liz quickly reminded her husband, Francesco, that most wives WOULD NOT be cool about this. Francesco thanked his bride. And as a sidenote, Liz and Francesco were married just a month ago. I attended the wedding and do not recall any mention of for better or worse…and dead bobcats in the trunk!
My greatest outdoors resource for animals and the like is Bob McNitt. I phoned Bob and told him about our recent experience. He told me of his only time crossing paths with a bobcat in Amblerville. He also dispelled the notion of a bobcat’s fur holding any value. Scratch out the monetary option. The other two options were implausible, too. None of us had a refrigeration unit to keep the cat on ice before taking it to Rogers the next day. Additionally, the right side of the animal was not in good shape.
Stuck with a bobcat, we decided to show some of my family members before disposing of it, and all of them remarked about the animal’s beauty and powerful, compact build. What a shame, my mother said.
Yes, it was a shame. A wonderful animal lost its life, my car is still in the garage – at Daniel and Brothers in Fly Creek – as I type this, and we were not able to get the animal to a proper organization as a tool for learning.
It was indeed a Sunday to remember – one I will not soon forget. And from now on, the only Bobcats I want to see up close are the ones that wear helmets and shoulder pads. Yes, the Bobcats from Bainbridge-Guilford who will be suiting up for the start of football practice in two weeks.
And while I did make a few wrong decisions along the way on Sunday, the decision to attend the hall of fame ceremony honoring two of my heroes, that is one I will never regret.

e-mail: pnewell@evesun.com