A Different Curse

A Different Curse

By D. H. Devlin August 17. 2006

Continuing with our quest to gain interviews for our humble little website, we stumbled across a first time author. And he chose to write about the Boston Red Sox. Ya gotta love a man who picks a winning topic first time out of the chute.

Howard Camerik is the author of “The Curse of Carl Mays”, a fictional novel which was published and released on July 30^th. Camerik’s work is receiving solid reviews since its release date and a buzz is already being heard in and around Red Sox Nation.

For those of you who don’t know who Carl Mays was, he was the other staff ace for the Boston Red Sox while Babe Ruth was with the team. We all know what happened to Ruth. But did you know that…

Well, if I continued I would be giving too much away about the book. I think the better idea is to let the author describe the story line.

D. H. Devlin:; Tell us a little about the book. What was the inspiration and what's the theory?

Camerik: Let me start with the theory. “The Curse of Carl Mays” is, of course, a baseball curse that I invented [I was explaining it to a friend and he remarked, “oh, so it’s a curse you just made up,” and I replied, “made up, you mean, as opposed to the real curse, the one that wasn’t just made up by a writer,” and he said, “yeah, that one, the Bambino thing.” Apparently, he didn’t know he was being mocked]. I always thought the Curse of the Bambino, as a theory, was missing something. I mean, c’mon, it’s based on financial troubles, but a real “curse,” something supernatural from the great beyond, should have a macabre element, shouldn’t it? El Guapo’s ghost wasn’t going to do it [shout out to that blog]. Enter Carl Mays.

Carl Mays started his career as a star pitcher for the Sox – he and Ruth were co-aces on the 1918 championship team. Ruth was sold during the 1919-1920 off-season, but he wasn’t the first to go. It was Mays, who was shipped to the Yankees during the 1919 season. Many baseball enthusiasts know about Mays’ eventual date with infamy. On August 16^th, 1920, while wearing pinstripes, Mays drilled popular Indians’ shortstop Ray Chapman in the head, killing him. Mays was a reviled, cantankerous sort – sort of the Ty Cobb of the pitching ranks – and also a notorious “beaner.” There is some evidence to suggest that Mays’ headhunting ways were cultivated by his former manager with the Sox, Bill Carrigan. Ergo, the Sox, through, Mays, bear responsibility for Chapman’s death, and viola, a real curse is born. In the book, this curse will literally be reversed -- by time-traveling paramedics from 1986, including Mays’ (fictional) grandson. I am compelled to add that I am answering this question on the 86^th anniversary of the Mays-Chapman event, 86 as in 1986, 86 as in 86 years between Sox titles … weird …

An Amazon reviewer aptly described the novel as a cross between Field of Dreams and Back to the Future. The main character is Pat McCarvill, the mayor of Boston circa 1986 (I retired Kevin White a little early). He’s a telegenic guy with a big political future, but he’s “haunted” by a youthful decision to give up a professional baseball career just as it was getting started. The first half of the story, in a series of flashbacks, tracks Pat’s life and the turns it took to arrive him at this spot. Then, while playing ball in a charity game the day of “Game Six”, he gets drilled in the head. The paramedics dispatched to his aid end up in 1920 at the Polo Grounds, and with their modern medical skills they save Ray Chapman from his destiny. The effect of Chapman’s resurrection disturbs the historical timeline. Chapman returns from the beaning as a shadow of his former self (Tony C, anyone?), has been usurped by future Hall-of-Famer Joe Sewell, and is shipped off to the Sox as a utility infielder. Much later, now settled in Boston, Chapman’s life intersects with Pat’s, and the result is a metamorphosis for Pat, and in turn, for the Sox, and for the City of Boston. The second half of the book introduces the “alternate universe” Pat – now a 41-year-old end-of-the-line relief pitcher for the ’86 Sox brought in to take young Schiraldi under his wing – and a comparable series of flashbacks ensue, building up to the crescendo, the “alternate universe” tenth inning of Game Six.

In the second half, the story’s platform is the Sox’s bullpen during Game Six, and the flashbacks take “alternate universe” Pat through his baseball career, including a rise up the Red Sox farm system and an earlier (70s) stint with the team. It’s all Sox-oriented, but the second half is where the fan reader should really get comfortable. It’s intended to be a fun read, but with an underlying message we can all relate to – essentially, how fragile the fabric of history is and how dependent on random events our lives are. Change one thing, move one domino, and the effects can be far-reaching. The butterfly flapping his wings in Africa, that sort of thing.

As for the inspiration …

The story idea had its genesis during a softball game. A teammate led off the bottom of the ninth of a tie game with an infield roller, and as he streaked across the bag (safe), he tripped over the back of the first baseman’s foot, launched in the air, and landed on his head, out cold. We hustled to call 911, and on a sleepy Sunday morning in a Fort Lauderdale suburb you could hear the ambulance from miles away, the siren getting louder as it got closer. We were all worried for our friend and tensely awaiting the ambulance’s impending arrival when suddenly, as it seemed really close, the siren noise stopped. Where was it? Not here. I retorted, “maybe the ambulance accidentally slipped through the time-space continuum and is arriving at the Polo Grounds to save Ray Chapman, instead.” Like a baseball geek’s imitation of Dennis Miller, the arcane remark landed like a lead balloon. But right on the spot it got me thinking -- that’s a lousy not to mention ill-timed joke, but there might be a novel in there, somewhere … or at least a Twilight Zone episode. And the idea started flowing from there. By the way, the ambulance eventually showed, my teammate was alright, and his pinch-runner scored the winning run.

D. H. Devlin: And the motivation?

Camerik: As for the motivation to make it happen, I have to credit Chan (@#*%ing) Ho Park. His execrable performance during the first six weeks of the 2002 season so permanently buried my fantasy team, I had to ask myself, am I going to spend all summer flipping around the dial watching a lost cause, or is this a good opportunity to get down to writing that novel I’ve been thinking about? So thank you Ho … you worthless corpuscle of fecal matter.

D. H. Devlin; So the story drops fictional characters and events into real "Red Sox History". What former players can we expect to have fictional, speaking roles in the book?

Camerik: As I mentioned, the platform for the second half of the book is the Sox’s bullpen at Shea Stadium, during Game Six. The main “sounding board” for Pat is Joe Sambito. But most of the rest of the pen gets in the act, too – Crawford, Stewart, Schiraldi (doh!), Joe Morgan (bullpen coach), even Bruce Hurst (it’s Game Six – all hands on deck). Outside the bullpen, Gedman and Buckner get their moments as well.

I also mentioned that Pat has an earlier stint with the Sox in the 70s. He’s portrayed as a protégé of one of UOTM’s favorites, The Spaceman, who is featured as a prominent character in Curse. Pudge gets some play. Sparky Lyle, Ken Brett, Duane Josephson, Rico Petrocelli, Rick Miller, Reggie Smith, Joe Lahoud all get lines.

D. H. Devlin: If you were given the opportunity to have a say in casting a movie version of the book, what actors would you have in mind for some of the characters?

Camerik: I don’t think you’ll find any writer of fiction that hasn’t cast the movie in his mind, and I’m no exception. The lead, Pat McCarvill, is made for Ben Affleck – tall, handsome, athletic politician-turned-ballplayer with a Boston accent, requiring a face that can play it from the 20s to the early 40s. He’s perfect. Are you kiddin’ me? Ben? Benjamin? The chance to star in the fictional re-writing of Sox history? Buddy? C’mon, bro, I know you read all the team blogs and websites, so talk to me, babe. I option cheap.

After Affleck is signed on, then I figure it becomes an all-Beantown wicked free-for-all. I like Michael Chiklis as McCarvill’s side-kick in the first half, and Matt Damon, we can squeeze you in to play McCarvill’s sidekick in the second half [I know it’s only a supporting role and you’re a “leading man,” but hey, this is the Sox we’re talking about, so stop your whining]. We’ll find a place for Mark Wahlberg, too. And may I suggest a UOTM contest to determine who should play the Spaceman? Dennis Leary has the writer’s early vote. But the temptation to tap Michael Richards (a.k.a. Kramer) is strong.

D. H. Devlin: How long have you been a Sox fan?

Camerik: Dave, as I begin my tour through “the internets” to promote my new book, I face this question sitting on the (Sam) horns of an ethical dilemma. After much consideration, I’ve decided to take the high road. So, here goes. Uhhh … who says I’m a Sox fan? I would put it this way: I’ve been residing in Red Sox Nation on a temporary visa, and I’m submitting “The Curse of Carl Mays” as my formal application for naturalized citizenship.

I grew up in New York, in a “National League household” as the son of a Brooklyn Dodgers fan, dutifully taught that the Yankees were synonymous with fascism and the incarnate of evil. At the first live baseball game I ever attended as a 7-year old, Tom Seaver (his future stint with the Red Sox not even a glint in his eye) retired the first 25 Cubs he faced before little-known puissant outfielder Jimmy Qualls broke up history. I was hooked. And I was a big, big Mets fan throughout my youth. So if you ask me what my feelings were when the ball went through Buckner’s legs, I’m afraid on that one I will have to plead the Fifth Amendment. I never thought my devotion to the Mets would change, but … when I located to South Florida in 1987, I soon became active civically in promoting the idea of bringing an expansion team down here, ultimately ended up a season ticket holder, and have been a Marlins fan – that’s right, a Marlins fan – ever since. There aren’t many of us, but suffice to say its been a wild 13-year roller coaster ride. And yes, I know, we don’t deserve it. I’m almost embarrassed by the two titles.

Now, to write this story the way it needed to be written, I had to fully immerse myself in Red Sox lore and culture, and I am proud to confess that I have come out of it a Red Sox supporter. I would not say “fan,” only because, knowing a little of what real, genetically-coded Sox fandom is all about, it would be an insult to your readers. But I do watch NESN on my DirectTV, yell at Tito when he doesn’t bat Youk leadoff or brings in Tavarez, take particular pride in my trio of former Fish (Lowell, A-Gon, Josh), read your website and others, and still understand quite well what the Yankees do (rhymes with truck) – as I recently noted to a friend, if the Yankees adopted an aquatic moniker it could not be the marlin, it would have to be the remora (a.k.a. suckfish).

I must also report this. I play in a very competitive AL-only keeper fantasy league, and immediately after our 2003 draft, I acquired from the free agent pool a player who had a well-regarded stick but an uncertain claim on playing time. His name is David Americo Ortiz Arias. I stand close to my third championship in four years – unprecedented in my league – and the driving force has been the 160 dongs (Wait! There goes 161, off Verlander, baby!) he has clubbed for me, and for you, since that day. My team is now called “Who’s Your Papi?” My daughter Lindsay is about to christen her new dog “Little Papi.” I. Worship. This. Man. Of Big Papi, I’m more than just a fan, I’m a groupie. If I saw him in person, I’d be tempted to flash him my man-boobs.

D. H. Devlin: Where did you get your start in writing?

Camerik: “The Curse of Carl Mays” is my first novel. I wrote sports for my college newspaper during the Ralph Sampson era at the University of Virginia and have spent my career as a litigation attorney with an affinity for legal writing. I always wanted to write fiction. All I needed was a story to tell, and the motivation to get off my tired arse and do it.

D. H. Devlin: You already talked about your love of baseball. But will that lead you to more books with baseball as the focal point or a backdrop in future writing efforts?

Camerik: I’m not working on anything right now other than getting the word out about Curse, but yes, it’s hard for me to imagine that my next project wouldn’t have a baseball theme. They say “write what you know,” and I don’t have the hubris to think I know about anything other than baseball.

So … hmmm … how would it affect baseball history if Bucky Dent suffered a career ending knee injury while testicle-spiking and neutering Bob Boone during a collision at home plate …

D. H. Devlin; Being that you needed to "immerse" yourself into Red Sox Nation to obtain a good feel on how to write this novel, what are your impressions of the rabid fan base that follows the Red Sox?

Camerik: Dave, if you want to really experience a rabid fan base, come down here to South Florida. Hold onto your Budweiser, pal, I’m talking foaming at the mouth rabid, blood oaths, dripping candle wax, tattoos – it’s all Fish, all the time. The stadium feels like it’s going to come apart at the seams, night after night …

Oops, I nodded off there for a second. Must’ve been dreaming. I’m awake now.

The Red Sox fan base. Omigod. Nothing like it. It’s a fraternity. No, not a fraternity, a religion. No, not even a religion, a Grateful Dead traveling caravan. The average citizen of the Nation would castigate Jimmy Fallon for missing a Yankees game for that stupid party, and rightly so – grow a pair, Jimmy. I love every aspect of it. The overreacting to a win? Great stuff. The overreacting to a loss? Even better. The “Yankees suck” chant at area weddings? I say, why not funerals, too. Makes me wish I was born in The Hub. Really. I don’t think you can “become” a real Sox fan; it has to be woven in to your DNA. And you know what I like most about Sox fans? They love to read! Especially about the Sox. Especially fantastical stories that seek to fictionally correct the historical injustices that have been imposed upon the noble warriors. C’mon, Nation! Click that link, get you a copy of “the Curse of Carl Mays,” and let me know what you think (howard.camerik@yahoo.com). And all you folks who clicked on a site called “Up On The Monster” looking for internet porn, feel free to join the buying frenzy, too.

We would like to thank Howard Camerik for taking the time to stop by and spend some time with us. If you'd like to purchase a copy of the book click here