The Game

Keeping score as a reason to live

by Tim O'Sullivan

Mike "Spanky" Beveridge is the official statistician for the Portland Sea Dogs, and he hasn't missed a single game at Hadlock Field in the seven-year history of the franchise. From his perch in the press box he meticulously records every detail of baseball. Yet even as the official statistician, Spanky does not get paid. He does it because he has to -- he's hardwired for it. With his acumen for averages, trends, and statistics friends ask Mike why he isn't a stockbroker. "Those numbers don't mean anything to me," says Spanky. "These [baseball] numbers mean something to me."

Beveridge scored his first game when he was six. "I remember it vividly. It was my uncle's softball game." Spanky's technical proficiency has come a long way since then. Today he uses a laptop computer and "Automated Scorecard" software developed by Alex Grimm, Naval Intelligence cryptographer. The program is capable of deriving a myriad of statistics, but not enough for Spanky: "I've been hounding Alex to create a pitcher-versus-batter function," which would generate statistics based on head-to-head competition for any particular batter versus any particular pitcher, "and now he is coming out with it. July 1. I'm counting down the days."

Along with the 50 resumes he submitted for the job and his love of the game, it was Spanky's skills with the computer that got him the "job." "If Leroy was computer literate," confesses Spanky, "I wouldn't be here."

Leroy is Leroy Rand, official scorekeeper for the Sea Dogs. He has been keeping score at baseball games since his junior high days at Cummings School in East Deering during the 1940s. "I didn't make the baseball team. So the coach told me if I went in town and bought him a newspaper and talked to this sportswriter who did it all the time, that I could keep score."

Leroy has seen scorekeeping evolve throughout the years. "What they can do now is just unreal," he marvels. While keeping score for the Maine Guides during the '80s it might have taken Leroy nearly two hours of work after the game to fill out the official, oversized scorecard. "Now, Spanky has it all hot off the press in five minutes."

But Spanky and Leroy are not the only ones keeping score.

Glenn Jordan covers the Sea Dogs for the Portland Press Herald. He first started keeping score at his older brother's little league games and at whiffle ball games in the neighbor's yard. "I hit like 50 home runs. It was a short porch." Sometimes Glenn will refer to Sea Dogs scorecards from years past to help jog his memory. "Also, it makes the game go by faster. It helps you pay attention, otherwise...," he stares dreamily at the summer sky above Hadlock.

As dedicated as these men are, there is yet a deeper level of fanaticism. Beveridge, Rand, and Jordan all have official capacities with the Sea Dogs and their scorekeeping has a palpable end. Tom Keene is a fan and season-ticket holder who keeps score at every game out of an unadulterated passion.

While he may not use military intelligence level software, Tom is just as detailed utilizing his multi-colored click pen. "Red is for strikeouts and called strikes. Black is for swinging strikes, balls, and hits. Green is for walks and runs. Blue is for foul balls." It goes on and on. "Patterns in baseball are like patterns in life," he says in a philosophical moment.

Tom first kept score as a kid listening to Red Sox games on the radio. He produced scorecards for every game of the 1967 and 1975 World Series, and remembers having a "shaky pen" as he wrote "HR Fisk" at the historic end of game 6 in 1975. Special moments like these motivate Tom to keep score. "I know one day I'll be at a perfect game.

"It is conceivable, though I won't admit this," Tom adds with a wry smile, "but I might be obsessive-compulsive."