To celebrate my 10th birthday—August 25, 1973—mom agreed to load up her 1972 Buick Riviera with 4 friends (plus my sister), and drive us all the 100 miles from Columbus, Ga., to Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium for a Braves/Pirates game the following Saturday.

And what was really cool was that I was going to have a “ballpark birthday party.” I had no idea what that meant—a birthday cake presented at a picnic table, it turned out—but it all sounded pretty great.

Luckily, Mom loved baseball. Born in Hartford, Conn.—home of the Hartford Chiefs, a Braves minor-league club—she grew up a Red Sox fan. Later, when she went to grad school in Boston at Simmons College in the late-’50s, she liked nothing better than paying 75-cents for a Fenway bleacher seat on a Sunday afternoon to see “the great Ted Williams” (and that’s exactly what she called him).

So—to borrow from a still-annoying pop song of the day—the first part of the journey would be a trip up the old two-lane Georgia Highway 85. The I-185 connection from Columbus to the part of I-85 that took you to Atlanta didn’t exist yet, so it was a slow-going 40 miles at the start. (Odd that the state’s second-largest metro area wouldn’t have an interstate connection to Atlanta, but we were told that Columbusites had a habit of supporting the wrong gubernatorial candidate—the guy who’d promised us a highway would always lose the primary.) Anyway, as we eased up the old road somewhere around Hamilton, Ga., a big, dark sedan was high-tailing it up to our bumper.

It was pretty noticeable and my mother seemed annoyed for the moment. But her annoyance quickly turned into sudden shock. Her eyes bugged out a little as she looked in the rear-view. Then she quickly pumped the brakes and let the car pass us. As it went by, we saw what was freaking her out…

The two passengers in the speeding car were wearing masks! And why? Well, everyone in the car (besides mom) was a WTCG-TV watcher and we all immediately realized that the occupants were none other than Mr. Wrestling # 1 and Mr. Wrestling #2! (Of course, to a car full of 10-year-olds, this made perfect sense.)

Mr. Wrestling #1—aka Tim Woods “from Michigan State University”—was at the wheel in an all-white mask, while Mr. Wrestling #2 “from parts unknown” rode shotgun in his black- trimmed hood. As the storylines went, #1 was the “scientific wrestler, a man of 1,000 holds,” while #2 was the precursor to the anti-hero character that would begin to dominate the wrestling biz—you know, the good guy who would righteously lose his temper and unleash furious anger, not to mention a devastating knee-lift on villains like Ox Baker or Mr. Fuji. (Perhaps it shouldn’t be so shocking to know that Miss Lillian, the mother of future POTUS Jimmy Carter, was a big fan of #2.)
We were so excited because everyone in the car was a wrestling fan—except mom, of course. She didn’t know Mr. Wrestling from Mr. Rogers—she thought those guys in the speeding car might be bank robbers and seemed prepared to exit the road like a fuel-starved Richard Petty flying into the pits. But she sensed from our reactions that the coast was clear, so she stayed on the two-laner and returned to being merely annoyed.

The traffic was a little thick, so we stayed behind the wrestlers until we got to the I-85 interchange where we implored her to catch up to them. She did and, as we cruised up beside them, all the kids in our car began waving and yelling. And to our great satisfaction, Mr. Wrestling #2—a man later revealed to be one Johnny Walker—began waving back and, somehow, underneath that tight mask you could actually see him smiling. What a bizarre thrill.

In retrospect, two things occurred to me about that encounter. One, as it was a Saturday, the grapplers certainly were leaving one TV show (a local Columbus production with promoter Fred Ward) to appear on another (the nationally known Georgia Championship Wrestling with Gordon Solie)—that’s why they were blazing down the road with such fury.

Two, the reason for our excitement was oddly connected to our Braves fandom. A lot of families—in Columbus’ Oakland Park and beyond—had gotten cable TV in the house because of WTCG’s programing of NWA wrestling and its soap-opera-like storylines. Sad to say, the Braves—with future Hall of Famers Henry Aaron and Phil Niekro and all-stars like Ralph Garr and Dusty Baker— were just a by-product of that wrestling fandom for many. But in the early ’80s, as WTCG became WTBS and the Braves went from hopeless laughingstock to genuine competitors, more and more people began to appreciate the contests that were not being staged for dramatic effect. Of course, Dale Murphy and Bob Horner had a lot to do with that, too.

OK, The Game: Even as a 10-year-old, I knew we might see some runs—these two clubs could swing the stick. From Pittsburgh, this was The Lumber Company of Stargell, Oliver, Hebner, Sanguillen and Zisk. After winning the NL East the previous three seasons, it was a down year for them. But because their division was so awful in ’73, their 80-82 record meant a third-place finish, only 2.5 games behind the (eventual pennant-winning) Mets. They weren’t eliminated until the final weekend.

And, truly, this was one of the crazier Braves teams in history—no pitching beyond Niekro and Carl Morton, but three guys (Aaron, Darrell Evans and Davey Johnson), who hit 40 homers each, plus Garr and Baker, who were plenty formidable. Even journeyman Frank Tepedino had a big year pinch-hitting. But bad moundwork meant a 76-85-1 finish—yes, that’s a tie—22.5 games behind The Big Red Machine.

What I Remember About the Game: Dock Ellis pitched, but Henry Aaron sat (in favor of Mike Lum, a Hawaiian magician/LF, who also played some 1B). But the Bravos rocked the Psychedelic Starter early and knocked him out after 4 IP with a Dave Johnson grand slam— #36! It cracked off the bat impressively—Atlanta Stadium had some amazing acoustics—and loftEd High down the left-field line. The sunbaked 26,113—a good crowd for those days— managed a sharp cheer the instant the ball settled into the foul pole netting. We then watched the ball drop straight down about 100 feet onto the warning track. As it bounded away from their left-fielder—an underwhelmed Willie Stargell—Johnson approached home plate where he’d be greeted by Lum, Baker and Evans. Atlanta had a 6-1 lead.

It got to 8-1, but the Pirates awoke in the 7th—Al Oliver laced a 3-run HR over the right-field fence off starter Roric Harrison. Then, things got scary in the 9th. Pittsburgh loaded the bases, eventually scoring two more to make it 8-6. With nobody out and the tying run at the plate, lefty reliever Tommy House retired the imposing Oliver, then struck out the downright- terrifying Stargell. Righty Adrian Devine came in to face Richie Zisk and got him on a called third strike. The slugger complained bitterly to ump Dick Stello, but the Braves were winners, and our return trip to Muscogee County was a happy one.

And when we got back to the schoolyard that following Monday, would we have some stories to tell!