Hank Aaron (Part six)
By the 1970’s, he was finally beginning to be seen and considered by the world to be embarking upon the possibility of hammering his way into the realm of eternity, and due in large part to his historic chase of the homerun record, and in effort to help highlight his aura, the Braves changed their uniform and the uniforms would be the first worn of the Sand-Knit era, showcased at least seven years ahead of its time.
They were of the very first and very few designs to trash the traditional button-up style. An athletic V-shaped collar. Away jerseys were cloaked in a sky blue with white sleeves that depicted on the biceps a red and blue feather, and the team nickname slapped in freehand scribe in white lettering across the chest and outlined by a boiling red border. The material was breathable and light on the flesh, almost the same fabric of a t-shirt, in comparison to the heavy woolen cloth of the common and standard uniforms.
They are considered now, by many people, in comparison to other styles of uniform, as being trailer trash or ghetto, almost a grotesque celebration of non-privilege, and probably also recognized by the fans of other teams in the 1970’s as being pure ugliness. The style seems just as likely to have been designed for a beer or BBQ-joint sponsored softball league. When they were washed they shrunk horrendously, and so they had to be sent from the clubhouse after each game to a dry cleaners, and after the cleaners caught fire and burned, the jerseys in its possession were salvaged and still worn, and revealed in the base of the colors a golden and charred mark of fire and brimstone, similar to the outfit and origin of the outfit a superhero might wear.
Hank Aaron wore the home design the night he hammered out homerun number 715, pants and jersey in a matching shade of dull-white that seems to have been clayed among the heavens, with blue sleeves, and a hat and helmet on his head, painted half in that spoiled-milk white and half in a pearl-sea blue and revealing over the mind a blood-red lowercase “a” team logo.
The uniforms had a lack of class and sophistication the game of baseball had been so accustomed to. Seeing as how it tried so hard to omit the prospect of championing the success of a black ballplayer, these jerseys seem to represent a perfect ‘kiss my ass’ style and attitude, all the while being worn by one the most resilient and toughest and humble players to ever lace up cleats. When one conjures up the notion of triumph and glory in the Deep South, the image of this jersey, numbered 44 stitched across the back and stitched into the front left ribcage, must come to mind.
They aren’t made anymore. It is likely, these days to see somebody wearing the jersey to be over fifty years old, and one who makes a living working outdoors and working with their hands, carpenters and landscapers, mechanics and farmers, or worn by a young Braves fan as a hand-me-down gift. One imagines this would make Aaron smile, and the spirit of his father proud.
One wonders, too, if the Braves ought to wear these uniforms still, at least every other Sunday or even just one Sunday a month as a means of tribute, a way to honor the legacy of probably their most significant and storied and statuesque player.
To put it plain, the uniform is the cloth of the American South for the 1970s.