Rice selection brings back memories

I was pleased that Jim Rice got elected to the baseball Hall of Fame the other day.

After all, there aren't that many Hall of Famers that I can claim as roommates.

Yes, I used to work in Anderson, S.C., which is famous for being the great Red Sox outfielder's home town. I worked there from August 1983 to May 1984, when I left for what I thought was my shot at the big time in St. Louis.

During that time, I shared a lovely three-bedroom condominium on Lake Hartwell with two colleagues from the Anderson Independent-Mail. One was a Southern good old boy named Cole, whose last name is lost to me in the mists of memory. The other was Jim Rice.

Editor's note: Mike ...

It's true. My roommate's name was Jim Rice. It just wasn't the same Jim Rice who hit 39 home runs and had 126 RBI for the Boston Red Sox in 1983.

My roommate was a little guy from West Virginia who had never met his more famous namesake; he certainly wasn't related to him.

But there is one thing interesting about this story. Kids all over the country who have baseball cards send them to the particular player and ask for autographs. I'm sure most of the requests for Rice went to Boston, but apparently a good number of them were simply addressed to "Jim Rice, Anderson, SC."

At least some of those came to my roommate.

"What do you do with them?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I sign them -- 'Best Wishes, Jim Rice' -- and send them back," he said.