This is arguably my favorite all time home run. The last home run of my favorite childhood player’s HOF career was a walk-off against one of the best closers in the game. Thank you for the memories @RealCJ10 !! 🔥
MLB trying to sell us that college is the best place to develop players while I’m watching an 18-year-old who threw 5 innings yesterday come into a game today in a 2-0 count with runners on will take incredible sales skills.
A young Navy serviceman and American patriot is facing 20 years in federal prison, not for hurting anyone, not for committing violence, but for possessing cut-up parts kits and non-functional historical collectibles.
His life, military career, and future have been destroyed over inert pieces of history that should never have been treated like criminal contraband.
This is not justice.
Pardon Tate Adamiak now.
Bob Horner and I were destined to be teammates somewhere. I signed a letter of intent to play baseball at Arizona State before I was drafted. Bob played at ASU and ended up in Atlanta my first full year in the major leagues—1978. One way or another, it was bound to happen.
From the minute Bob Horner joined the Braves, all us players could see he was good. I mean… really good. And that swing—short and quick, x or and could turn around anybody’s fast ball. And Bob knew the strike zone. He just did not swing at a bad pitch (like I had a tendency to do a little too often…) He was a unique talent and I was very lucky to be in the lineup with him most of my career. All of my numbers were better when he was hitting behind me. And that fact is not lost on me. I know my career was better because of him.
It’s been a hard few weeks for the Braves Family losing Ted and Bobby—and now Bob. These 3 men all had such a profound impact on my career. I am forever grateful.
Nancy and I will miss Bob and our hearts go out to Chris and Trent and Tyler, along with their entire family.
The older we get, the more we cherish wonderful memories and this past month has brought a flood of them back to us. The gratitude we feel for them all has been overwhelming.
Rest well, my friend and teammate.
R.I.P., Bob Horner. Never played in the minors, not even when owner Ted Turner ordered it during a Horner slump in 1980 and he refused to go. The man looked like Dusty Rhodes, retired with a 127 career OPS+ and did things his way. There’s plenty to be said for that. God bless.
Super Sky Point to Bob Horner. He was the NL Rookie of the Year and an All-Star but if you were around back then you know he was more than that. Much more. He was a fixture in the homes of millions of us through the miracle of cable television during those epic childhood summers that seemed like they’d never end.
I was a fan for over 40 years but had never met Bob until I interviewed him last December about Dale Murphy’s Hall of Fame case. As you’d expect, Bob was a fierce advocate for his fellow Fulton County basher. How could he not be? They were Murph and Horner. Horner and Murph. The Hall and Oates of the Launching Pad.
You know, these sky points all suck to write but this one hurts more than most. The four-homer game, the bad perm, Chief Noc-A-Homa waiting by his teepee for another Horner long ball. I have tweeted a lot about Bob Horner through the years and it’s because he represents to me, and I suspect many of you too, something far bigger than baseball: WTBS coming out of the magic box on top of my 400-pound Zenith, cool air coming through my bedroom window after another afternoon of Wiffle Ball, and Rick Mahler (probably) toeing the rubber at about 7:05 while hoping to keep the Braves in it with smoke and mirrors long enough for Horner and Murph to do some damage. And me sprawled out on green and yellow shag carpet in Kentucky paying 100 times more attention to Skip Caray, Ernie Johnson, and Pete Van Wieren than any of my teachers.
Farewell, you sweet slugging bastard. Tell St. Peter you brought your glove for the hot corner and to write you into the cleanup spot. #RIP