Such A Shame

  Watching the New York Yankees this season is, for me, an addiction. Perhaps it’s my childhood loyalty. Maybe it’s because I love the sport so much and I actually could play the game a bit. 

Or perhaps it is the fact that Aaron Judge is one of the greatest ball players I have ever seen. I thought the same about Mickey Mantle and Derek Jeter, when he played. Plus I became enamored with their supporting casts. 

There is a segment on Yankees broadcasts on the YES Network entitled “Name That Yankee.” It is a fun treat each game trying to guess who the player is. Most times it involves somebody who played for the Yankees and that day’s opponent. I can guess only a handful of the names correctly, usually resorting to my phone for a Google search of a particular Yankees roster that was listed on the screen. It’s a lot like the way I cannot get many answers the clues for the Sunday puzzles from the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times. Still, I try for the elation of getting it right or in the case of the puzzle, figuring out the long clues, I guess. But I digress. 

The Yankees throughout the years were my baseball heroes. I patterned my swing after second baseman Bobby Richardson, a mainstay of the 50’s and 60’s glory years. I became a switch hitter due to Mantle, perhaps the best ever, and Rookie of the Year Tom Tresh. I could replicate the swings of most every Yankees player of my youth, which I practiced repeatedly in so many stickball games at the Hamilton School, my local elementary school. 

You wanted to see AL home run record holder Roger Maris (until Judge passed him) blast a home run? Sure, I had power to clear the fence at the end of the playground. Yogi Berra? I could swing at bad pitches too and loft them into play. 

My imitation wasn’t limited to hitters. I wound up like Bullet Bob Turley, a mainstay of the staff. Bulldog Jim Bouton with his maximum effort windup with his cap falling off? No problem there. 

Sure, I could replicate players from other teams. For whatever reason, I was fascinated with the in-the-bucket swing from Jake Woods of Elizabeth, New Jersey when he was with the Detroit Tigers. Same too with Frank Thomas, the home run slugger for the nascent New York Mets. 

The opponents were the exception to the rule. Why really bother when the Yankees were routinely ruling baseball?  Besides, it was much more fun to be a Yankee while honing my skills. 

You need to understand that I thought I really could play baseball. I was pretty good as a kid in Highland Park, New Jersey. Made an All Star team the year my parents didn’t take me on a cross country car trip. Played center field on my championship Junior League team in 8th and 9th grades and even stole home to win a game. 

Striking out wasn’t in my game—even in college (and the one time I suffered a called third strike, that ball might not have been a strike for a guy 6’2” or so). I thought I could actually make contact with Tommy John, the fine MLB pitcher who was the prototype for the current elbow surgery which bears his name. 

I played a bit of baseball in high school. I was on the JV team as a freshman and while I would get on base, the coach would routinely pull me for a sophomore who would never come up with a hit. It boggled my mind. 

Being short and pudgy at age 15, I was the object of great derision and bullying from a certain element on the team. As a result of a very physical hazing incident after the coach once more pinch hit for me, I had to leave the team for my own protection. Even then hazing continued into my sophomore year when I put a clear stop it.  

I didn’t play any organized ball after that. Just stickball and catching fly ball after fly ball my friends hit to me, while developing great arm strength with my throws and pitching. Losing 30 pounds and starting to lift weights didn’t hurt either. 

I had a cockamamie notion that I could walk on at Franklin and Marshall College having not played in a game for almost four years. Nobody asked questions. My hitting, fielding and throwing was sufficient. 

My college career wasn’t what I wanted it to be. After playing two years, I foolishly wrestled intramurally and hurt myself against a guy who had been recruited to wrestle at F&M, an EIWA member which went up against the likes of the Ivy League, Army, Navy and even Dan Gable and Iowa State. I didn’t make the squad my junior year because I was unable to throw. Many years later—during my first shoulder surgery when I awoke in the midst of it—I learned I had separated the shoulder. I think I knew that because I remember banging the shoulder into a wall hard and felt a bit better. 

I ended my college eligibility as a bench warmer and was able to coach and play with the junior varsity. I dabbled in softball, having the great opportunity to play in the US House of Representatives league in 1971 and be part of an Essex County Lawyers League championship team in 1984. 

When the opportunity arose, I played in two Alumni-Varsity baseball games after I graduated. The first contest was in 1973. The second one was in 1992, after I had the aforementioned rotator cuff surgery and had rehabbed with the idea in mind that I had been invited to play and would end my ball playing in a way which I felt would be most fitting. 

I made friends for life from my college team. My softball friends remain in touch. I even owe baseball for my professional career, as the New Jersey Office of the Public Defender’s Appellate Section needed a good player for its softball team while filling an open spot. Which is how I met my wife and developed my beautiful family. 

I looked at playing baseball on a team as an honor. I was privileged enough to do so despite some adversity and despite of my small stature. 

So when I read about Derek Jeter not coming to this year’s Old Timers’ Day, I felt cheated. Sure, I can see him talking on a pre-and post-game show for FOX. 

That’s all well and good. To me, Derek Jeter is the face of the winningest Yankees teams of recent memory. He will always be because of his exploits. Jeter was a generational talent. Sure, he worked hard at his craft. He was expected to succeed given his first round draft pedigree. Something which I was never blessed with. 

The Yankees are saluting the 25th anniversary of the team which defeated the Mets in the Subway Series. Most all of the big names are returning. Even Roger Clemens, with his Hall of Fame credentials (yet always under a cloud of doubt over whether he used steroids to prolong his career) is making his debut at the NYY Old Timers celebration. 

After Jeter refused to come last year unless there wasn’t an actual game to be played as had been the case, this year the Yankees brought back the game for the fans to enjoy. But Jeter won’t be anywhere near the stadium, citing a daughter’s birthday as an excuse not to come. Really?

Joe DiMaggio was a Yankees legend. I only saw him play via newsreel footage. He was a celebrity.  He even married Marilyn Monroe, the sexiest woman alive in his era. 

He supposedly came for the fans. He even played in the games until he knew when it was time to stop in the mid ’80’s when he was photographed getting dressed. He didn’t like his aging body being displayed. Nonetheless, DiMaggio kept appearing with his dignity intact by wearing a suit and being announced as “the greatest living ballplayer.” Forty-seven out of forty-eight times did Joe Di return to the Bronx for Old Timers’ Day. Only a surgical recuperation kept him away.

Derek Jeter is entitled to act as he wishes. However, as a person who loves the game of baseball, loves the Yankees (even this current edition for which TV viewing is like going to a NASCAR race waiting for the inevitable crashes), I expected more. I wouldn’t have thought he would give up the chance to hear the adoration of the vocal and loyal Yankees fans who supported him throughout his career. 

So, unlike DiMaggio, who was aloof from his teammates when he played, yet still came back to be honored and remembered. As much as I thought DiMaggio was a snob, he did the right thing by returning each year for generations to show their appreciation. 

As a result, I now look to Judge. He carries himself correctly. He interacts with the fans. He, to me, represents the best as a player and a human being. Judge is now my favorite Yankees player, with Mantle, who always came back for Old Timers’Day, in second place. I doubt he would pull the same garbage as Jeter. 

At the least, it seems that Derek Jeter is no Joe DiMaggio or even Mickey Mantle. Such a shame.