Posts Tagged ‘Billy Martin’

The Night That Ted Turner Managed the Braves

Monday, May 15th, 2017

Some things aren’t meant to last.

Prime time television’s roster has a handful of shows that didn’t endure more than episode, e.g., Co-Ed FeverPublic MoralsSouth of Sunset.

Major League Baseball’s annals boast tales of players who only played in one game.  Perhaps the best known in this category is Moonlight Graham, portrayed in the 1989 film Field of Dreams.

On May 11, 1977, Atlanta Braves owner Ted Turner added another story when he ventured from the owner’s suite to the dugout to manage the Braves.  His helming lasted only one night; Major League Baseball’s powers that be reminded Turner that a rule prevented managers from partial or full ownership of a team.  The Braves lost the May 11th game to the Pirates 2-1; it was Atlanta’s 17th consecutive loss.  Phil Niekro pitched a complete game, a noble outing in a 16-20 season yielding a National League-leading 262 strikeouts for the Braves knuckleballer.

Though Turner expressed a Veeckian ardor for baseball and its fans, the likes of Earl Weaver, Billy Martin, and Tommy Lasorda had nothing to fear from the man dubbed “Mouth of the South” for his brashness flavored with ambition, dedication, and southern charm.  Managerial aspirations may have been fleeting, but they were, nonetheless, on display in the Braves dugout.

Commitment to success did not constrain Turner to his accountants and bookkeepers.  A communications magnate who created the Superstation template by offering his Atlanta station WTBS on cable systems across the country and revamped the news industry with Cable News Network (CNN), Turner has a passion for his portfolio beyond dollars and sense—an approach that continues today, long after these assets are no longer under his aegis.  His is a passion for excellence, enjoyment, and engagement.  In a 2001 profile of Turner for The New Yorker, Ken Auletta wrote, “To insure continuous baseball coverage that could not be taken off his Superstation, Turner, in 1976, bought the Atlanta Braves; although he paid a bargain price of ten million dollars, he went into debt to do it.  He attended most of the Braves home games: he ran out onto the field to lead the fans in “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”; sitting behind the Braves dugout, he’d spit Red Man tobacco juice into a cup and swill beer, in hot weather peeling off his shirt; when a Brave hit a home run, he’d jump over the railing and rush to the plate to greet him; he played cards with his players and insisted that they call him Ted.”

Putting the Braves on WTBS meant piping games into areas lacking major league teams—and, in some cases, minor league teams.  Thereby, Turner branded the squad “America’s Team.”  As inventive as P.T. Barnum, Turner employed a strategy to set the Braves games and other WTBS programming apart from network and local fare—by starting programs at five minutes after the hour or the half hour, WTBS stood out in the program listings in TV Guide.

Turner owned the Braves till the mid-1990s, when he sold the club to Time Warner.

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on May 11, 2017.

Chris Chambliss, Billy Martin, and the 1976 American League Playoff

Thursday, May 11th, 2017

The baseball traveled on its parabolic destiny, rising through the mid-October night and dropping a few dozen feet in front of the Manufacturers Hanover Super Checking billboard at 11:43 p.m. Eastern.  It was a moment of exhilaration, followed nanoseconds later by pandemonium in a crowd that hadn’t tasted a championship in more than a decade.

Chris Chambliss’s three-run homer brought the 1976 American League pennant to the New York Yankees in the ninth inning of the fifth and deciding game of the playoffs against the Kansas City Royals.  Score:  Yankees 7, Royals 6.

“And I want to tell you, the safest place to be is up here in the booth!” exclaimed WPIX-TV announcer and former Yankee shortstop Phil Rizzuto when several hundred fans stiff-armed decorum, poured onto the Yankee Stadium turf, and jumped up and down like the prospectors who discovered gold in mid-19th century California.

New York City hadn’t seen a celebration like that since V-E Day.

To say that Chambliss’s safety was in jeopardy is neither hyperbole nor ignorance.  Suddenly, survival instinct surpassed the duty of touching home plate, an impossibility given the swarm of fans excited by the victory and oblivious to the hero’s wellbeing; Chambliss didn’t even make it to third base.  Hoping to embrace their hero, Yankee rooters risked injuring him—maybe even trampling him.  Had it not been for the uniform and the baseball diamond, one might have thought Chambliss was a running back as he plowed his 6’1″, 195-pound frame through the crowd towards the refuge of the dugout and, in turn, the Yankee clubhouse.

Chambliss came to the Yankees in a 1974 trade—along with Chambliss, the Indians sent Dick Tidrow and Cecil Upshaw in exchange for Fritz Peterson, Fred Beene, Tom Buskey, and Steve Kline.  Not a power hitter, Chambliss was known as a dependable batsman—188 hits, 32 doubles, and 96 RBI in 1976.  With 17 home runs during the season, a dinger was feasible, but a hit off Royals pitcher Mark Little seemed more likely.

Chambliss, in the end, returned to the field under the guard of two police officers.  Alas, home plate vanished in the anarchy, so, to be sure, Chambliss stepped on the area.

Below the fold on the front page of the New York Times, media geography usually used to convey issues of national and of international importance, Murray Chass’s article informed the newspaper’s readers who went to bed before the ninth inning about the latest notch to Yankee Stadium’s greatest moments—a roster including Lou Gehrig’s “Luckiest Man” speech, Babe Ruth’s wistful farewell as he leaned on a bat with his frail body, and Don Larsen’s perfect game.

It was nostalgic, if not appropriate, that Billy Martin helmed the Yankee ball club.  Hired during the 1975 season, Martin had a reputation as a turnaround expert in stints with the Twins, the Tigers, and the Rangers.  But returning to the Bronx had an even sweeter taste for Martin—he played with the gloried Yankee teams of the 1950s, idolized manager Casey Stengel, and suffered a betrayal from Yankee management, specifically, Stengel.  Or so he believed.

When several Yankee players captured headlines with a fight at the Copacabana in New York in 1957, the front office shipped Martin to the Kansas City A’s after the season because of the embarrassment—it happened when Mickey Mantle, Hank Bauer, Yogi Berra, and Whitey Ford and their wives gathered to celebrate the 29th birthday of Martin, who went stag.  “Yanks Bench 2 in Copa Brawl” screamed the front page of the New York Daily News.  Confronting hecklers from a bowling team called the Republicans, the Yankees stepped up when nasty comments tinged with racism emerged from the hecklers aimed at Sammy Davis, Jr., the Copa’s performer, with whom the fellows from the Bronx were acquainted.  One bowler, a deli owner named Edwin Jones, claimed Bauer clocked him.

In his 2015 biography Billy Martin:  Baseball’s Flawed Genius, Bill Pennington wrote, “It was later learned that Casey had protected Billy from the Senators trade and two other trades.  But [Yankee General Manager George] Weiss was not to be dissuaded this time.  Not with this player in these circumstances.  Not when he wanted to send a message to the rest of the team.  Besides, Kubek was already in New York, ready to play shortstop.  For the Yankees’ youth movement in the middle infield to be complete, Richardson had to take over at second base.”

Stengel had not only managed Martin on the Yankees, they also worked together on the Oakland Oaks, a Pacific coast League championship team in 1948.  Returning to Yankee Stadium as a managerial descendant of his mentor may not have completely healed old wounds whose scars remained resonant, but it did give Yankee fans a continuity to the past, Martin a chance for redemption, and players the benefit of their manager’s baseball wisdom honed by Stengel’s tutelage two decades prior.

The Yankees lost the 1976 World Series to the Cincinnati Reds in a four-game sweep, but rebounded to win the series in 1977 and 1978, both times against the Los Angeles Dodgers.  Billy Martin went through several stings as the Yankee skipper, being fired and rehired by owner George Steinbrenner.

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on February 13, 2017.

What if…

Friday, April 21st, 2017

What if…

Charlie Finley hadn’t broken up the 1970s Oakland A’s dynasty?

Bob Uecker hadn’t appeared in Major League?

there was no Designated Hitter position?

the Mets had never traded Nolan Ryan to the Angels?

Yogi Berra had played for the Brooklyn Dodgers?

George Steinbrenner had never bought the Yankees?

the Dodgers had never moved from Brooklyn?

the Giants had moved to Minneapolis instead of San Francisco?

the Red Sox had never sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees?

Walter O’Malley had never owned the Brooklyn Dodgers?

the Red Sox had integrated in 1949 instead of 1959?

Satchel Paige had pitched against Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx, and other Hall of Famers in their prime?

Bob Feller and Ted Williams had never lost years to military service in World War II?

Mickey Mantle hadn’t blown out his knee in the 1951 World Series?

Bobby Thomson had struck out against Ralph Branch?

Commissioner William Eckert had never invalidated Tom Seaver’s contract with the Atlanta Braves?

Major League Baseball banned synthetic grass?

the Mets had never traded Tom Seaver to the Reds?

Reggie Jackson had never played for the Yankees?

Thurman Munson hadn’t died in a plane crash?

Mickey Mantle had stayed healthy in the home stretch of 1961?

The Natural had ended the same was as the eponymous novel?

the Indians hadn’t traded Chris Chambliss, Dennis Eckersley, Buddy Bell, and Graig Nettles?

the Braves hadn’t never left Boston for Milwaukee?

the first incarnation of the Washington Senators hadn’t left for Minnesota to become the Twins?

the second incarnation of the Washington Senators hadn’t left for Texas to become the Rangers?

the Seattle Pilots hadn’t left for Milwaukee to become the Brewers?

Jim Bouton hadn’t written Ball Four?

Roger Kahn hadn’t written The Boys of Summer?

Mark Harris hadn’t written Bang the Drum Slowly?

Jackie Robinson had sought a football career instead of a baseball career?

Billy Martin hadn’t managed the Yankees in the late 1970s?

Gil Hodges hadn’t died in 1972, during a high point in the history of the Mets?

Vin Scully had stayed in New York City and announced for the Yankees or the Mets?

Bob Feller had pitched for the Yankees?

Ted Williams had played for the Yankees?

Joe DiMaggio had played for the Red Sox?

Charles Ebbets hadn’t owned the Brooklyn Dodgers?

Honolulu had a Major League Baseball team?

Pete Rose were elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame?

the commissioner’s office rescinded the lifetime banishment of the 1919 Black Sox from Major League Baseball?

Hank Aaron had played in the same outfield as Willie Mays?

Wiffle Ball hadn’t been invented?

Nashville had a Major League Baseball team?

Dwight Goodman and Darryl Strawberry had stayed away from drugs?

Roberto Clemente had played for the Dodgers instead of the Pirates?

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on October 17, 2016.

The Hall of Fame Case for Lou Piniella

Monday, April 3rd, 2017

Lou Piniella is one of baseball’s greatest journeymen—a player with the Orioles, the Indians, the Royals, and the Yankees, in addition to stints as a manager with the Yankees, the Reds, the Mariners, the Devil Rays, and the Cubs.

Piniella’s achievements as a manager include winning a World Series championship, AL Manager of the Year twice, and NL Manager of the Year once.  With 1,835 career wins, Piniella is #14 on the all-time list—ahead of Hall of Fame managers Earl Weaver, Wilbert Robinson, Al Lopez, Miller Huggins, Tommy Lasorda, and Clark Griffith.  Also, Piniella managed the Mariners to an American League single-season record of 116 wins in 2001.

And yet, Piniella is not graced with a plaque in the Hall of Fame.  Why?  Surely, his managerial success indicates a career deserving of inclusion into the exclusive club in Cooperstown, located at 25 Main Street.  And that success emanated from determination.  Piniella managed as he played—with fierceness to win and reluctance to lose.

Yankee owner George Steinbrenner gave Piniella his first manager job.  Working for Steinbrenner came with legendary tension.  But in a 2002 article by Ira Berkow in the New York Times, Pinieall acknowledged the opportunity.  “I owe my managerial career to George,” said Piniella.  “He made me the manager and it was on-the-job training.  He saw something in me—I know he liked my intensity as a player—and he gave me a shot.”

“Intensity” to say the least.  Piniella had the resolve of a bull charging the matador.

For Yankee fans, Piniella was a fixture on the “Bronx Zoo” teams that brought three American League pennants and two World Series titles to Yankee Stadium in the late 1970s.  It was a volatile era, indeed.  When Reggie Jackson joined the Yankees before the 1977 season, Piniella knew a storm was brewing around the star player and manager Billy Martin that would have made the tornado from The Wizard of Oz look like a slight breeze.

“It was obviously going to be explosive,” said Piniella in Bill Pennington’s 2015 book Billy Martin: Baseball’s Flawed Genius.  “And Billy was right, it did cause problems with Thurman [Munson] and Craig [Nettles].  But at the same time, let’s face it, Reggie was never Billy’s kind of player.  I think Billy did resent him a little.  He didn’t like most guys who called attention to themselves.”

On June 16, 1984, Piniella played in his last game.  Naturally, he had the game-winning RBI.  Even though Piniella went 0-for-5 on the day, his efforts contributed value to the Yankees beating the Orioles 8-3—the crucial RBI came from a ground ball.

George Vecsey of the New York Times described Piniella’s psychological makeup in an account of the June 16th game.  “His temper kept him in the minor leagues for most of the 1960’s, but later that temper hardened into a fierce athletic pride.  Only rarely did the temper come through in New York—but when it did, the tantrum was a beauty.  Who will ever forget Piniella sitting on the grass, pounding his fists on the east, raging over being called out by Ron Luciano during the 1978 playoffs?”

Piniella won the American League Rookie of the Year Award in 1969, notching a .282 batting average, 139 hits, and 68 RBI for the Kansas City Royals.  “Sweet Lou” retired from playing during the 1984 season.  His career statistics include a .291 batting average, 1,705 hits, and 305 doubles.

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on June 16, 2016.

How Marvelous Marv Became a Met

Tuesday, February 21st, 2017

Hobie Landrith holds the distinction of being the first New York Met, selected on October 10, 1961 in the expansion draft that populated the lineups of the nascent Mets and Colt .45s.

When the Mets took the field at the Polo Grounds the following April for their first regular season game, Landrith started at catcher.  His was a philosophy embracing the importance of communications between battery mates.  During Landrith’s time with the San Francisco Giants, Will Connolly of the San Francisco Chronicle quoted Landrith in a 1959 column subtitled “Hobart Landrith’s An Articulate Gent” describing the relationship:  “Apart from the finger signals, the pitcher and catcher should talk it over in tight spots—and almost every inning is a critical one these days.  I run out to the mound to eliminate any indecision on the pitcher’s part, and mine.  Some batsmen have to be pitched to very carefully.”

Landrith’s vocal quality was a subject of a 1951 scouting report for the Cincinnati Reds:  “‘Pepper pot’ little backstop who brings to the major leagues a brand of on-the-field chatter comparatively unheard since the days of ‘Gabby’ Hartnett.  Shrill voice behind plate can be heard all over park.”

As the pioneering member of the Mets, Landrith holds sacred ground.  Fertile, it was not.  In early May, the Orioles traded Marv Throneberry to the Mets for a player to be named later and cash; a month later, the Mets named Landrith.  Financial strength provided the impetus.  “[O]ne of Throneberry’s most compelling charms was his availability for cash, one of the few departments in which the Mets are in string contention for league leadership,” wrote New York Times sports writer Robert Lipsyte, citing team president George Weiss.

Throneberry’s performance was anything but marvelous, the alliterative adjective that became synonymous with the first baseman and right fielder.  When Throneberry died in 1994, New York Times sports writer George Vecsey recalled, “There was the day that Marv hit a two-out triple with the bases loaded but was called out for missing first.  Even though nearly everyone in the Mets’ dugout saw Marv miss the base, Casey Stengel, the manager, started arguing with the first-base umpire anyway.  During the exchange, another umpire walked over and said, ‘Casey, I hate to tell you this, but he also missed second.'”

As a ’62 Met, Throneberry played in 116 games, batted .244, and struck out 83 times.  His career ended after the 1963 season.

Throneberry became a pop culture icon through his appearances in the famed Miller Lite television commercials of the 1970s and 1980s featuring, among others, Rodney Dangerfield, Mickey Spillane, Whitey Ford, Mickey Mantle, and Bob Uecker.

In one commercial, Throneberry appears with Sports Illustrated writer Frank Deford and Billy Martin.  Deford says, “There’s one guy I can’t write anything bad about, His unique brand of baseball has made him a living legend.”  Other plaudits follow.

Throneberry is not in the commercial until the end.  It’s the payoff after the setup—Martin thinks that Deford’s comments are targeted to him.  When Deford gives a Miller Lite to Throneberry, the former Met issues the commercial’s punch line:  “Cheer up, Billy.  One day, you’ll be famous just like me.”

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on February 13, 2016.

The Innovative Charles Comiskey

Monday, December 19th, 2016

Decades before he elevated to the executive suite as owner of the Chicago White Sox, Charles Comiskey pioneered a fielding concept during his playing days.  Or so the legend goes.

After Comiskey died in 1931, a series of Chicago Daily Tribune articles examined his life, focusing, in part, on his playing and managing tenures.  In the article “Comiskey Worked as Train Butcher to Play Ball,” Irving Vaughan wrote of the 1880 season in Dubuque, “Commy conceived the notion that there was more to first basing than anybody had as yet realized.  He and Manager Ted Sullivan discussed the theory that a first baseman’s defensive value could be doubled if he could move away from the bag, thus protecting much of the vacant territory between first and second.  They put the theory to a practical test and found it a success.  That is, it was successful except in one particular.

“Commy discovered that by playing away from the bag he was able to field batted balls which ordinarily would have been safe hits.  But he couldn’t get over to the bag in time to retire the runner.  Necessity being the mother of invention, he and Sullivan figured out that a pitcher could cover the base.  After experimenting on this feature they decided it couldn’t fail.”

On the other hand, baseball historian David Nemec offers a contrasting view of Comiskey’s contribution to the first base position.  In Major League Baseball Profiles, 1871-1900, Volume 2, Nemec stated, “Historians traditionally have credited Comiskey with pioneering techniques such as playing a considerable distance off the bag, stretching to receive wide or high throws, and having the pitcher cover first on ground balls to the right side of the infield, but while none of these techniques was actually invented by him, his success at employing them popularized them to the extent that defensive play at 1B swiftly began to evolve into a more sophisticated style once he appeared on the scene.”

As a player-manager for the St. Louis Browns, Comiskey led his team to four straight American Association championships in the 1880s.  Moreover, he reshaped the team’s image.  “Under Comiskey’s strong hand the Browns shed their reputation solely as drunks and troublemakers and created a disciplined, aggressive squad that would win AA championships in his first four full seasons at their helm,” noted Nemec.

Comiskey embraced pugnacity as part of his style, though.  “Charlie Comiskey, the manager and first baseman for the St. Louis Brown Stockings, was a mild-mannered, cerebral man off the field, but on the field, he could act like a common thug,” described Peter Golenbock in The Spirit of St. Louis: A History of the St. Louis Cardinals and Browns.  “He played the game with a controlled aggression designed to ground the opposition into dust.  His focus was on victory, and he never permitted anyone to lose sight of the fact that he was there for one reason only: to win.”

In turn, the team’s performance reflected Comiskey’s leadership.  Golenbock stated, “Comiskey encouraged his players to try to intimidate the opposition any way they could.  He was a nineteenth-century role model for Leo Durocher and Billy Martin.  He encouraged his players to knock over an opponent in the field or on the base paths, and if you didn’t like it, that was just too bad.  On the base paths, Comiskey was a terror.  In one game against Cincinnati, Comiskey threw himself into second baseman John “Bid” McPhee, causing him to throw wild to first, enabling the winning run to score.  Ty Cobb, who came to the game twenty years later with a similar nasty disposition, had nothing on Comiskey.

“His players followed his example.  The next day Curt Welch did the same thing, throwing himself at McPhee ‘as if hurled from a catapult,’  Said Welch, ‘Well, we’re playing ball to win.'”

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on March 19, 2015.

World Series Pranks and Franks

Tuesday, November 8th, 2016

As dusk anticipated relieving the sun of its duties during the twilight of October 3, 1956, Paul Newman hustled through the stage entrance of the Mansfield Theatre, an august Broadway institution on West 47th Street in Manhattan.  Before he achieved icon status in the 1961 movie The Hustler, Newman plied his acting trade in legitimate theatre and live television dramas.  But his appearance at the Mansfield did not require his thespian skills.

Newman arrived at the theatre to prepare for a prime time television appearance on I’ve Got a Secret, a game show featuring Garry Moore as host and a panel of four celebrities trying to deduce the contestant’s secret through questions and answers.  On this October night, Newman was a contestant.  His secret?  He paraded around Ebbets Field as a Harry M. Stevens vendor during Game 1 of the World Series between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Yankees earlier that afternoon.  And he sold a hot dog to panelist Henry Morgan without Morgan realizing his identity.

After Morgan surrendered his guessing, Moore encouraged Newman to go offstage.  Then, he followed with a description of the prank:  “Henry, we not only knew that you went to the World Series ball game this afternoon.  We even contrived to have a friend call you up and invite you to go to the ball game.  We knew what seats you were sitting in.  We knew exactly where you were.  Through the good offices of Sports Illustrated, we did have a photographer out there taking pictures from time to time.  But you don’t remember the occasion.  Paul, are you ready?  Maybe you’ll recognize him better this way.  Paul, come out!”

Newman returned in his vendor garb, shouting a familiar refrain with heavy Brooklynese in his voice:  “Get your hot franks here, ladies and gentlemen!  Get your hot franks!”  Morgan replied, “I didn’t know that you looked so ordinary!”  He then certified Newman’s Ebbets Field presence.

Morgan:  “Weren’t you the one that we had all the trouble with?  You waited on like fifty people?”

Newman:  “Yes.”

Morgan:  “And we were screaming and yelling.”

Newman:  “I understand that you were very irritated because you were very hungry and didn’t have any breakfast.”

Morgan:  “You were there.”

Going incognito as an Ebbets Field held an inherent risk of recognition.  Newman built an extensive résumé with credits including a breakthrough role as Middleweight Champion Rocky Graziano in Somebody Up There Likes Me, a film that premiered during the summer of ’56.  Additionally, a week prior to the Ebbets Field charade, Newman starred in The United States Steel Hour television adaptation of Bang the Drum Slowly, the second book in Mark Harris’s literary quartet of baseball fiction featuring pitcher Henry Wiggum.

After the secret’s revelation, Newman admitted that he was “terribly nervous” in carrying out the hoax.  But his commitment to the role would have made Thespis beam with pride—he sold dozens of hot dogs to unsuspecting fans!

Morgan remarked that Game 1 was “some game!”  Newman exclaimed, “I didn’t see any of the game!”

The Dodgers beat the Yankees 6-3.  Mickey Mantle, Billy Martin, Gil Hodges, and Jackie Robinson went yard.  Mantle’s dinger knocked in two runs for the Yanks; it was the Oklahoma-bred slugger’s only hit for the day.  Enos Slaughter went 3 for 5 and scored on the Mantle home run.  Martin’s was a solo shot and also his only hit.

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on December 1, 2013.

1977: A Year of Extremes in New York

Friday, November 4th, 2016

1977 was the best of times for fans of the Yankees, but the worst of times for fans of the Mets.

After seeing the Yankees get swept by the Cincinnati Reds in the ’76 World Series, George Steinbrenner went shopping; Steinbrenner led a group to purchase the Yankees in 1973.  He persuaded Reggie Jackson to come north from a year-long sojourn in Baltimore, where Jackson played for the Orioles in 1976.  Jackson was more than a winner.  He was a champion with three World Series titles from his tenure with the Oakland Athletics.  Indeed, the A’s ball club was a dynasty, winning the series in three consecutive years—1972, 1973, 1974.

Free agency allowed Jackson to get top dollar for his services.  Brash with flash and lots of cash, Jackson drew attention.  An article in Sport magazine added tension to the Yankees team.  Robert Ward quoted Jackson: “I’m the straw that stirs the drink.”  Jackson has said that the quote is incorrect.  Controversy abounded within the clubhouse.

Then, on June 18, 1977, manager Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson brawled in the Yankees dugout during a game against the Red Sox at Fenway Park.  Martin though that Jackson loafed on a ball hit by Jim Rice to Jackson’s position in right field.  Rice stretched the hit into a double.  Martin, in turn, replaced Jackson with Paul Blair.  With the game broadcast on national television, the Martin-Jackson fight put the Yankees in the spotlight.  But winning can absolve a lot of sins.  And winning is exactly what the Yankees did.

The 1977 World Series pitted the Los Angeles Dodgers against the boys in pinstripes.  A Hollywood screenwriter could not have written a better ending.  The Yankees added another World Series title to their legacy, vanquishing the Dodgers in six games.  Jackson hit three home runs in Game 6, each on the first pitch and each off a different pitcher: Burt Hooton, Elias Sosa, Charlie Hough.

The other New York team also found itself in controversy in 1977.  It was not a winning season for the Mets, however.  They compiled a 64-98 record.  When Tom Seaver negotiated with the Mets in ’77, the thought of him in another team’s uniform was unthinkable.  He was, after all, the team’s franchise player.  But that’s exactly what happened.

Seaver, a three-time Cy Young Award winner, began his career with the team in 1967, leading the Mets to a World Series championship in 1969 and another World Series appearance in 1973.  They lost the ’73 contest to the A’s in seven games.

Dick Young of the New York Daily News wrote several columns about the negotiations, crossing an unwritten line in sports writing when he mentioned Seaver’s wife in a column.  Young wrote that Nancy Seaver was unhappy about Nolan Ryan making more money than her husband.  After the column appeared, Seaver wanted out of the Big Apple.  Quickly.

The Mets engineered a trade to the Cincinnati Reds.  It brought Pat Zachry, Dave Henderson, Doug Flynn, and Dan Norman to Shea Stadium.  In 1978, Seaver pitched a no-hitter.  Meanwhile, the Mets rebuilt, investing in younger players.  Nearly a decade later, they won the 1986 World Series.

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on October 1, 2013.

Paul Newman’s World Series Pranks and Franks

Thursday, May 9th, 2013

As dusk anticipated relieving the sun of its duties during the twilight of October 3, 1956, Paul Newman hustled through the stage entrance of the Mansfield Theatre, an august Broadway institution on West 47th Street in Manhattan.  Yes, that Paul Newman.

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Dreams of the Diamond

Tuesday, May 22nd, 2012

Rogers Hornsby did it after an illustrious playing career.

Leo Durocher did it after a not-so-illustrious one.

Joe Torre did it as a journeyman, not achieving success for a couple of decades.

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