rookie beside me reminded me of how old I am for this game. His name is Dick Baney; he’s a young kid and has a great fastball. I hate him. “Hey, I wrote you a fan letter that you never answered,” he said.
I thought, hell, he’s so young, it might be true. “When did you write it?” I asked.
“When I was about six,” he said.
If there’s one thing I hate it’s a smart-ass rookie. I know a lot about smart-ass rookies. I was one myself. The guy I got on when I came to the Yankees was Jim Coates. Actually he got on me first. He’d say, “Get a few years in the big leagues before you pop off.” Or he’d get on me about my number being too high. And I’d get on him about being so skinny. One time in the trainer’s room, I asked him if those were really his ribs or was he wearing a herringbone suit. That one drove him up the wall.
He’d lisp at me when I was going in to pitch. “Is she going out and try it again today? Is she really going to try today?”
And I’d say, “Yeah, Coates, I’m going out there and hammer another nail into your coffin.”
Another time I said, “Hey, Coates, you endorsing iodine?”
And he said, cautiously, “Why?”
“Because I saw your picture on the bottle.”
MARCH
16
We had a visit from Commissioner Bowie Kuhn today. The visit was preceded by the usual announcement from the manager: “All right, let’s get this thing over with as quickly as we can.” What it really means is: “Okay you guys, you can listen. But don’t ask any questions.”
The commissioner said that baseball is a tremendous, stupendous game and that it didn’t need any drastic changes; that we simply needed to improve our methods of promotion. One of the things that none of us should do, he said, is knock the game. He said if we were selling Pontiacs we wouldn’t go around saying what a bad transmission it has. In other words, don’t say anything bad about baseball.
He said he was pleased with the settlement that had been made with the players but he felt there was too much bitterness in the dispute. I felt there was an unspoken warning there to be careful of things we said that could be interpreted as bitterness toward the owners. Imagine being bitter toward the owner of a baseball club.
Kuhn also talked about the integrity of the game and how he felt it’s one of the only sports that the average fan knows in his heart is completely honest. (I wonder what the football, basketball and hockey people would say to
that
.) I’m not sure all fans feel that way, but I really don’t think there is any gambling at all inside baseball. I may be naive, but I don’t think there’s any gambling, or any intentional passing along of information.
Kuhn got a nice round of applause and nobody asked any questions. Then he left with Joe Reichler, the Commissioner’s personal caddy. Commissioners come and go, but Joe will always be with us. Some guys were made to be permanent caddies.
All of which for some reason reminds me of one of our bullpen occupations: choosing an All-Ugly Nine. Baseball players are, of course, very gentle people. If we happen to see some fellow who is blessed with a bad complexion we immediately call him something nice, like “pizza face.” Or other sweet little things like:
“His face looks like a bag of melted caramels.”
“He looks like he lost an acid fight.”
“He looks like his face caught on fire and somebody put it out with a track shoe.”
Some famous all-uglies are Danny Napoleon (“He’d be ugly even if he was white,” Curt Flood once said of him); Don Mossi, the big-eared relief ace on the all-ugly nine (he looked like a cab going down the street with its doors open); and Andy Etchebarren, who took over as catcher from Yogi Berra when the famed Yankee receiver was retired to the All-Ugly Hall of Fame.
Lost to Arizona State 5–4 yesterday, and would you believe that Joe Schultz and Marvin Milkes are steaming? In fact one of the pitchers who was taken
I thought, hell, he’s so young, it might be true. “When did you write it?” I asked.
“When I was about six,” he said.
If there’s one thing I hate it’s a smart-ass rookie. I know a lot about smart-ass rookies. I was one myself. The guy I got on when I came to the Yankees was Jim Coates. Actually he got on me first. He’d say, “Get a few years in the big leagues before you pop off.” Or he’d get on me about my number being too high. And I’d get on him about being so skinny. One time in the trainer’s room, I asked him if those were really his ribs or was he wearing a herringbone suit. That one drove him up the wall.
He’d lisp at me when I was going in to pitch. “Is she going out and try it again today? Is she really going to try today?”
And I’d say, “Yeah, Coates, I’m going out there and hammer another nail into your coffin.”
Another time I said, “Hey, Coates, you endorsing iodine?”
And he said, cautiously, “Why?”
“Because I saw your picture on the bottle.”
MARCH
16
We had a visit from Commissioner Bowie Kuhn today. The visit was preceded by the usual announcement from the manager: “All right, let’s get this thing over with as quickly as we can.” What it really means is: “Okay you guys, you can listen. But don’t ask any questions.”
The commissioner said that baseball is a tremendous, stupendous game and that it didn’t need any drastic changes; that we simply needed to improve our methods of promotion. One of the things that none of us should do, he said, is knock the game. He said if we were selling Pontiacs we wouldn’t go around saying what a bad transmission it has. In other words, don’t say anything bad about baseball.
He said he was pleased with the settlement that had been made with the players but he felt there was too much bitterness in the dispute. I felt there was an unspoken warning there to be careful of things we said that could be interpreted as bitterness toward the owners. Imagine being bitter toward the owner of a baseball club.
Kuhn also talked about the integrity of the game and how he felt it’s one of the only sports that the average fan knows in his heart is completely honest. (I wonder what the football, basketball and hockey people would say to
that
.) I’m not sure all fans feel that way, but I really don’t think there is any gambling at all inside baseball. I may be naive, but I don’t think there’s any gambling, or any intentional passing along of information.
Kuhn got a nice round of applause and nobody asked any questions. Then he left with Joe Reichler, the Commissioner’s personal caddy. Commissioners come and go, but Joe will always be with us. Some guys were made to be permanent caddies.
All of which for some reason reminds me of one of our bullpen occupations: choosing an All-Ugly Nine. Baseball players are, of course, very gentle people. If we happen to see some fellow who is blessed with a bad complexion we immediately call him something nice, like “pizza face.” Or other sweet little things like:
“His face looks like a bag of melted caramels.”
“He looks like he lost an acid fight.”
“He looks like his face caught on fire and somebody put it out with a track shoe.”
Some famous all-uglies are Danny Napoleon (“He’d be ugly even if he was white,” Curt Flood once said of him); Don Mossi, the big-eared relief ace on the all-ugly nine (he looked like a cab going down the street with its doors open); and Andy Etchebarren, who took over as catcher from Yogi Berra when the famed Yankee receiver was retired to the All-Ugly Hall of Fame.
Lost to Arizona State 5–4 yesterday, and would you believe that Joe Schultz and Marvin Milkes are steaming? In fact one of the pitchers who was taken
Similar Books
