Baseball has forever been my game, and there are a thousand different paths to go down from my own playing days — hitting 146 home runs at Baldwin Park one summer in the earliest of days ( i.e. the fence was short and we played nonstop – morning, afternoon and evening and having 146 doesn’t mean that I had the most), to having the pleasure of playing first base for the Boston Mayor’s Office team, to being player/coach of a team called the Guzzler’s back in New Jersey. And every time, what I took away from these experiences was a sense of joy that takes a forever hold. Oh yes, even for us pretenders, ‘baseball indeed marks the time.’

But here, I let you know that I still love the Yankees. Although my rooting days began when major leaguers had to get a job in the winter, it remains constant now when the players are often mega millionaires. All big business indeed, but the game – the game is still the game – as pure and marvelous as ever. Many are lured to sports that are all action and constant movement, but for me, there is nothing quite like the cerebral nature of baseball, where action is only spirited by a showdown between pitcher and batter, where a battle of wits takes place and one or the other prevails— all begins mano y mano unlike any other sport. The only game that isn’t limited by the clock. As Yogi said, “It ain’t over til its over” and “It gets late early out there.”

Most of all, this is a tribute to a friend, “The Old Scooter – Phil Rizzuto.”


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