An unlikely reunion for Wil Cordero and his first major league home run

My ticket from 9/18/1992

On the night of September 18, 1992, the New York Mets played the Montreal Expos, and I was excited to get to the park because my favorite Met Gary Carter was now playing for the Expos. I hoped to have one more chance to see him play up close. When my mom told me that we had tickets to the picnic area, my eyes grew wide with passion.

Attending a Mets game in the picnic area was a tradition for our family, as my mom was able to secure tickets through an event her job held there annually. For a young kid, it made going to a baseball game an even more enjoyable affair; there was free food and an opportunity to be up close and personal with the opposing team’s bullpen. This usually meant that some of the players would make themselves available to sign a few autographs, something I looked forward to as much as watching the game.

We usually made sure to arrive early when the gates opened, but this year we were delayed in getting to the park. By the time we got to the picnic area, the Expos bullpen were fully focused in getting prepared for the game. There would be no chance to get some signatures, so I sat closer to the bullpen, hoping in my naiveté that by sitting near the pitchers, I could somehow reverse my fortunes. Little did I know that later in the game, my sulking behavior a few rows away from my family would pay greater dividends than I expected.

Dwight Gooden was pitching for the Mets, and I remember him hitting the skids late in the game, necessitating Mets manager Jeff Torborg to quickly go to the bullpen. After making a pitching change, Wil Cordero, a young prospect at shortstop was preparing to take the plate. I was familiar with him largely due to his rookie baseball card that I owned, so I paid closer attention to the at-bat. A pitch or two later, a fly ball comes skyrocketing in my direction. I stand up in anticipation, noting that the ball is coming increasingly closer towards me. Steadying my hands for the catch I reach out for the ball and at the last minute someone in front of me attempts to snatch at it. It ricochets off of their hands right under my feet. Immediately, I dove on it and secured it in my possession. I was now the proud owner of a Cordero home run ball.

I stand up with the ball and get some pats on the back from fans nearby. Almost as soon as I turn around to look for my family, a Shea Stadium security guard calls for my attention. Being a good young citizen, I followed the man. He informed me that the ball in my hands was Cordero’s first major league home run, and that the Expos would like to offer me a baseball autographed by their bullpen. My earlier dejection now turned to joy, as I would be going home with some signatures after all. I quickly made the exchange, returning Cordero’s first round-tripper to his possession.

Immediately fans came up to me, wanting to know what I traded the ball for. Some said I should have asked for a bat, his jersey, cash, or even autographs of the whole team. Everything happened so fast that I had little time to process the transaction. I was just thrilled that I was being offered something for returning the ball; never did the thought pass my mind of how I could capitalize on the situation.

A few weeks later I wrote Cordero at the Montreal Expos ballpark, explaining to him the events and how I would appreciate it if he was willing to offer his signature, as the ball contained only a few members of the bullpen and not his own penmanship. I didn’t include a baseball card, or a SASE, both no-no’s in the world of writing to baseball players. Heck, I wasn’t sure if he was going to even read the letter, but I thought it was worth sending.

The card sent by Cordero himself

About a month later, an envelope comes from Canada, with the return address written in script, “Wilfredo Cordero, Montreal Expos.” I quickly open the letter, to find a beautiful baseball card, with Cordero’s signature neatly across the front. Both the envelope and card are something I’ve kept until this day.

Imagine my surprise when I read last week that Cordero would be appearing at the 2014 BBWAA Awards Dinner in New York, as part of a tribute to the 1994 Montreal Expos. Right away, I was transported to that game some 22 years ago in Flushing. I thought that if I had the chance to meet him at the event that I would relay the story to see if he remembered. There was one problem though, I didn’t have a ticket.

My friend Nick D’Arienzo of metroBASEBALL magazine must have been reading my mind, because the next day, he sent me an e-mail offering a ticket to attend. I gladly accepted and excitedly awaited my trip to the New York Hilton.

When I arrived, D’Arienzo gave me my ticket and program. Immediately, I looked for Cordero’s name in the program and found that he was not on the dais, but on the main floor with the rest of the patrons. Once we found our table, I put down my belongings and went for Cordero’s table. Sporting a mustache and a goatee, I passed his table once, not sure if it was him. I doubled back, and after a gentleman at his table confirmed that the man I was looking for was indeed Cordero, I introduced myself.

I told him the story and Cordero, as well as the rest of the members at his table, all perked up to hear the tale of his first home run. He thanked me for returning the ball, and when one of the people at the table asked what he remembered about the at-bat, he quickly replied, “You can’t sneak a fastball by me!”

Wil Cordero and the author after the dinner

He gladly signed a few baseball cards that I brought, and agreed to talk more after the dinner was over. We met in the hotel lobby and spoke for a few minutes about being a part of that 1994 Expos team that was halted by the strike, and how being honored at the dinner brought it full circle.

For a young kid that evening who caught his first and only home run ball at a big league game back in 1992, this meeting completed my small connection with Cordero’s memorable first time around the bases.

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Charlie Osgood | 17-year-old hurler for the Brooklyn Dodgers dies at 87

Charlie Osgood, a pitcher of one game for the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1944, died January 23, 2014, in Tewksbury, Massachusetts. He was 87.

In the summer of 1944, with the Brooklyn Dodgers roster depleted by players leaving for their World War II service, Branch Rickey reached into the depths of his available talent pool to pluck seven different players aged 18 or younger to fill the void left by his departed veterans.

Charlie Osgood / Author's Collection

For one of his recruits, Rickey didn't have to look any farther than the Dodgers' family. Clyde Sukeforth, the Dodgers scout who later gained notoriety for his instrumental role in scouting and signing Jackie Robinson, had a nephew in Osgood who was a prized high school pitching star in Massachusetts. Desperate to stem their pitching woes, Rickey signed Osgood directly to the major league club.

Fresh from facing high school competition, Osgood comprised a Dodgers bullpen that included fellow teenagers Cal McLish and Ralph Branca, a trio so young that Harold C. Burr of The Sporting News dubbing Rickey’s nubile talent, “Brooklyn’s Nursery School.”

Osgood made his major league debut on June 18, 1944,  against the Philadelphia Blue Jays (nee Phillies) at the tender age of 17. Pitching in relief of his elder statesmen of McLish and Branca, he had difficulty with his control, walking three batters and hitting another. Despite his wildness, he managed to escape with allowing only one run in three innings of work. It would be his only appearance in the major leagues.

A few weeks after his debut, Burr reported in the July 6, 1944 edition of The Sporting News, that the Dodgers had sent Osgood to Class B Newport News for more seasoning. He finished the season shuttling between their farm clubs in Trenton and Montreal, playing a few games at each stop. At the end of the year, he was left unprotected by the Dodgers in the minor league draft and signed by the Chicago Cubs.

Osgood’s career was interrupted in 1945 to serve in the United States Coast Guard during World War II. He returned to the Cubs organization in 1946, and after two pedestrian seasons in the low minors, Osgood was out of professional baseball.

In his post-playing days, he graduated from Suffolk University and went on to work as a credit manager at the Boston Globe before retiring in 1988. For most of his retirement, Osgood remained elusive to fans and collectors, ignoring requests for interviews and signatures. Only in the last few years of his life, did he entertain some of the mail that was sent his way, including the homemade baseball card below.

Charlie Osgood

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LaTroy Hawkins remains outspoken on the declining number blacks in baseball

LaTroy Hawkins, the 41-year-old veteran who will start his 20th major league season next month, appeared Tuesday, January 20th on the MLB Network Radio to discuss his views behind the decline of African-American players in the majors.

“I think the numbers are down every year simply because inner city African-American kids, they know going to college on a baseball scholarship is almost extinct for them,” said Hawkins, who pitched most recently for the New York Mets in 2013.

LaTroy Hawkins 2004 Fleer Tradition - Paul Hadsall

Tim Keown, a senior writer for ESPN Magazine, pinned the impact of declining African-American participation in an April 2013 article for ESPN.com, not on the lack of recognizable black stars, but the rising industry surrounding youth travel baseball. The proliferation of expensive summer teams and the increasing commitment to year-round training have priced most African-American youths out of the game.

“The game of baseball for the amateurs, for the young kids, has gotten so expensive,” Hawkins said. “Travel ball teams are $1,500 to travel for the summer. If would have went to my mom and would have asked her, ‘Mom, I need $1,500 to play on this travel team with the best players in the state, she would have looked at me [and said] – Hey, little league is $35 … and its $50 for you and your brother. I think I know where you’ll be playing at.’”

Often, those exorbitant fees are just for the costs associated with running the programs – umpire fees, league fees, tournament fees, baseballs, field rentals, and in some cases, the salaries of the coaches. Families are still responsible for equipping their kids with increasingly expensive gear.

“In baseball, you need all of the equipment – glove, bat, spikes,” Hawkins said. “[Basketball] all you need is a pair of tennis shoes. You don’t take that for granted, but a majority of kids have a pair of tennis shoes that they wear to school.”

According to a study by Mark Armour and Dan Levitt of the Society for American Baseball Research, African-Americans only comprised 7.2% of all major league baseball players in 2012. Rates of African-American participation in the major leagues once were stabilized between 16% and 19% for a 25-year period from 1972-1996, but have now fallen to less than half that number.

One of the conclusions from the SABR study was that the steep decline was due in part to the expansion of roster spots in pitching and catching, two positions where African-American players have been grossly underrepresented.

Ironically, Hawkins, who is a member of the small fraternity of African-American pitchers in MLB, is one of the most vocal when it comes to this complicated subject. He has used his position to urge more teams to take a flyer on the raw talents that exist in the urban areas.

“I think teams need to take more chances on African-American kids from the inner city who hasn’t played as much baseball as the kid in the suburbs,” he said. “Get them in the system. Let them get on a minor league schedule where they’re playing baseball every day, all day long, [where] they’re learning, and getting professional instruction from your coaches in the minor leagues. That would mean the world in the percentage of African-American baseball players in the big leagues.”

Audio of the entire interview is below.

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How Don Newcombe helped to open the door for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

While celebrating the memory of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. today, I would like to highlight the contributions of one Brooklyn Dodger who had a major part in turning the wheels of the civil rights movement.

1956 Topps Don Newcombe / Topps

Legendary Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Don Newcombe was one of the earlier black players signed by a major league team, quickly following Jackie Robinson and Johnny Wright into the Brooklyn Dodgers organization in 1946.

Paired with future Hall of Fame catcher Roy Campanella at Class B Nashua, they became the first black players in the New England League. Newcombe's breaking of the color line in the New England League was one of many "firsts" in his career. In addition to being one of a handful of blacks in the majors when he made his 1949 debut, he was baseball's first Cy Young Award Winner, winning both the MVP and Cy Young Award in 1956. He was the first player in baseball to be a Rookie of the Year winner that captured the aforementioned dual honors in the same season.

Newcombe is the last living link to the early African-American Brooklyn Dodger players that endured vicious racial taunts, Jim Crow segregation, and the weight of the entire black community during their quest to play baseball on the sport's brightest stage.

Twenty-years prior to Dr. King's assassination, Newcombe and company were laying the groundwork for the civil rights movement. The camaraderie displayed on the field throughout the entire Brooklyn Dodger ball club, crossed  racial boundaries to achieve greatness in America's national pastime. These pioneers planted the necessary images for our country to begin to advance race relations.

Some 28 days before Dr. King was assassinated, he visited Newcombe in Los Angeles. King was in the midst of an exhausting tour of speech-making and sought the company of the Dodger great. In a 2009 interview with the New York Post, Newcombe relayed Dr. King's epic words.

"Don, you'll never know how easy you and Jackie and Doby and Campy made it for me to do my job by what you did on the baseball field."

Let these words marinate as an example of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s character as he is honored on this monumental day.

Video - Don Newcome at the 2012 BBWAA Dinner

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Jerry Coleman, 89, remained proudest of his military service

Hall of Fame broadcaster Jerry Coleman, who was an infielder for the New York Yankees for nine seasons and a decorated veteran of World War II and the Korean War, passed away Sunday in San Diego. He was 89.

Jerry Coleman / Baseball-Almanac.com

Coleman worked as a broadcaster for the San Diego Padres since 1972, pausing in 1980 to take over the reins of the team for a season, posting a record of 73-89. He returned to the booth where a generation of fans fell in love with him for his work on the microphone. The Baseball Hall of Fame bestowed him with the prestigious Ford Frick Award in 2005. The Padres released the following statement regarding his death.

"The San Diego Padres are deeply saddened by the news today of the passing of Jerry Coleman. We send our heartfelt sympathy to the entire Coleman family, including his wife, Maggie, his children and grandchildren. On behalf of Padres' fans everywhere, we mourn the loss of a Marine who was truly an American hero as well as a great man, a great friend and a great Padre."

Fans of the Yankees associate number 42 with the great Mariano Rivera who just retired at the end of the 2013 season; however, Coleman sported the legendary number during his entire tenure with the team. He earned a spot on the 1950 All-Star team and was later that season named the recipient of the Babe Ruth Award by the BBWAA of New York for his performance in the World Series. By the end of his career, he amassed four World Series rings as a member of the Yankees.

Coleman’s baseball career was interrupted twice for both World War II and the Korean War. He spent three years in the Marines during World War II, amassing 57 missions as a dive bomber pilot. He was later recalled to active service during the Korean War, flying an additional 63 missions.

His military service is an experience he revered above all of his baseball accomplishments.

“I’ve had many wonderful things happen to me,” said Coleman to MLB.com in November, 2013, “nothing better than the day I was commissioned a second lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps and got my Navy wings of gold.”

He spoke frequently of his military service, with the hopes of keeping the flame alive for those who perished.

“There are tens of thousands of people who died for this country and we can cherish that thought for as long as we live.”

Below is an hour-long interview of Coleman with the San Diego Air and Space Museum.

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Members of the Minnesota Twins share their thoughts on the closing of the Metrodome

The Minnesota Vikings narrow 14-13 victory over the Detroit Lions on December 29, 2013 signaled the final game in the 31-year history of the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minnesota. My lasting memory of the Metrodome was Kirby Puckett circling the bases in the 11th inning of Game Six of the 1991 World Series, while Jack Buck screamed, "We'll see you tomorrow night!"

Metrodome / Wikimedia Commons

Selected former Minnesota Twins alumni shared their thoughts on the closing of the Metrodome on Twitter this week. Feel free to add your own, or share those of other Twins alums.

Sad to see the Metrodome go. My home for so many yrs with great memories! This is probably my fav! #game163 http://t.co/p1RpawiMKf
— Michael Cuddyer (@mcuddy3) December 29, 2013

2006 I was 23 yrs old, 2 weeks in MLB. Johan Santana on mound for game 1 of ALDS. A moment I'll never forget. That said; blow the place up.
— Glen Perkins (@glen_perkins) December 29, 2013

@ExamineBaseball pitch hit him in the face then Frankie hit Albert in the shoulder. Albert told frank he ... http://t.co/5ia3bMkl9t
— pat mahomes (@PMahomes) December 29, 2013

No more metrodome, sad to say it. What a great place.
— Boof Bonser (@boofbonser1) December 29, 2013

@zaneaxtman This.... pic.twitter.com/nRgunH1cJW
— Chuck Knoblauch (@chuckknoblauch) December 29, 2013

@dbremer_pxp I'm gonna shed a tear.
— Kent Hrbek (@Hrbie14) December 28, 2013

St. Peter lads honored to attend Dome finale with a guy made quite a bit of history here - @Hrbie14. @twins pic.twitter.com/zqso0ZyI2k
— Dave St. Peter (@TwinsPrez) December 29, 2013

Twins lost their final games at the Met and the Dome, Vikes their final game at the Met. Finally, a fond farewell.
— Dick Bremer (@dbremer_pxp) December 29, 2013

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'Tough Guy, Gentle Heart' by Felix Millan - Book Review

Tough Guy, Gentle Heart

Felix Millan’s choked-up batting stance and dazzling glovework at second base are deeply entrenched in the minds of baseball fans that saw him play in the 1960s and 1970s. Now well removed from his final play on the field, Millan has partnered with author Jane Allen Quevedo to pen his memoirs in “Tough Guy, Gentle Heart.” (Infinity Publishing, 2013).

The book weighs in at a lithe 129 pages, similar to the stature of Millan; and like the play of the All-Star second baseman, is as much about perseverance as it is about baseball. The young Puerto Rican infielder came from extremely humble beginnings in his hometown of Yabucoa, where he attended school barefoot, dreaming of his daily dismissal so he could go and play baseball. Using a glove made from canvas stuffed with newspaper, Millan devoted countless hours to developing the soft hands that made him a Gold Glove infielder.

As he grew in skill and size, Millan became widely known for his prowess on the diamond, enough that his high school English teacher let him sleep in class. She saw potential in Millan that would someday allow him to leave his town of Yabucoa.

Upon graduating from high school, Millan joined the United States Army, where he tried to navigate his way through his commands armed with only a little English. Luckily for Millan, after a transfer to Fort Gordon, he made his way on to the baseball team and rode out the rest of his time in the Special Services. Waiting back for him in Puerto Rico was a young girl named Mercy, someone he only knew through trading letters in the mail.

With Mercy by his side, Millan signed with the Kansas City Athletics in 1964 and blissfully entered the career he had envisioned ever since his elementary school days. His dream didn’t quite match up with the realities of the South in the early 1960s. Being a man of color who wasn’t fluent in English did not bode well for Millan during his rookie campaign in Daytona Beach. The harsh treatment he endured both on and off the field was enough for Millan to want to turn his back on the game he loved so dearly; that is until Mercy stepped in. With the encouragement of his wife, Millan chose to follow his faith and continue to pursue his career in baseball.

His strong faith, whether it came from baseball, his family, or his religion, is a consistent theme throughout the book. His perseverance in many situations reveals his strong character, one that further qualifies the title, “Tough Guy, Gentile Heart.”

Millan shares choice details about his baseball career from start to finish, starting in Puerto Rico, progressing to the major leagues with the Atlanta Braves and New York Mets, to his travels in Japan and Mexico at the end of his playing days. It is told in a way that does not turn his story into one of self-aggrandizement. Particularly touching is the story of how Hall of Famer Hank Aaron took the rookie under his wing when he was first called up to the Braves.

Diehard baseball fans may find “Tough Guy, Gentle Heart,” a bit short on winding tales inside the lines; however, those gaps are neatly filled with the rich life experiences that helped to shape one of the sport’s finest gentleman.

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Paul Blair | How The New York Mets Let Him Fall From Their Grasp

Paul Blair's passing on Thursday evoked a terrible oversight by the New York Mets organization at the earliest stage of their franchise. The Mets once envisioned a time when Blair would roam the outfield, hauling down long drives to the depths of their soon-to-be new home in Flushing. So how did this budding franchise let one of the best center fielders of his era slip right through their fingertips?

Paul Blair (second from left) at the 2012 Joe DiMaggio Legends Game / N. Diunte

Scout Babe Herman signed Blair in 1961 from Manual Arts High School in Los Angeles as an infielder for the princely sum of $2,000. His hometown Dodgers had passed on him, citing his small stature after a tryout at the Coliseum.

“I was depressed about being rejected by the Dodgers,” Blair said to Robert Lipsyte in 1969, “and I would have signed with anyone; I just wanted to play major league ball.”

The Mets assigned Blair to their Class-C affiliate in Santa Barbara, under the watchful eye of Gene Lillard. Author Mike Huber relayed in his SABR bio of Blair how he seized an opportunity on the first day of practice that started him on the road to becoming a Gold Glove-caliber center fielder.

"The first day the coach told us to run out to our positions," Blair once told a reporter. "Well, seven players went to shortstop and six went to second but only one went to right. And I knew I could throw better than him and run better than him. So I ran out to right and played there. Then the center fielder got hurt and I moved to center."

While Blair’s .228 average and 147 strikeouts in 122 games didn’t set the world on fire, his 17 home runs and 20 outfield assists were enough for the Mets to give him a deeper look at their instructional winter league in Florida.

With Blair given the time to further show off his tools, he turned heads with his skilled play.

“Everybody on the team said that he was going to be in the big leagues one year,” said fellow Mets farmhand and instructional league teammate Larry Boerschig via telephone shortly after Blair’s passing. “He was one of the few of the bunch down there that you could see who had something a little extra.”

The Mets, who left him unprotected in the winter draft, realized they had a more valuable commodity on their hands than they initially thought. They tried to hide Blair by having him sit in the stands with a faux ankle injury.

“I didn’t play for two weeks. I was supposed to have a sprained ankle,” Blair said to the Associated Press. “The day of the draft I was supposed to have started playing.”

His teammates caught wind of what was going on when all of a sudden Blair stopped dressing for games.

"He was healthy; he wasn’t hurt," said Roger Wattler via telephone on Friday, who played the outfield with Blair on the Mets instructional league team. "You knew something was up when they didn’t even take him to the games."

Despite the Mets last-minute efforts to stash Blair’s talents, the Orioles swooped down upon on the young outfielder. Just as he was to have resumed playing, he entered the clubhouse to find out he no longer belonged to the team.

“I went to my locker and everything was packed up,” he said.

Wattler was bewildered the Mets didn't protect Blair from the draft. The Mets had just let one of their best defensive prospects fall right from their grasp.

“It was a shock when he went to Baltimore because we couldn’t believe they would not protect him," Wattler said. "You could see the potential in him; he was just a class center fielder, no doubt. He would almost look like he wasn’t even trying and he would run them down. As a defensive outfielder, there weren’t too many better at that time."

There was much speculation on the executive who didn’t see fit to protect Blair from being drafted. One source reported that Blair didn’t make the grade with Mets scout Eddie Stanky. The exact person in the organization remained a mystery to Blair; one that he had no desire to unravel.

“All I know,” Blair said to Bill Christine of the Pittsburgh Press in 1969, “is that somebody over there [New York] didn’t like me. Somebody thought I wasn’t good enough.”

It was tough at first for the 18-year-old to face the news that the Mets had given up on him so quickly, but he found solace knowing he was wanted by Baltimore.

“Sure, I was jolted,” he said to the Associated Press in 1969. “But I realized that somebody in the Baltimore organization had seen something they liked about me or they wouldn’t have been willing to invest their money in me.”

Blair made his major league debut with the Orioles on September 9, 1964, and during the following season, he cemented himself as their center fielder for years to come. His career spanned 17 major league seasons from 1964-1980, with eight Gold Gloves, and four World Series titles, two each as a member of the Orioles and New York Yankees.

Blair had no qualms about how his career progressed from his start in the Mets system when queried by the Associated Press prior to squaring off with his former parent club in the 1969 World Series.

“I’ve never regretted the way things worked out,” he said. “Maybe I could’ve made more money playing in New York but then again, maybe they would have rushed me to the majors and I might not have had time to develop properly."

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Neal Watlington | An unlikely baseball sojourn for a Christmas birth

Christmas is universally known as a holiday where families get together to exchange gifts and celebrate each other’s presence. For Neal Watlington, the date of December 25th holds an extra special meaning, as it marks the 91st birthday for the son of Julius and Laura Watlington.

Watlington, who was a catcher for the Philadelphia Athletics in 1953, is one of 67 major league players born on December 25th, which includes Hall of Famers Nellie Fox, Pud Galvin, and Rickey Henderson. At 91, he is one of the oldest living alumni of Philadelphia’s American League team.

Speaking via telephone from his home in Yanceyville, N.C. earlier this week, Watlington reflected on the auspicious start to his professional baseball career in 1941 with the Mayodan Millers of the Class D Bi-State League.

“I played with them for only about a week to ten days,” Watlington said.

Just as quickly as his professional career started, it abruptly ended when the team folded. It was the beginning of a long journey to an improbable major league career.

Watlington waited an additional six years before had the opportunity to play again professionally, a lay-off that would be unheard of in today’s era of baseball. World War II intervened, and as a member of the United States Army, he quickly found himself wearing a different set of protective gear.

“I served three years in the Army,” he said. “I put in six months on the front lines in France, Belgium and Germany.”

Watlington earned a Purple Heart for his service, and like many young ballplayers coming out of the military, he returned home looking for a place to play baseball. At 23, he was now considered old for a prospect and with the staggering amount of players suddenly available, Watlington quickly discovered teams were looking for younger talent.

“It’s quite a story,” he said. “I came home and I contacted George Ferrell who was a scout for the Detroit Tigers. I played against him [when] he was managing Martinsville. I asked him about the possibility of playing and he said he would send me to Winston Salem (St. Louis Cardinals affiliate) to talk to the general manager. They said they would take me to spring training. A week before spring training, they called me up and said, ‘You’re 23 years old and we’re not going to sign anyone over 21.’” 

He was deeply disappointed by the news. “It broke my heart,” he said.

Not one to be discouraged, Watlington kept on playing with the hope that he would create another opportunity for himself. It came at an unlikely time, after a single-game elimination in a state tournament.

“I was working in Yanceyville, and they had a pretty good baseball team,” he said. “We went to the state tournament in Asheboro, N.C. We played just one game and got beat 2-1. After the game, there were three scouts at my car. It was the Cardinals, Giants and the Cubs. It was a big surprise to me.”

This scout for the Cardinals was less concerned with Watlington’s age, and offered him a contract on the spot. He declined.

“He offered me a contract for $500 and [told me] that I would be playing the next night in Valdosta, Ga.,” Watlington said. “I told him I wasn’t going to sign for that amount of money.”

Most players would have jumped at the opportunity, but Watlington was confident that the other teams were going to make stronger offers.

“I probably would have signed later, but I didn’t want to sign for that kind of money,” he said. “I came on home and about three days after that, the Giants scout Bill Harris was there. He wanted to sign me for $1,500.”

Watlington once again held out, knowing deep down that he was worth more than the bonus that they were offering.

“I told him, ‘No, I would like more than that,’” Watlington said. “He suggested that I go to Danville, try out over there, and talk to the manager. If they thought I was worth it, they probably would sign me. So I went.”

Danville manager Duke Brett only needed a half-hour to size up Watlington. They quickly made him an offer.

“I worked out about 30 minutes,” he said. “I hit about 4-5 balls over the fence, ran around the bases, and threw down to second. He told me to come back tomorrow and that he would call the Giants that night. I told him what I wanted, $3,000. The next day, they gave me the $3,000. That’s how I got started.”

He impressed right away, batting .328 in 111 games in 1947. The Giants organization moved him to Knoxville in 1948, where he followed up with a .302 average in 134 games. After two seasons in the minor leagues, the Giants decided he was ready to be a lot closer to the major leagues, elevating him to Triple-A with the Jersey City Giants in 1949. Watlington didn’t find much difficulty with the extreme jump within their minor league system.

“It wasn’t too bad, I hit pretty good in the lineup,” he said.

Watlington responded by hitting .270 while splitting his duties between catching and the outfield. While patrolling the outfield, he was flanked by a future Hall of Famer, Monte Irvin. Irvin was biding his time until the Giants were ready to call him up, which Watlington said was a mere formality.

“Monte was quite a ballplayer,” he said. “He could throw the ball from deep right field to home plate and he didn’t even bounce it in.”

While Watlington was in Triple-A proving that he could handle high level pitching on both offense and defense, he was behind Giants mainstay Wes Westrum at the catching position, as well as Ray Noble and Sal Yvars.

Just like earlier in his career after returning from the war, Watlington waited patiently for another break. This one came when Watlington’s contract, along with three other players from the Giants organization was sold to Philadelphia in 1952. The Athletics brought Watlington to spring training in 1953, where he made it to the final cutdown day.

“We got back to Philadelphia,” he said, “and the manager Jimmie Dykes told me, ‘You’ve had a good spring training, but I’m sorry we’ve got to let you go back, we can’t carry three catchers. I feel real surely we’ll call you back, and if you do, you’re going to be number one.’”

Dykes stayed true to his word, and after an injury to catcher Joe Astroth during the middle of the season, Watlington was a finally a major leaguer at the age of 30.

“It was great to be there; there’s nothing like the big leagues,” he said.

Watlington played the waiting game for almost a week before he had the chance to play. He made his debut on July 10, 1953, against the Boston Red Sox, getting a hit in his first time at bat off of Greensboro native, Hal ‘Skinny’ Brown. He started the next few games but was relegated to pinch-hitting duties for the remainder of the season when Astroth returned. With three catchers on the club, there was little room for Watlington to get an opportunity.

“Both [Ray] Murray and Astroth only hit .250 in the big leagues, but both of them hit in the .290s that season,” he said. “Both of them had good years, and there wasn’t just any place for me. You can’t get a better batting average by pinch-hitting.”

He finished the season batting .159 (7-for-44), and didn’t get another opportunity to return to the major leagues, spending the next five seasons at Triple-A until he hung up his cleats in 1958.

After his playing days were over, he was a tobacco farmer in his hometown of Yanceyville and owned Watlington's Inc., a department store, and the Watlington farm store before retiring in 1999.

Despite his short stay in the majors, Watlington remained proud of his accomplishments.

“I played in every ballpark,” he said. “I hit in Yankee Stadium against Vic Raschi, I hit against Bob Feller. It was just quite an experience for me.”

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Honoring the tremendous character of Don Lund

I made my first contact with Don Lund via telephone late in 2007 when I started my research to find out what the experience was for the major league players who debuted as the color line was slowly eroding.

He shared his stories of being signed to the Brooklyn Dodgers only a few weeks before Jackie Robinson, and how both of them were offered positions on the major league club on the same day in 1947. We talked about his travels through a variety of major league organizations, as well as his long standing career at the University of Michigan as a three-sport athlete, coach and later assistant athletic director.

Don Lund with the author in 2008

His bird's eye view at Michigan of the budding talents of Bill Freehan, Barry Larkin, and Jim Abbott all rolled off his tongue as he proudly told his favorite stories of each player. He glowingly spoke about his 1962 National Championship team and the influence that Ray Fisher had on his career. He had energy to continue telling stories, not about himself, but the many people he met along the way. Our conversations routinely lasted an hour or more.

Earlier this week, I sadly received the news that Lund passed away last week at the age of 90 at an assisted living facility in Ann Arbor. The mention of his death immediately brought back memories of our 2008 meeting in New Jersey.

Knowing he would be coming to the local area for what was most likely to be the final Brooklyn Dodgers reunion, we made plans to meet at the show and spend some time together. My only picture of Lund was what was on his baseball cards, so it was difficult for me to imagine what I was going to encounter. Time works differently on our baseball heroes, and Lund was 55 years removed from the portrait on his 1953 Topps card.

I walked up to the room, and there was Lund, holding onto a walker, partially stooped forward, smiling as we finally made our acquaintance in person. It was hard for me to envision him as the square shouldered running back that garnered a first-round draft choice from the Chicago Bears, but his grip was still incredibly firm as he reached out to shake my hand.

Within minutes of our meeting, Don made me feel like we were old pals from yesteryear. He introduced me to all of his old teammates as his friend. I watched as he signed away at all of the items the promoters put in front of him, and then as he happily met with the many fans that traveled from far and near to spend some precious moments with the living members of New York's bygone team.

As the signing finished, I went with Don to pick up his check from the promoters, as he had a few hours left before his ride to the airport. He never once scoffed at the amount, even though the quantity of items he signed brought the total to maybe $1-$2 per signature. The money wasn't his motivation for being there; it was to see teammates that he hadn't seen in some fifty years—guys like Howie Schultz, Lee Pfund, Mike Sandlock, Ralph Branca, and Clyde King, all teammates when he made his debut in 1945.

We sat around with Schultz and a few others in the hotel lobby, talking baseball while we shared some refreshments. As I went to pay, he steadfastly refused to let me do so, insisting that I was his guest for the day. As I wished him a safe trip home, he extended a handshake and a hug, wishing me well in my endeavors.

The way Don treated me that was was the embodiment of his spirit; a classy gentleman who went out of his way to treat others well.

I kept in touch with him on the phone and in the mail, exchanging correspondence once or twice a year. He always was willing to talk baseball, and in between the lines, sprinkle a few guiding thoughts for life's travels. We last spoke shortly after he moved to an assisted living facility in Glacier Hills, and even as recently as a month prior to his passing, he still had hope that he would be up and walking again, able to hit fungoes to the Michigan baseball team.

His had a profound effect on Michigan athletics, not only for their program, but for the many players he reached. Dave Campbell, who was the first baseman on Michigan's 1962 National Championship team, (who later played eight seasons in the majors, and spent two decades as a baseball analyst on ESPN) called Lund in the wake of his passing, a man of, "great leadership ... and great integrity," and was one who, "had a great influence on me while I was there."

I wish I had the opportunity to have met Lund earlier than I did, or even to have been one of his players, because in the short time we interacted, I could see how his tremendous character helped to shape the lives of so many young men.

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Remember when the Yankees actually developed home grown talent?

Following the reports of the New York Yankees losing Robinson Cano, one of their homegrown talents, to the Seattle Mariners for the sum of $240 million over the course of ten years, the future looks slim in the ranks of the Yankees' current minor league system.

"While the Yankees' minor league system is not quite as bare as it once was, more of the talent currently sits at the lower levels," Jonathan Mayo MLB.com's prospect expert said in November, 2013. "As a result, it's difficult to see many impact players ready to contribute in 2014."

There was a time; however, when the Yankees had one of the richest farm systems in all of major league baseball. Starting in the late 1940s and going through the early 1960s, the Yankees had 22 catchers behind Yogi Berra that eventually became major leaguers, many earning All-Star selections. The following is an excerpt from Phil Rizzuto's "The October Twelve," that lists all of the catchers who left the New York Yankees' organization for greener pastures.

 

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Dodgers and Yankees upstarts Miller and Bella shared a taste of the big leagues in September 1957

Rod Miller

September call-ups in baseball often signal hope and excitement for the fan base, as they get to take a look at the future talents of the organization. Lost amidst the chaos of the 1957 baseball season in New York were the debuts of two rookies, Rod Miller of the Brooklyn Dodgers, and John "Zeke" Bella of the New York Yankees. One team was on the verge of moving 3,000 miles to the West, the other convincingly won the American League pennant.

Both of these youngsters shared not only their major league debuts within a few days of each other, but also sadly, their deaths. Miller passed away November 8, 2013 in Cascade, Idaho, and Bella passed away November 17, 2013 in Greenwich, Ct.

Miller was a 17-year-old outfielder from Lynwood High School in California. He was signed by scout Lefty Phillips for a $4,000 bonus, which meant he had to be kept on the MLB roster for the year and couldn't be sent below Class B. He played with Cedar Rapids after signing, batting .183, an unlikely total for someone who would receive a call to the major leagues at the end of the season. Despite his paltry batting average, the Dodgers brought him up in September, biding his time on the bench while in the presence of the legendary figures on the club.

"The biggest thrill of my career," Miller said to Richard Tellis in Once Around the Bases, "was going into the Dodger clubhouse the next day, seeing all these legends, and putting the major-league uniform on."

On September 28, 1957, the Dodgers were playing the Philadelphia Phillies at Connie Mack Stadium in front of barely 5,800 people. It was an otherwise unforgettable game, except for the young Miller. In the top of the 9th inning, manager Walter Alston summoned the 17-year-old from the bench to pinch hit for Randy Jackson.

"I didn't believe him at first. I thought he was kidding," he said.

Standing in the on-deck circle, Miller thought about the generosity of his manager, who also had only a singular at-bat in the major leagues.

"I thought about the compassion Walter Alston had for me, letting me get to bat. He was the classiest human being I've ever known," he said.

Miller faced Phillies right-hander Jack Meyer, and after working the count to 2-2, he struck out swinging. Alston replaced Miller with Pee Wee Reese to play third base in the bottom of the 9th; it would be the last time Miller's feet touched major league soil.

"You can't imagine the residual benefits I've had in my life from that one time at-bat. It's opened more doors than I ever have imagined," he said.

John "Zeke" Bella

On the other side of town, Bella was a 26-year-old Korean War veteran, hitting his stride after serving three years in the United States Army. He batted .317 with the Denver Bears of the American Association in Triple-A, his third consecutive .300 season in the Yankees farm system. During that September, with the Yankees having a comfortable lead over the Chicago White Sox in the American League standings, they recalled Bella for a look in the outfield alongside Elston Howard, Mickey Mantle, and Hank Bauer.

Speaking with the New York Daily News in October, 2013 after being inducted into the Greenwich High School Hall of Fame, Bella said one of his clearest memories of Mantle was the on the first day he reported to the team.

"I walked into the clubhouse," remembered Bella, "and Mickey yells across the room, 'Hey Yogi, Zeke’s here. You’re not the ugliest one here now!'"

Bella went 1-10 in his rookie campaign, earning his first major league hit off of Rudy Minarcin of the Boston Red Sox on September, 27, 1957. Despite another season of hitting over .300 at the Triple-A level, there was no room on the roster for him on their World Series Championship team in 1958. With the Yankees looking to bolster their pitching staff for the stretch run of the 1958 season, Bella was part of a late-season trade to the Kansas City Athletics for pitcher Murray Dickson.

His trade to Kansas City provided the opportunity for greater playing time, as he appeared in 47 games, batting .207 with one home run. His time in Kansas City was highlighted by a race with a teammate to the dugout from the outfield that had gone awry, resulting with Bella knocking himself unconscious on the dugout roof.

Bella played one more season in the minor leagues in 1960, before returning to Connecticut where he embarked on a long career with the United States Postal Service. He continued to stay involved in youth sports, serving as an umpire and referee at many levels. One of the local youths he inspired was future Hall of Fame quarterback, Steve Young.

"I remember Zeke Bella and how he umpired," Young said to the Greenwich Time in October, 2013. "He's a tough guy, and I learned about fairness from him."

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Gene Michael receives 2013 Firefighters Charitable Foundation Humanitarian Award

Once teammates on the New York Yankees some forty years ago, Gene Michael and Frank Tepedino demonstrated the durability of the special bond created by wearing the famed pinstripes during Thursday evening’s Second Annual Firefighters Charitable Foundation Dinner at the Chateau Briand in Carle Place, N.Y.

Frank Tepedino (r.) presents Gene Michael with the Humanitarian Award

Tepedino presented Michael with the organization’s Humanitarian Award on behalf of his efforts with the Ed Lucas Foundation, which assists those who are blind or visually impaired. Speaking to a crowd of 300 people, Michael paid tribute to his former teammate Tepedino, who is now the president of the Firefighters Charitable Foundation.

“I knew Frank was a nice guy when I found out Thurman Munson liked him, because Thurman didn’t like too many people, but he really did like Frank a lot,” Michael said. "His organization does a lot of good work, and I am thankful to be honored with this award."

Tepedino, Michael, and Tom Sabellico / N. Diunte

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Lee Mazzilli and LJ Mazzilli bring lung cancer awareness to Brooklyn

Lee Mazzilli and his son, LJ, stood up to cancer in a very personal way this Saturday at New York Methodist Hospital in Brooklyn. Bearing their emotions in front of a group of family and patients, the Mazzilli family told of the struggle that the elder Mazzilli’s brother, Fred, faced in his battle with lung cancer.

Lee Mazzilli and LJ Mazzilli - N. Diunte

Fred Mazzilli passed away last September, and since then the family has been hard at work in creating the Fred L. Mazzilli Foundation. The foundation’s goal is to raise overall awareness for the disease, as well as offer opportunities at New York Methodist Hospital for eligible patients to receive free lung cancer screenings using a low-dose computed tomography (CT) scan.

In July 2013, while playing for the Brooklyn Cyclones, LJ was interviewed by the Hartford Courant about the impact his uncle had on his life.

"He was like my other father," LJ said. "I would talk to him about things I didn't want to talk to my dad about. Of course, he would tell my dad anyway, but he was a buffer. And he was the same way for my dad. Everyone has always turned to my dad for advice and help, for the answers to things. He was the one guy my dad could turn to."

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Bill Sharman was a prized Brooklyn Dodgers prospect before he became a Hall of Fame NBA player

Bill Sharman, one of only three players to be named to the Basketball Hall of Fame as both a player and coach, died at his home in Redondo Beach, Calif., on October 25, 2013 due to complications from a stroke. He was 87.

For all of the accolades Sharman received due to his sharpshooting basketball abilities, his prowess on the baseball diamond was often overlooked. Sharman signed with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1950 out of the University of Southern California at a time when the NBA was viewed as a fledgling operation. He was a sure-handed outfielder who looked to break in alongside burgeoning Dodgers greats Carl Furillo and Duke Snider.

Bill Sharman - Dodgers

Immediately upon his entry into professional baseball, Sharman's energies were divided between his two passions. Dick Teed, who later went on to play with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1953, roomed with Sharman in 1950 during his rookie season in Class A Pueblo. Teed emphasized Sharman’s desire to shoot every day, a routine he later made famous as an NBA head coach.

“We were roommates; we went to the Y every day and shot baskets,” Teed said in a 2008 interview from his Connecticut home.

Sharman soared up the ranks of Branch Rickey’s vast minor league system, advancing to Class AA Fort Worth of the Texas League in 1951. Another future Dodger, Glenn Mickens, teamed with Sharman that year and spoke of his penchant for ice cream in the Texas heat.

“We'd stop at every other ice cream parlor in the street when the streets were boiling and see who could eat the most ice cream,” Mickens said in a 2009 phone interview from his home in Hawaii.

Playing in only his second year of professional baseball, he hit .286 at Fort Worth. The Dodgers called him up in September with the hopes that he could provide Snider with some rest en route to the World Series. Unfortunately, for Sharman, the Duke's services were needed for the remainder of the season, as the Dodgers encountered a surging New York Giants club that went 50-12 over their final 62 games. The Giants forced a best-of-three-games playoff in the Polo Grounds, and Bobby Thomson infamously took care of the Dodgers with one mighty swing.

Sharman’s tenure with the Dodgers wasn’t without controversy, and that was due to a disputed call by umpire Frank Dascoli in a September 27, 1951 game against the Boston Braves. Braves outfielder Bob Addis tried valiantly to slide under the tag of Dodgers catcher Roy Campanella on an infield hit. Dascoli called Addis safe and Campanella immediately tossed his glove towards the sky in protest. Dascoli ejected Campy, and as the unrest grew louder from the Dodgers bench, he cleared them out too. Sharman went down in history as the only player to be ejected from a major league game without appearing in one. Author Rob Neyer disputes that Sharman was ever ejected in his book, “Big Book of Baseball Legends”, as the Dodgers later sent one of the players that was driven from the bench in to the game as a pinch-hitter.

While it makes for good theater that Sharman was ejected before he could get his cup of coffee, he was on the Dodgers bench as Bobby Thomson sent Ralph Branca’s fastball screaming over the left-field wall a few days later. It was his last taste of the big leagues, as the pounding of his knees on the basketball court eroded whatever speed he had to play the outfield.

“He quit baseball because of the speed,” Teed said. “He said basketball slowed him down to a walk. He had to choose.”

Even though his baseball talents were hampered by his pursuit of an NBA career, he confided to at least one teammate that baseball was his preferred sport.

“He always told me he liked baseball more than basketball,” Mickens said. “[Even though] he slowed down from all that pounding on that basketball court, obviously he picked the right sport.”

The Dodgers advanced Sharman to St. Paul of the Class AAA American Association in 1952. He hit .294 with 16 home runs, but with the Dodgers on their way to another World Series appearance, his services weren’t needed at the major league level. He played half of the 1953 season with the Dodgers farm team in Mobile, until he was sidelined with a broken hand. His injury put his baseball career on hold, devoting his full attention to basketball. He sat out the entire 1954 baseball season. He attempted a comeback in 1955 with St. Paul, batting .292 with 11 home runs. Despite his strong showing, there was no space for him on their World Championship team.

Would Sharman flourish in baseball if he didn’t choose the rough and tumble 1950s NBA that robbed him of the speed necessary to patrol the vast outfields of that era? Would he have been provided an opportunity to play if he wasn’t behind two legendary outfielders in Furillo and Snider?

I spoke with Sharman in 2009, but he politely refused to discuss the details, as he said he was saving it for a book he was writing. Regrettably, the book never surfaced. Those who were close to him on the baseball field are dwindling, and they remember more of his warm personality than details about his Dodgers days.

One such teammate was fellow two-sport athlete Gene Conley, who described in Terry Pluto’s, “Tall Tales: The Glory Years of the NBA,” how Sharman’s biggest assist came from their encounters on the baseball diamond.

“Bill Sharman was the reason I ended up with the Celtics,” Conley said. “In the early 1950s, Bill played basketball at Southern Cal, and for one year I played basketball at the University of Washington. Then I ran into Bill again, this time in minor league baseball. I was pitching for Milwaukee, Bill was an outfielder with St. Paul of the Class AAA American Association. Bill told me that he mentioned my name to Red Auerbach, who was looking for guys with size. In 1952, Red made me his last draft pick even though he never saw me play – it was done purely on Sharman’s word.”

For further insight regarding Sharman's baseball career, read J.G. Preston's excellent article, "No, Bill Sharman was never ejected from a major league game as a member of the Dodgers."

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Flashback - Jim 'Mudcat' Grant homers during Game Six of the 1965 World Series

Much talk has been made during the 2013 World Series about the Boston Red Sox losing the advantage of their designated hitters as the series moved to St. Louis. First baseman Mike Napoli was relegated to the bench in favor of David Ortiz, and the Red Sox could be forced to send their pitcher to the plate in a potentially game deciding spot.

Jim 'Mudcat' Grant homers during Game Six of the 1965 World Series

During Game Six of the 1965 World Series, before the advent of the designated hitter, the Minnesota Twins sent Jim "Mudcat" Grant to the plate in the sixth inning against Los Angeles Dodgers hurler Claude Osteen. With his team facing elimination and clinging to a 2-0 lead, Grant was determined to make Osteen pay for intentionally walking second baseman Frank Quilici.

SABR member Joseph Wancho described the heroics that followed in Grant's SABR bio.

"With the Twins leading 2-0 in the bottom of the sixth, second baseman Frank Quilici was intentionally walked to bring Mudcat to the plate. Grant then drilled a home run to right-center to give the Twins a 5-0 lead. He became the second American League pitcher to hit a home run in World Series history. Mudcat forced a game seven by beating the Dodgers with his pitching and hitting. He went the distance, giving up one run on six hits, striking out five batters and walking none. “I really didn’t know how long I would go,” said Grant. “I just figured I’d go as long as I could for as hard as I could.”

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Video - Bucky Dent sharing magical tales from his Yankees career

Bucky Dent with Bruce Apar of the Harrison Apar Foundation

Bucky Dent regaled the crowd for almost 20 minutes at the 2013 Harrison Apar Foundation Columbus Day Golf Classic with stories from his Yankees career, sharing insight about his famous home run, his run-ins with George Steinbrenner, and playing in shorts as one of Bill Veeck's wild promotions.

Click here to read about the highlights of Dent's appearance at the wonderful fundraiser.

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Book review: Dallas Green - 'The Mouth That Roared: My Six Outspoken Decades in Baseball'

Dallas Green has seen it all in his sixty year involvement with Major League Baseball, and with the release of his autobiography, “The Mouth That Roared: My Six Outspoken Decades in Baseball,” Green holds back very little when detailing his time in between the lines.

The Mouth That Roared / Triumph Books

While he is most famous for piloting the Philadelphia Phillies in 1980 to a World Series victory over the Kansas City Royals, Green built his foundation as a flame-throwing pitcher with the Phillies organization starting in 1955. He spent parts of eight seasons in the big leagues with the Washington Senators and New York Mets in addition to his parent club of Philadelphia. Hindered by a lack of control, Green posted a journeyman-like record of 20-22. His fiery persona, akin to his fastball, was something that followed him as he transitioned from a player to a front office man.

No more was this evident than when Green took over the reins of the Phillies after Danny Ozark was ousted in 1979. At the time, Green was working as their minor league director when he was dragged into a late night session with general manager Paul “Pope” Owens on August 29, 1979. By 5:00 am the next morning, he agreed to take the job. The Dallas Green era in Philadelphia had official begun.

He wasted no time in making his vision clear. Play hard or look for a new job.

Right away he went after their veteran leaders, Larry Bowa, Greg Luzinski, and Mike Schmidt, all who were feverish supporters of Ozark.

“I’m sure a few holdouts felt the team was winning not because of Dallas Green, but despite Dallas Green,” he said. “It would later be said that they may have been winning to spite Dallas Green.”

His charging ways helped the Phillies develop a resiliency that allowed them to come back from a 5-2 deficit during the deciding game of the 1980 National League Championship Series. The team rode that momentum into the World Series against the Royals, and won the series 4-2 in convincing fashion. The late Tug McGraw, the team’s ace closer, gave Green much of the credit for their championship run.

“He told us we had to be a team with character, that we had to look in the mirror,” McGraw said. "He was just an average player at best, and where he got his ‘Phillie baseball’ is beyond me. But he had confidence in his ideas, and he backed his people. It took us a few months to catch on, but then we did.”

A World Series ring for a manager brings attention and greater scrutiny, and Green was not immune. The 1981 season was plagued by the baseball strike, and the Chicago Cubs were looking to turn around their organization. After refusing their first two offers, Green left the only organization he knew to become the general manager of the Chicago Cubs.

Green wasted little time in making Chicago “Philadelphia West.” His first order of business was to hire his friend and third-base coach Lee Elia for their managerial position. He brought along John Vukovich, as well as a half-dozen scouts from their organization. He was ready to go to work.

Looking to add someone who would bring the emotional response he expected from his players, he traded with the Phillies to acquire Larry Bowa. He held up the deal until they threw in a young infielder named Ryne Sandberg. Sandberg went on to a Hall of Fame career and that trade was one of his defining moments of his time in Chicago.

Green’s wheeling and dealing did help the team get to the NLCS in 1984, but he might be better remembered for what Cubs fans called, “Bloody Monday.” At the end of the 1982 season, he cleaned house, firing most of the team’s support staff and related personnel. Even Hall of Famer Ernie Banks was not safe from Green’s wrath.

Green lasted until the end of the 1987 season with the Chicago Cubs, signing free agent Andre Dawson after Dawson presented them with a blank contract. After the 1986 fiasco where the owners colluded against signing free agents, Green offered Dawson a $500,000 contract with incentives, and to Green’s surprise, Dawson accepted. Dawson won the 1987 MVP, probably the only highlight for the last place club, and Green’s last hurrah.

That is until George called.

The Yankees were in search of a new manager after George Steinbrenner dumped Lou Piniella at the close of the 1988 season. Steinbrenner called upon Green, whose relationship dated back to 1960 when Green played in Buffalo and “The Boss,” used to pass through a Royal Arms tavern, a frequent hang out of the two at the time.

“It’s difficult to function in any job where your boss is seeking to control you. I guess we were doomed from the beginning by my big mouth and George’s lack of patience.”

Green lasted until August, doomed by a team full of aging veterans and non-descript arms. Leaving the Yankees by mutual disagreement, he took over the 1993 Mets and immediately was immersed in controversy. Doc Gooden continued to battle his drug problems, Bret Saberhagen injured himself in a jet-ski accident, Bobby Bonilla threatened to knock out the teeth of writer Bob Klapisch, Anthony Young mired his way to a record-setting 27 consecutive losses, and to top it all off, Vince Coleman set off a large firecracker at Dodger Stadium that left three people injured.

Green had a tough time steering the ship on the way to a 103-loss season. He hoped for better results in 1994, but that was dashed quickly when the players decided to go on strike. During the strike, Green earned a reputation of being one of the hardest driving managers of the replacement players.

Green stuck around long enough to usher in the “Generation K” era, but with the trio of pitchers being rushed to the majors, their unfolding led to Green’s firing in 1996. He was replaced by Bobby Valentine, whom he later held in disdain for remarks that he made after Green was rehired by the Phillies as a special assistant to the general manager in 1998.

“Bobby will always be the guy who dressed up in a Groucho Marx disguise and snuck back into the dugout after being ejected from a game in 1999,” he said. “This guy has always been a phony.”

One gets a sense that there is very little that could silence Dallas Green. And yet he chose to end his book with the heart-wrenching loss of his granddaughter.

On January 8, 2011, a deranged gunman opened fire at a public meet-and-greet with Arizona congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords.

Christina-Taylor Green had been invited to the event by a neighbor, hoping to offer her a chance to experience how our government worked up close. She never got the chance, falling victim to the recklessness of the individual who orchestrated this horrific act. The news was painful for Green to swallow.

“And there are still no words to adequately describe my feelings about what happened. After losing my granddaughter, my heart will never fully heal, but I’ll go on.”

Through the book Green rambles, rants and raves through his rollercoaster managerial career. The strengths of the book are his readily offered, candid opinions, which give you a vivid picture of his strong personality and old-school, tough love style. On the other hand, it’s hard to overlook the fact that his presentation of events is decidedly one-sided. Green is clearly not someone who plays well with others, and it begs the question of whether his abrasive style created more problems than it cured.

In the end, though, it’s hard not to like such an abashedly colorful character in an era when athletes and front office staff speak in media coached, prepared sound bytes. For that reason, as well as the unvarnished look into the dynamics between front office and players, this is a book worth diving into for an entertaining weekend read.

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Andy Pafko, Brooklyn Dodger left fielder in Shot Heard 'Round the World dies at 92

Andy Pafko showered with confetti after Bobby Thomson's home run

"Handy" Andy Pafko, who was immortalized as he looked up helplessly at Bobby Thomson's home run off of Ralph Branca at the Polo Grounds on October 3, 1951, passed away on October 8, 2013, in Stevensville, Michigan. He was 92.

His 1952 Topps baseball card remains one of the most collected baseball cards in history, as it was the first card in Topps' inaugural set, and was often damaged by rubber bands that held children's card collections together.

He was also prominently featured in Roger Kahn's classic, "The Boys of Summer," yet the four-time All-Star was hesitant to put himself in the same echelon as his fellow outfielders Carl Furillo and Duke Snider.

"I wasn't in Brooklyn long enough," he said. "I don't rate being with Snider and Furillo. I wasn't in that class."

Pafko more than held his own, playing 17 seasons from 1943-1959, blasting 213 home runs and compiling a lifetime .285 batting average for the Chicago Cubs, Brooklyn Dodgers, and Milwaukee Braves.

In his later years, he gained notoriety as one of the last two living players as a member of the 1945 Chicago Cubs, the last team in franchise history to make the World Series.

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