A TALE OF THREE CITIES: NEW YORK, L.A. AND SAN FRANCISCO IN OCTOBER OF ‘62 (75 page)

The rivalry
has
been kept alive by the men who
forged it, and during Spring Training in 1987, members of the 1962
Dodgers and Giants got together for a six-inning re-match to raise
funds for Phoenix Memorial Hospital's child development center.

"We're out here to win," said Tommy Davis before the
game played on February 8 at Phoenix Municipal Stadium. "I'm not
coming out here to lose 25 years later."

"As they were announcing the San Francisco line-up,
they were calling out the names - Mays, Cepeda, McCovey, Felipe
Alou, Marichal," said Johnny Podres. "I said to myself, how did we
ever even make it to the play-offs against guys like that?"

Willie Davis hit a three-run homer off of Billy
Pierce. "I knew I could do it," said Three Dog. "I can do anything
I want to. Man, I'm in shape to play right now!"

When Stu Miller struck out Frank Howard, it created
great laughter. Hondo
still
could not touch "the Killer
Moth." Howard whined in mock anger towards Al Dark: "That's dirty
pool." Willie Mays made basket catches. Harvey Kuenn lined a hit.
He had an artificial leg and died a year later. Stan Williams
entered the game, eerily leading 4-2, which he called "ironic."
This time, he struck out Mays to hold on. "It took 25 years, but I
finally got Willie out," gloated Williams.

When the Dodgers added a run to make it 5-2 they
were relieved to erase the karma of the 4-2 score. Willie McCovey
noted that the Dodgers "really wanted this game bad," as they
drag-bunted and used all the angles to win. On the final play, Joe
Moeller got Tom Haller on a sinking fly to Willie Davis.

"We couldn't let that happen again . . . we reversed
the tide," said Three Dog. "They beat us then, but the victory
today means just as much."

****

Ralph Houk managed the 1963 New York Yankees to a
105-57 record, but after losing the World Series to the Dodgers
became the general manager. His tenure as GM (1964-65) was not
considered a good one. Whatever made him a good manager did not
seem to make him a good front office executive. The "new breed"
player was on the scene, and Houk was unprepared for this type of
character.

The Yogi Berra-Johnny Keane fiasco of 1964-65 was a
black mark in Yankee history. According to reports, the team did
not respect Berra when he managed in 1964. Houk gave up on the
season by August, determined to fire Berra at season's end. An
arrangement was made to replace him with Keane, then managing the
St. Louis Cardinals. The Cardinals were floundering, seemingly out
of the chase with Philadelphia in control. It was widely reported
that the Cardinals would fire him.

Then both the Yankees and Cardinals rallied to win
the pennant, meeting each other in the World Series. By then, the
dye was cast. Berra and his team knew they were facing a manager
who would be replacing him in 1965. Even though it was an open
secret, many in the media argued that the decision should be
reversed; that Berra was a competent manager and Keane should stay
in St. Louis. But there were too many personalities involved, and
feelings had been hurt. Houk did fire his longtime friend Yogi, a
sad day that started a decade of estrangement between the Hall of
Fame catcher and his team.

Keane was brought in. The Yankees were confused by
the whole sequence of events. Within a short period of time it was
obvious that the Keane hiring was a mistake. In 1966 Houk returned
as field manager, but the club was old, a shell of their greatness
and, at 66-73, in last place in the American League. Houk led a
re-building project and the club was 83-79 in 1968, then 93-69 in
1970, but the 1969 "Amazin' Mets," not to mention "Broadway Joe and
the Super Jets" and the NBA champion Knickerbockers, owned the
town. 93-69 and second place in the East was far from Yankee
standards, especially since Baltimore dominated at that time.

After managing clubs that played around the .500 mark
in the early 1970s, Houk went to Detroit from 1974 through 1978,
then did a stint with the Boston Red Sox, of all teams. He finished
with 1,619 career wins.

Mickey Mantle, who won his third Most Valuable Player
award in 1962, could easily have had one or two more, and said he
wanted to add a couple more in future years, never did. In 1963
Mantle had more injuries, reducing him to 65 games. It did not stop
his club from blowing past all American League competition. Mantle
was available for the Fall Classic, but against the incredible
Dodger pitching staff in the World Series he was rendered useless
(.133 in the four-game loss).

The "Johnny Grant parties" just got wilder and
wilder. It was rumored that Angels owner Gene Autry helped
encourage them so as to tire out the opposition. Mantle and his
mates probably stayed fairly safe and sound during two 1963 World
Series games played in Los Angeles, but during regular season trips
to the West Coast to face the Angels, they regularly got out of
control. In 1964, Dean Chance of the Angels had a season for the
ages. His dominance of the Yankees was the highlight of his 20-win,
1.65 ERA, Cy Young season.

In June, Chance threw a 14-inning shutout against New
York. He beat them every time he faced them, usually by shutout.
Mantle told writers he was ready to vomit whenever he faced Chance.
He had a France-surrenders-to-Germany attitude, telling Angels
catcher Buck Rodgers, "This is a waste of time. I got no chance."
His heavy partying at the "Johnny Grant parties" assuaged his
despair the night before games, and helped him drown his sorrows
afterwards.

But Mick, sober or not, was so great he still managed
to hit .303 with 35 homers and 111 runs batted in during the 1964
season. After three consecutive sub-par World Series performances
(1961, 1962, 1963), he had a big Series against St. Louis, slamming
three homers and batting .333. It was his last World Series. He
finished with 18 Series homers and 40 RBIs.

Hampered by injuries, his lifestyle, and the general
malaise
surrounding the Bronx Bombers after that
star-crossed season, Mantle suffered a drastic drop in his
performance from 1965 on. In 1968 Mantle was set to pass Jimmie
Foxx. Struggling, a shell of his old self, he appeared unable to
hit one out. Detroit's Denny McLain, cruising on his way to a
30-win season and with victory in hand, tossed a batting practice
fastball to Mick, who jumped on it for his 536
^th
career
home run. It was his last.

Mantle thought about playing in 1969, but he had
nothing left and retired in the spring, weeping at his
announcement. His final desultory years, in which he tried to play
first base before there was a D.H., unfortunately dropped his
lifetime batting average under .300, to .298. He had 1,509
RBIs.

Mantle was inducted into Cooperstown in 1974. His
appearances at old-timers games brought thunderous cheering. His
status as a true New York Sports Icon was over and above almost all
others. His blonde, All-American boy
persona
was the stuff
of legend, his memory enhanced by nostalgia for the 1950s and early
1960s; the age of innocence.

Mantle retired to Dallas, where he tried to live a
normal married life with his wife Merlyn. After years of dalliances
with groupies, all of which she knew about, it was not easy. Billy
Martin would come out for "hunting" trips, which were little more
than intense drinking sessions in which both were lucky they did
not kill each other with an inadvertent shotgun blast. On one
occasion, Martin claimed that Mantle killed a neighbor's cow.

Mick and Whitey Ford would get together at Fort
Lauderdale during Spring Trainings, which meant more drinking. His
alcoholic "vacations" were a relief from the daily grind of
domestic life in Dallas. Eventually, Mantle's sons came of age. He
never had much in common with any of them; none were great players.
Drinking became their common denominator, father and sons getting
drunk together. The kids, naturally, struggled with sobriety for
years as a result.

In the 1980s, the growing memorabilia market made
anything touched, worn, hit by, or signed by Mickey Mantle worth
huge sums. Mantle became the star of the
memorabilia-and-signing-session industry. It helped make him
wealthier than he ever was in his pre-free agency career, but with
time on his hands he drank day and night, often embarrassingly
inebriated in the presence of fans and kids.

Mantle had a foul mouth and a short temper. He was
often asked to endorse products, but hated the takes and re-takes
he had to endure in the making of commercials. Nobody really cared.
He was Mickey Mantle, a bullet proof hero. Whether race played a
part or not; whether his New York imprimatur made him extra
special; for whatever reason, Mantle's faults were overlooked,
whereby people were peeved at Willie Mays's bitter attitude. At
least Mays maintained sobriety and good health.

It all caught up to Mantle, who died of liver disease
in 1995. His most heroic act occurred in the final year of his
life. Looking like death warmed over, knowing he was going to die,
Mantle made numerous public appearances, begging people not to
drink as he had. He was the ultimate cautionary tale, a tragic hero
in the end.

Roger Maris was also hurt in 1963, reducing him to 90
games and 23 home runs, but the club won with ease anyway. Fans and
critics said it proved that Roger never meant that much to the
team. In 1964 he hit 26 home runs as the Yanks won their fifth
straight pennant. Maris never did much in the post-season with New
York. In 1960 he had two homers and a .267 average, but after that
he hit .105 (1961), .174 (1962), .000 (1963) and .200 (1964). His
work ethic, sobriety, and family man reputation meant little in the
Big Apple; they loved the martini-swiggers of the Sinatra age. In
1965 he was hurt again. With the team struggling, suddenly his
production was essential to the club's success, and he was "blamed"
for being hurt.

Many athletes have complained about the New York
"fish bowl." None were ever hurt more, or more unfairly, than Roger
was. Mercifully, Maris was traded to St. Louis prior to the 1967
season. It was a wonderful jolt for his career. Even though he only
hit nine home runs, the great Cardinal fans took to the
Midwesterner Maris, applauding his great defense in right field on
a club that won with pitching and fundamentals. He was well paid
and appreciated for his efforts helping St. Louis, where he was
teammates with Orlando Cepeda, to the World Championship. He did
the same thing in 1968 on a club that lost in seven games to
Detroit in the Series, then retired when a Budweiser
distributorship was arrange for him by Cardinals owner August
Busch.

His part-ownership in a beer company seemed a little
strange. He was never a teetotaler but no drunk. After all, that
was Mick's forte. Maris had a low key retirement, occasionally
receiving cheers at old-timers games. He eventually made
appearances in New York, where time had healed wounds and he was
given standing ovations. He, too, was a tragic figure who died far
too soon, in 1985 of cancer.

In 1998, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa chased and both
broke his 61-home run record. Both paid homage to Roger throughout.
His widow and kids were in the stands at St. Louis when Big Mac hit
number 70. It was a gracious moment. In 2001, Billy Crystal
directed an excellent movie,
*61
, for HBO. That same year,
Barry Bonds hit 73 homers. It was the "steroid era." Bonds, McGwire
and Sosa all blasted past Maris's record of 61 over this time. Many
others came close. It was a joke. In light of what we now know
about performance-enhancing drugs, Maris's records, his character
and place in history deserve all the respect denied him when he
played. Those who broke his records deserve little respect and much
scorn.

Lawrence Peter "Yogi" Berra was a 15-time All Star
who played in 14 World Series and holds numerous World Series
records including most games by a catcher (63), hits (71),
and times on a winning team (10); first in
at-bats, first in doubles, second in RBIs, third in home runs and
bases on balls. Yogi was elected to the National Baseball Hall of
Fame in 1972.

But he is
really
best known for
saying things like this:

"Surprise me." (On where his wife should
have him buried.)

"You've got to be very careful if you don't
know where you're going, because you

might not get there."

"If you don't know where you are going, you
will wind up somewhere else."

"If you can't imitate him, don't copy
him."

"You better cut the pizza in four pieces
because I'm not hungry enough to eat six."

"Baseball is 90% mental - the other half is
physical."

MOR

i
"What's everyone blaming me for? Blame Felix. I wouldn't have
hit into the double-play."

"It ain't over 'til it's over."

"Nobody goes there anymore; it's too
crowded."

. . . Among many, many more Yogiisms.

Everything Yogi Berra ever touched turned to
gold. If it was a military operation, that meant D-Day, the
greatest in all history (he actually said taking part in the beach
landings at Normandy “was fun”). If it was playing baseball, that
meant 11 World Championships and three MVP awards with the Yankees.
If it was friendship, that meant Joe Garagiola, his boyhood pal
from the Italian “Hill” section of St. Louis, who became America’s
baseball buddy, Best Selling author and announcer. If it was
coaching, that meant World titles with the Mets and Yankees. If it
was managing, that meant taking the 1964 Yankees and 1973 Mets to
the seventh game of the World Series. If it was marriage, that
meant a long and happy one. Fatherhood? His son went to Harvard and
played in the big leagues. Investments? Ivan Boesky called him for
advice. Endorsements? Countless, his face known and loved by
millions, including a long running AFLAC commercial. His words
carry more resonance, it seems, than Hemingway or Dickens. His
sayings are legendary. It could fill a book and has. Several of
them.