"I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Write Myself A Letter"

52 years ago today, Mickey Mantle hit his 500th home run,  and with my Dad I was there. At a PBS New York TV studio, I told my baseball memories in front of a camera. I forced my Dad to take me to three straight Yankee games in May 1967 after Mantle hit his 499th homer. I was going to catch number 500. The Mick was going to hit it into the right field grandstands, and that's where we sat Friday night, Saturday afternoon and Sunday afternoon. I brought my glove.

Well, he didn't hit it Friday night, and it drove my father nuts that the Yankees were down by 10 runs in the 5th, Hal Reniff gave up nine earned runs and we didn't leave. I had to see every Mick at bat. He didn't hit it Saturday either. But Sunday, God bless, Stu Miller, the Baltimore Oriole pitcher threw a meat ball to Mickey and he cracked it. That ball was coming straight to me and I could feel the hair on my father's neck stand up. I watched it rise over first base, then travel most of the outfield high as the top of the grandstands, then like a broken balloon it started to fall and fall, into the lower right field seats. My excitement slipped for a second, but Mickey hit 500! Mickey hit 500! Mickey hit 500! Dad and I hugged and cheered ourselves hoarse right through the next batter. Our legs were rocky.

After the season, I wrote Mickey the letter on this page asking for an autograph. I wrote it out once, Mom corrected it in pencil (that's this copy) then I re-wrote it, and mailed that copy with a stamped addressed envelope. 5 months later, I got a picture of Mantle with a phony signature. I traced real ink over the name and made believe he signed it.

"I Could've Died Right Then & There"

Ron Johnson scores winning TD vs. Skins Nov 1970

Best live "Old Yankee Stadium, we were there," sports days ever with Dad.

New York Giants beat the Washington Redskins 35-33 ~ Nov 1970 ~ Jints came back from 19 points down with a quarter to go. Tucker Fredrickson's best game as a pro. Ron Johnson scored winning sweep right in front of Dad & me seating behind Yankee dugout. (God bless you, Ron Johnson. You made the end of my teen years hopeful.)

The Stadium rocked like it was a Rolling Stones concert. Dad and I hugged as if we were going out. The concrete below our feet was going up and down, up and down.  I didn’t care if the Stadium fell in on us. I could’ve died right then and there.

Dad’s gone fourteen years, when Dallas loses, I feel his smile. When the Giants win, I feel Dad’s hug and kiss.

At one point, (maybe they still do) the New York Daily News Sports Department sold prints of photos to the public. In the early 1980s I went down to their 42^nd Street building with old dates in mind. Special Mickey Mantle days and terrific Giant victories. The photos in the papers from those special days were tattooed to my brain. I asked for the 1964, 1967 and 1970 files. 

I found Mickey Mantle’s 500 homer, Mantle’s homer off Barney Schultz breaking Ruth’s Series record. Tarkenton rolling out in a win against the Cowboys, Bob Tucker in same game and the crown jewel, Ron Johnson scoring on the sweep against the Skins in 1970. Doug Van Horn, Willie Young, Willie Harper and Don Hermann blocking efficiently on the play.

While I was looking through the photos I received a bonus.  A guy came into the empty side room where I was looking through the photos.  He leaned over me and asked, “What cha doing?”

It was Bill Gallo the News sports cartoonist.  He sat with me for a half hour shooting the breeze, getting a kick out of my intensity and knowledge of his old hero & goat photos from past World Series. Bill was very nice to me. The 6 photos I bought cost me $95. It was a good day.

Yankee Stadium 1962

I'm On TV @ Ch 13 @ 5am ~ Telling a Mickey Mantle Story

If you close a bar tonight, or get up early tomorrow to milk the cows, I’m on TV telling a Mickey Mantle story at 5am on Channel 13.

They’re replaying “Baseball: A New York Love Story.” I’m interviewed in the 5th episode titled: “Heroes, Pioneer, Superman and the Voice,” @ 5am.

In my segment, I have a haircut so short my father would have beamed with pride and I would have worn a baseball cap all summer long till my hair grew back. I also tucked in my shirt quite nicely.

If someone tapes it please let me know, I’d like to make a copy.  Thanks, Tommy

My scorecard below is from Mantle's 500th Home Run game in May 1967. I dragged Dad to three straight games to make sure I saw Mickey hit it. Third game Sunday, he did it, and we were in the right field upper deck. I thought the ball was coming right to me and my glove, my heart was whacking my rib cage, when it dropped safely into the lower deck and the crowd roared, Dad and I jumped, hugged, and cried for five minutes.
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If you are watching the Ch 13 show, look behind Bob Costas head on the left,that's my scorecard, and my 1961 Yankees program and Mantle New York Daily News newspaper headlines are flying through the background during each broadcast.
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It was a blast pulling all my stuff together, and remembering my reckless obsession with sports that made me deliriously happy as a kid, and how connected all this made me to Dad. If we were talking sports, I couldn't lose.

http://www.thirteen.org/baseball/uncategorized/new-york-baseball/14/

http://www.thirteen.org/schedule/

Gifford, Pryor, #16 ~ New York Giants Get Healthy

517 East 83rd Street

Growing up on 83^rd Street I had two ball players’ pictures on display that I cut out of magazines, Frank Gifford and Mickey Mantle. I edged the players’ bodies carefully with a scissor and glued Frank and Mickey onto construction paper and scotched tape them to my bedroom wall.  Mantle died when Mom tore him from the wall during one of her vacuuming assaults. Following that tragedy, I removed Frank from his spot at my eye level and stood on the dresser and re-taped him well above my short mother’s reach.

Here, for the first time in 40 years, Frank Gifford on Construction Paper by Tommy Pryor in 1964. 

Frank Gifford by Tommy Pryor created in 1964

Don’t be worried, I plan to reattach his missing right foot. It had a boo-boo and Doc Warren is working on it.

(If you are interested I ripped Frank out of my annual Street & Smith Pro Football Magazine and got Mickey from Sport Magazine.)

I recently met with Frank and he & Allie Sherman gave me permission to wear #16 Sunday, if necessary.  We’re worried about Bradshaw’s foot holding up, so I will be on the sideline under a blue hood rough and ready. 

Tommy & Frank discussing Father Benedict Dudley

Fyi, I’m going to séance tonight to coax Chris Schenkel back from the dead to call the game on Sunday. If I’m successful, and get Schenkel to Candlestick, I have a friend who has a friend that says his cousin knows a way to delay Joe Buck’s arrival.

Frank Gifford at Old Yankee Stadium

You Can't Dress Him, You Can't Take Him Anywhere

First the good news, strawberry, apple & banana stains come out in the wash. Now the other news.

Yesterday, I pulled a doozy. After putting a lot of the above fruit in a blender with four ice cubes I hit the “crush ice” button and periodically poked it around with a knife until it turned to mush. Then I poured my first pint of poor man’s smoothie.  I took the glass to the computer and sat to enjoy my treat.  My phone rang, I answered it put it on speaker and placed it down on the desk. It was my cousin Jimmy.  He went to Green Bay this past week to see a Packers game, his first time at Lambeau Field. I got pretty excited talking with Jimmy about the hallowed place but especially my fondness for the Packers throwback game jersey. Blue background with a yellow circle on the front with a blue number in the middle.

Does it get better? For some reason it reminded me of The Who’s Quadrophenia. Rock & football. Oh, yeah.

When I get excited my hands start taking off like Frank Crosetti in the third base coach box waving Yogi Berra in on a homer. 

One of my hands whacked the glass. It started tipping towards the computer keyboard, but luckily, it fell back on my lap. Unluckily, it poured half itself on my new Droid phone.

“Jimmy, I just dropped a glass of lava on my lap, call you back.”

Got up started wiping myself, the floor, the rug, before I noticed my phone made a strange noise. Wiping it off I saw two things: two icons on the phone’s screen. One was a waste paper basket with a demonstrative arrow coming out of it and standing next to the basket was an icon that looked like an incredibly sad R2D2. I said out loud, “this ain’t good.”  

I changed my pants and came back to see if there was any change in the phone’s status, I sat in the chair and felt a creamy cold sensation against one of the apples of my ass.  I forgot to clean the chair and picked up some of the fruit lava on the new pants, the good pants.

Hour after the mishap, the phone came back to life, and the evil icons went away. I hope I learned my lesson but it’s more likely The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore.

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Fyi, Our Town & The West Side Spirit published my column about“Half-Birthdays.”

Mickey Mantle Busted My Heart

Let’s say I had a fender bender in the East Village on my way to the Bergino Baseball Clubhouse. Right panel & hood shot, an easy $3000 repair. The car’s drivable and I park off Broadway and walk to the one of a kind baseball collectible store on east 11th Street. While walking alone I mumble, “Deductible $500 out of my pocket and insurance soars, just what I need.”

When I get to the store I peek through the window and see the 410 FT sign indicating I’m approaching the outfield’s warning track. I step into the clubhouse and I’m home; in a space that surrounds me with warm familiar items that bring me back to the days when I swore that ball players needed me to root for them or they wouldn’t win. Told my mom and grandmother many times, “My team needs me!”

Still down about the car, I turn and look for a place to drop my backpack. In the center of the store is a large card table covered by a gorgeous water color painting of Mickey Mantle smiling in uniform looking like the 1953 Mick who hit a 565 foot homerun in Griffiths Stadium. As soon as I see Mantle’s young face this thought passes through my head, “It’s only a car, I’m safe, and I’ll probably be able to work out the deductible with Joey.”

Mickey in the Clubhouse is all it took. A terrific water color painting by a supremely talented and successful young artist, James Fiorentino. Bergino proudly hosted a show of James best baseball art this past week. I spoke with James and his enthusiasm for the game and his work is sky high and focused, very similar to the level of dedication and talent Jay Goldberg brings to the Clubhouse every day. Displayed here, are many of James pieces and one my favorite items at the Clubhouse ~ the Yankee Popcorn Megaphone (recently sold, darn!)


You can see all of James Fiorentino’s work at his web site or contact James through Jay Goldberg, the baseball loving owner and manager of the clubhouse.

No longer a fan of recreational drugs, I highly recommend going to Bergino Baseball Clubhouse at 67 East 11th Street, where your sense of well-being will be lifted for your entire stay and if you see the right thing and take it home your spirits will soar long into extra innings.

Jay & I hope to put on a “Baseball” storytelling show at the Clubhouse next spring. Keep your eye on the scoreboard.

Regarding the title of this piece, I never shoke Mickey Mantle's hand. He stood right in front of me at the 86th Street RKO at a promotional screening of "Safe at Home," a crappy film that capitalized on the 1961 home run derby between Maris & Mantle. I was 8, I stared up at my hero with my mouth wide open. I was having trouble breathing. My father nudged me to say hello. Ellie Howard to Mantle's left leaned over and said, "Go ahead kid, say hello, he won't bite." I kept staring at his face, catching flies in my mouth. The Yankees turned right and filed onto the movie theatre's stage and then Mickey was gone. I never saw him that close again. That day Mickey Mantle busted my busted.

Yankee Opener # 9

Going to the baseball game yesterday I noticed the new ads on the 86th Street subway turnstiles. It was my ninth Yankee opener, my first one was 1963, Milt Pappas beat Whitey Ford, Boog Powell hit two homers and Mantle hit one. At 9 years old, I was a seasoned fan but that was my first opener.

I still can't get over the terrible 1973 renovation much less that they teared down the entire old Yankee Stadium. Still, there is something inside me that loves the ritual of the opening of the baseball season. It confirms there will be warmth, water fountains will open in the parks and I'll smell the oil I rub into my Catfish Hunter glove.

I don't like pictures of Guiliani inside the ballpark, I miss the quiet in between innings marred by offensive World Wrestling Federation loud commercials. Didn't we pay handsomely for our seat, isn't a $12 beer and a $5 frank reason to stop kicking the fans when they're down? That will not change so I make the best of it and enjoy the baseball: Curtis Granderson's fielding & hitting and terrific Yankee relief pitching.

With the cool wet weather, I felt like the Giants should have been down there playing the Cowboys, but the Yankees provided me with my sixth victory in nine openers. A win always makes the ride home on the #4 sweet.

Abbi & Baseball ~ Two of My Pals

Thank you, Abbi Crutchfield for being a generous guest & friend. Last night's radio show was a hoot! We played The Platters & Rosemary Clooney. Rich music from our childhoods. Songs that were out there for a long time before us, that we found and tickled our ears and warmed us up the way quality music can do. The songs were jukebox staples for decades and it's no surprise when you find these songs still there on a tavern's jukebox, but no longer a dime away.
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If you'd like to listen to last night's show here is the link. Abbi tells a sweet, funny middle school reverse crush story, and I ask all good men to, "Bring Me the Head of Ira Chapman." Ira, Satan's messenger, lived on 83rd Street in 1969 and broke skin on my lower leg with his fangs just to say hello. Ira could talk, he was my chum. Listen in.

Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts 9/28/2010 with host Tommy Pryor & guest Abbi Crutchfield

http://www.centannibroadcasting.com/

Abbi's two favorite guys, Luke & Max, listened in last night. Max is the prince pup bulldog, and Luke is Abbi's cool, basketball playing husband. Luke is a dynamite comedian and & Ms. Crutchfield's comedic partner. Their shows are amazing, check them out at the links below.

http://curlycomedy.blogspot.com/

http://comedianluke.com/

For Abbi, Luke & Max, The Platters

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWHuZa1DxrM




















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Tomorrow night, Thursday, September 30th @ 10:30pm @ Thirteen @ Ch13 TV, I'm telling a Mickey Mantle story on "Baseball: A New York Love Story." It's the fifth episode titled: "Heroes."

My scorecard below is from Mantle's 500th Home Run game in May 1967. I dragged Dad to three straight games to make sure I saw Mickey hit it. Third game Sunday, he did it, and we were in the right field upper deck. I thought the ball was coming right to me and my glove, my heart was whacking my rib cage, when it dropped safely into the lower deck and the crowd roared, Dad and I jumped, hugged, and cried for five minutes.
.
If you are watching the Ch 13 show, look behind Bob Costas head on the left, that's my scorecard, and my 1961 Yankees program and Mantle New York Daily News newspaper headlines are flying through the background during each broadcast.
.
It was a blast pulling all my stuff together, and remembering my reckless obsession with sports that made me deliriously happy as a kid, and how connected all this made me to Dad. If we were talking sports, I couldn't lose.

http://www.thirteen.org/baseball/uncategorized/new-york-baseball/14/

Hating Dallas, Missing Dad

The Dallas Cowboys losing -- my number #1 Schadenfreude trigger. I love September and football creeping up.

Here's a picture of Dad & me, right after Joe "The Nose" Danelo, kicked the New York Giants into the 1981 NFL playoffs on December 19th, with the Jets help next day beating the Packers. Thanks, Jets.

Best two live "Old Yankee Stadium, we were there," sports days ever with Dad.

1) Giants beat Skins 35-33 ~ Nov 1970 ~ came back from 19 points down with a quarter to go. Stadium rocked and rolled. Dad and I hugged like we were going out. Tucker Fredrickson's best game as a pro, Ron Johnson scored winning sweep right in front of Dad & me seating behind Yankee dugout.

2) Mickey's 500. May 1967. We cried while we hugged after that one. I miss Dad hugging me. I made him take me to the Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Friday night, Hal Reniff gave up 9 earned runs, Yankees got pounded, but we stayed to watch Mick hit.


When Dallas loses, I feel Dad's smile.
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Instead of doing what I should be doing, I'm listening to Ray Davies, "Property." What a song.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W74JMyYXac0
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