The Chairman of the Board is Back ~ Ford Starts Friday Night at Fenway

The Chairman of the Board, Edward Charles "Whitey" Ford will start for the Yankees Friday night at Fenway in a ball park he despised. "I hate the place, it haunts me. Time to put that ghost to rest."

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

81 years old, Ford said his decision was based on two factors: One: Brett Favre. Ford said, "The guy's Lazarus doing squat thrusts. So why not me?" Ford elaborated on the second reason: "I grocery shop with the wife and when we come home she goes to the fridge and pantry and I throw items to her. I never had much of a fastball, but I started noticing a nasty screw movement on the yogurt cups and juice packs, I like those little straws, and the oranges and pears were dropping six inches right before they got to the plate. I still have the curve and slider. We buy these cheese balls with nuts, I love them, and they're about the same size as the major league ball ~ only thing missing is Joe Cronin's signature. The cheese balls move."

Ford, who spent most of his career outside a starting rotation thanks to Casey Stengel's selective use of #16," said, "I'm prepared to start, do middle work or mop up. Whatever Joe wants."

Joe Girardi, Yankee manager, added, "I'm excited "Slick's" here, and unlike Favre, Whitey never wavered. Vazquez is not right out there, and it's time for a change. I'm sure Mickey and Billy are looking down and laughing their heads off ~ "The Chairman of the Board" is on the mound."

Ford won 236 games for New York (career 236-106), still a franchise record. Among pitchers with at least 300 career decisions, Ford ranks first with a winning percentage of .690, the all-time highest percentage in modern baseball history.

A reporter approached Brett Favre walking on his property. Brett was carrying a skull, and mumbling to himself. Favre made no comment on Ford.

Below, courtesy of The New York York Times ~ photo by Teddy Ryan

Favre Comes in From Yard to Say He’s Still Thinking
By JUDY BATTISTA and DAVE CALDWELL

Brett Favre said Friday that he might need minor surgery to relieve pain in his left ankle. The pain is one of the factors he is considering in what has become an annual N.F.L. rite of spring: waiting for Favre to decide whether he will play another season or retire.

Favre posted a statement about the injury on his Web site several hours after ESPN reported that he was deliberating whether to have the surgery or retire.

Could Be the Best Day of the Year

A long time ago, two things sometimes happened on the same day, instantly making that day the best day of the year ~ that would be daylight saving time, giving you one more hour to play in the park, and the park's water fountains being turned back on to quench your thirst. Can't happen anymore, it's too cold in New York to turn outdoor fountains back on... so, Happy Daylight Savings and Happy March birthdays to all below, and anybody I forgot.
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love, left to right, Tonte, Bob, Alien Baby, Baby, Teddy & Tommy
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Ellen ~ has two birthdays just like my grandmother. Ellen never told me why she has two, but I know it's not the same reason as my grandmother. Nan was delivered by a mid-wife on July 23, 1906 in her family's apartment at 1403 York Avenue. When the mid-wife filled out the Board of Health birth certificates at the end of the week, she used the same date, Friday, for all of them, so Nan had two birthdays, July 23rd & July 28th.
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Aunt Mary ~ my grandmother's sister also born in 1403 York Avenue in 1899. She only has one birthday because her mid-wife filled out her birth certificates correctly.
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Jimmy ~ got thrown out of his house at 12 by his mother for looking at her funny. When Jimmy visited Yorkville as a boy he wore a bow tie. I thought, he really liked the neighborhood.
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Cris ~ a brilliant writer and editor, her office is down the block from the old location of Father Drumgoole's 10 story orphanage, City House, the country's largest in late 1800s.' It was at the north east corner of Lafayette Street & Great Jones Street.
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Diana ~ she moved to California, but misses her view of the Hudson River terribly.

Christine ~ crochets pretty pictures and words, loves wine and food.

Anil ~ a solid friend & super duper project manager at the New York City Housing Authority.
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Michael Toth ~ my Yorkville schoolmate who shares the same last name with the loony Hungarian guy, Lazlo Toth, that hammered Michelangelo's Pieta. My Toth and I got a hundred on our 4th grade final in Math, then we got beat up by the Nun, Sister Adrianne, for fighting during the award ceremony in front of the class.
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Jordana ~ We Three Reading Series pal ~ claims she saw Peter Stuyvesant's ghost one night sitting on a parking meter in front of the Telephone Bar.
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Me ~ spring, daylight savings time, soon Yankee Stadium opens, but I miss the old Stadium http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/24/nyregion/thecity/24thir.html?_r=1

Eddie ~ my 83rd Street friend, lived down the block.

Lauren ~ a beautiful person, met her yesterday morning in City Hall Park, instantly cheered me up.
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Bobby ~ my cousin in Spring, Texas, a fine musician ,whose Dad, Tom, grew up on York Avenue.

Uncle Mommy ~ my dear ol' Mom, Erin Go Bragh! Grew up in East Harlem and later on York Avenue. 11 years gone and she's still torturing my father. I can hear them.
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Dawn, "Go away, I'm no good for you" ~ my Elmhurst cous with the basketball smarts. Her Mom, Barbie Pins, grew up on York Avenue. Her Dad, Mickey, grew up on 84th Street.
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Joanie Baloney ~ my funny fruit cake aunt & godmother and provider of bacon & mayo on Wonder bread at 321 East 85th Street. Another York Avenue mutt.
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Laurene ~ old Yorkville chum, East End Avenue mutt.
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Gabriella ~ Ms. Kantor was the object of my affection, who turned my complexion, from white to rosy red, in sixth and seventh grade at St. Stephen's of Hungary school on East 82nd Street.
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Hildy ~ loved Philadelphia but made New York and West End Avenue her home for a million years. A city girl. A strong woman. We miss you!
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Father Benedict Dudley & The New York Giants Dark Age

Owning a four game losing streak in professional football is the equivalent of losing 40 straight games in professional baseball. It's 25 percent of your team's season. The New York Giants four game losing streak makes me blue.
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The losing streak reminds me of the bad old days, before Pete Rozelle forcefully escorted Wellington & Tim Mara across the dance floor to their new general manager, George Young.
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I'm old enough to vaguely remember the Giants glory years coming to a close in 1963. Then the dark age. From 1964 through 1980 the Giants were terrible except for one tease in 1970 when the George "Straight to Hell" Allen led L.A. Rams beat the Giants in the last game of the season denying them the N.F.L.'s Eastern Conference crown, and worse, giving the crown to the Anti-christs from Dallas.
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Below is the first few paragraphs of a Sports Illustrated article from September 25, 1972, about the New York Giants bad times.
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A cool Yorkville related thing in the article is a prominent character is Father Benedict J. Dudley. Father Dudley was the pastor of St. Stephen of Hungary Church on East 82nd Street, and he served me my first communion and I served him as his altar boy in mass. Father Dudley was also the Chaplain for the New York Giants & the New York Rangers and one of Wellington Mara's closest friends.
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It's a good read, but I'd prefer the Giants put a little winning streak together starting next week.
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It's Just One Man's Family
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Wellington Mara is moving his beloved—if baffling—Giants to New Jersey, hoping others will love them, too
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by Robert H. Boyle


Father Dudley said the 6:30 a.m. Mass and then looked in on the St. Francis of Assisi breadline on Manhattan's West 31st Street that has been running since 1929—the oldest breadline in the world, according to Father Dudley. Not scheduled to hear confessions that day, Father Dudley got into his car and drove to the Giant training camp in New Jersey. There he watched the workouts, checked on the progress of the rookies and talked with his friend, Wellington Mara, the president of the team.Father Benedict Dudley has been a fixture around the Giants since 1932 when a man saw him standing in the bleacher ticket line at the old Polo Grounds and said, "Take this, Father." It was a box-seat ticket right on the 50-yard line. There were three or four other men in the box, and Father Dudley kept up a running commentary on the performances of the players and the progress of the game. When one of the men allowed that Father Dudley certainly knew a lot about professional football, Father Dudley said, "I used to see the Frankford Yellow Jackets play when I lived in Philadelphia." It turned out that Father Dudley was sitting in the box of a very close friend of Tim Mara's, and from then on he never had to stand in the bleacher ticket line again.Another priest, Father Kevin O'Brien, who was a professor of physics at Fordham, has always hung around the Giants, too. He became known as the defensive priest; Father Dudley was the offensive priest. Once at a dinner in Milwaukee the late Fred Miller, president of the Miller Brewing Co. and himself a Catholic, introduced Father Dudley as the offensive priest. Father Dudley drew a chortle when he cautioned Miller on pronouncing the first syllable in offensive. "The word has two meanings," he said.In the course of years, Father Dudley has become not only honorary chaplain to the Giants but to what Wellington Mara calls "the Giant Family."

To finish Robert H. Boyle's article go to this link:

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1086564/index.htm

Pat Cullinan's 1968-1973 Photos & The Babe in Right Field in 1928

Patrick Cullinan, my LaSalle Academy Geometry teacher,created an amazing catalogue of photographs that captured LaSalle life between 1968 and 1973.
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In addition to the LaSalle photos, Pat took tons of pictures of the Lower East Side and other New York City neighborhoods. You can see all the photos at the link below including recent shots of Papaya King on 86th Street taken this past month. I owe Pat, much ~ he is one of the most interesting, knowledgeable and funny mentors I've had in my life and a stupendous photographer (Click on photos to open).
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If you ever stepped into a Catholic classroom, or wondered what else was going in the East Village in the late 60s besides sex, drugs and rock & roll take a look at Pat's photos.

http://pcullinan.smugmug.com/

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It drives me nuts that hardly anybody had to sense to film Yankee baseball in the 1920s at Yankee Stadium. The Stadium I knew and loved, until the renovation at the end of the 1973 season, was radically different from the original 1923 structure. Dead center was 490 feet, a flag pole was in the middle of the deep outfield, there was no left or right field upper deck, the Yankee dugout was on the third base side, and on and on.
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Yesterday, the New York Times published a story and a link to a one minute long film of Babe Ruth playing right field in 1928, and striking out with Lou Gehrig on deck. This is the first film to surface showing Ruth playing the outfield, and you also see quick shots of the Grand Concourse with a few familiar buildings missing. Check out the film and the Times article at the link below.
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http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/09/sports/baseball/09video.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=babe%20ruth&st=cse
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Rocky Colavito Improved My Batting Practice Experience

Memorial Day week, reminds me of going up to Yankee Stadium early for a night game to watch batting practice.

"Come on, Dad, Lets' go."

I ran up to Dad as he got off the crosstown bus at 86th Street & York Avenue. It was 5:30pm on May 24, 1965. Late spring, when it began being warm enough in the evening to sit in the stands wearing just a sweatshirt.

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The previous Saturday night, Dad and I watched a Yankee game on our tenement roof using every extension cord in the house. "You're both nuts," Mom said to Dad's ass as he climbed out on our fourth floor fire escape with the cords. Once we settled in with kitchen chairs, a card table for the TV and a spaghetti pot full of ice, beer and soda, Dad said to me, "We got to get up to the Stadium for a game before they go on the road."

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The game start was 8pm.

We jumped into a cab in front of the Mansion Diner and shot up the FDR. At the Stadium, Dad bought reserved seats in section 15, half way between the Yankee dugout and the right field foul pole. I still have the stub.

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Dad wrote in the line-ups while I bounced my eyes around the mostly empty ballpark. I smelled cigars, peanuts, and freshly cut grass. This was when I liked the Stadium best. Just the ballplayers on the field and us, real fans, in the stands. You practically had a whole section to yourself, if you didn't count the hundred kids assembled in right or left field waiting anxiously for imminent home runs, depending on whether the batter was left handed or right handed. The gaggle of kids would travel all away around the ballpark to the other side of the field to get in position for a lefty or righty during batting practice. Watching them run was like a Peanuts cartoon soccer game. Dad wasn't nuts about me being in that group yet,"when you're a little older," he wouldn't let me go by myself, and hated flying around with me, "Let's stay here, this way, if the ball comes this way, you'll have it all to yourself."

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There was no sense arguing with the man, so I focused on the good. With so few people around us, I could hear the ballplayers yell at each other as they played pepper and threw it around the outfield. I got an idea who like each other, and who tortured each other.
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The Indians were finishing their batting practice. Leon Wagner, a lefty, pounded three pitches into the right field stands. My heart dropped missing the action. I knew the home run derby was going to continue in left field. Rocky Colavito was coming around the cage to take his at bat.

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I mumbled, "Why'd I bring my glove," and slumped in my chair.

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Dad looked over at me."Tommy, I did the Indians. Why don't you do the Yankee lineup?"

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When I reached for the program, I heard solid bat contact, then Dad took my head and pulled it towards his chest hard.

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"Thwack!"

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I turned and saw a broken slat on the top of my chair. Colavito had sliced a foul that split my wooden seat. Dad and I stared at it forever, then I began looking for the piece of wood that broke off, a valuable souvenir, Dad grabbed me, picked up our things and we headed out to the right field box seats.

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All future batting practices were viewed in the outfield or the bleachers. Colavito already a secret Non-Yankee hero of mine ~ he hit four homers in a game in 1959 and looked like my Dad ~ became my favorite all time non-Yankee player.

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Yankees won 15-5, Stottlemyre pitched well & Tom Tresh and Joe Pepitone hit homers

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Ol' Yankee Stadium

Now that Shea is kaput the reality is sinking in, Yankee Stadium will be demolished.
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My sadness is tempered by my disgust over the renovation job after the 1973 season. Two missing elements destroyed the beauty of the place. Gone was the copper facade overhanging the roof and worse; the bullpens were no longer bookends between the bleachers and the lower right and left field seats.
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The ghosts of Yankee & Giant fans hung in that space behind the facade. When I sat in the grandstands high up under the roof's cover and felt caught between the facade and the playing field, sometimes my hair would raise on my neck as I sensed the millions who sat there before me, who invested all their hope and poured all their sorrows on the team below. Part of anyone who measured a good day versus a bad day, based on how their team did, left a piece of themselves behind. I felt it.

(photo is available for sale at the New York Times Store).
The demolition is a final blow to a patient that's been dying for 36 years. (The place closed for renovation after the last Yankee game in 1973 and re-opened in 1976.) I'm sad, but in a different way then if the place was never subject to amputation. I never enjoyed Steinbrenner's remodeling.
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In the old park you could sit next to a ballplayer. You, in the first row, the last box seat in right field next to the bullpen ~ the player, sitting next to you on a park bench in the Yankee bullpen. Think about that next time you see 10 security guards standing in front of the Yankee dugout.
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Don't get me started on the football Giants still in Jersey!
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Many thoughts on this in the next few weeks...
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