Bill Shannon "holding court" inside of Sheppard's Place at Yankee Stadium - August 2009

It is extremely fitting that Bill Shannon’s funeral will take place on All Saints Day. If baseball is a “religion”, and the stadium in the Bronx is known as a “cathedral”, then Mr. Shannon’s service to the game is truly deserving of Sainthood.

Official Scoring was but one venue of Bill’s many talents. I’d be remiss to not include a small baseball history lesson in the words I write today:

Without question, Bill Shannon will be remembered as the
father of "modern day" baseball official scorers. When the
BBWAA (Baseball Writers Association of America) relinquished
the administration of official scorers back to the league offices
in 1980, retired beat writers were recruited to take over the duties.
Bill Shannon became one of the exceptions to that action.
His work as a stringer for various wire services allowed him the
flexibility to accept writing or official scoring assignments.
He shared those duties with a list of legendary BBWAA members,not
the least of which was Red Foley. Foley and Shannon scored
the majority of the games in New York for the next three decades.

I made my way into the pressboxes of Shea and Yankee Stadiums by 1998 and had the honor of meeting and speaking with Mr. Foley on numerous occasions. But my budding relationship with Bill Shannon became life changing. Howie Karpin had begun scoring games about that time as the first “non-newspaper guy”, as well as Jordan Sprechman. But Bill lamented to me that “Red and I aren’t getting any younger,” and began to cultivate ”process” with the baseball passion that burns as bright in me now as it did then. Although my path in life has taken many different directions, baseball official scoring is something I have taken seriously and done religiously now for more than 12 years. It is a vocation, not a job. Bill had a mantra with far less hyperbole – “They pay us to do this work, they expect it done correctly.”

In 2000, I arrived at the Shea Stadium pressbox one day to find a press release announcing the Queens Kings minor league baseball team. They were to begin playing games at St. John’s University in June, and I contacted them about being their official scorer. I was told that I got the job because it afforded my reference checker a private phone conversation with the legendary Bill Shannon. After the intended purpose of the call was quickly dispensed with, the real conversation about baseball scoring took them the better part of an hour.

The “adventures” of New York-Penn League baseball were invaluable to learning the ropes while still covering major league games. My time as the Official Scorer of the Queens Kings/Brooklyn Cyclones lasted nine years, until my MLB status required me to step aside. My son Alex has just completed his second full season making the tough calls in Coney Island, and I think it’s safe to say he’s the first “second-generation” graduate of the Bill Shannon School of Official Scoring.

By the way, on August 20, 2001 – the Official Scorer of the Cyclones was Bill Shannon. He volunteered to fill in for me while my wife and I were on our honeymoon. That night Bill was seated next to Keith Olbermann in the open-to-the-field pressbox forty feet above home plate. While Keith was chatting away, Bill calmly interrupted him:

“Keith…
you might want to move to your right a little.”

Before another word could be spoken, a foul ball screamed past where Keith had just been leaning, shattering the glass wall behind. Bill had picked up the trajectory of the ball instantly, and still deduced there was enough time to be polite yet brisk in saving Keith from a really bad headache. Of course, Bill never moved a muscle. At least that’s how it was told to me. And Bill never let me forget that I asked him to fill in on “John Franco Appreciation Night”. But that’s another story…

It would take me weeks to tell every Bill Shannon story I know. Considering I’ve been telling them for over a decade already, I’m fairly sure that I’ll never STOP telling them, and after a few weeks I’ll go back to including my imitation of him in the narrative. I will limit myself to one more story now:

Despite “…home of the Brave…” arrival status at the ballpark, Bill’s departure time was an entirely different matter. Over the years I have taken advantage of the opportunity to go to class with the baseball professor well into the wee hours of the morning. Bill took special attention to discussing baseball nuance with me during those conversations, and little did I know that I was the “guinea pig” for a scoring book he was writing. One of the proudest moments of my life was to be asked to proofread the book that I have always referred to as “The Book of Shannon”.

One of the tenants of the The Book of Shannon is that “most males learn everything they know about baseball before the age of twelve.” I can happily say that thanks to Bill I learned most of mine in my 30′s. I have been extremely blessed to spend so much time with the man – even though all of the fillings in my back teeth have fallen out because of the damn tootsie rolls he has given me before every Yankees or Mets game in recent years. I once told him that it was my favorite candy as a kid, and knowing that I eat absolutely no sugar…he started bringing them to games and throwing two my way right around first pitch every single night.

I guess it’s time for me to start bringing the tootsie rolls.

The radio was on for the trip, good ‘ol WFAN was the station. I knew the Mets had already won 4-0 – thanks to a strong day game pitching performance by knuckleballer R. A. Dickey. It was definitely a good news day for Mets fans, since Dickey clearly has recovered from the leg injury that forced him to leave his last start. A good news day – unless of course you were listening to “The FAN”.

The drivetime / post game show was being hosted by professional Mets fans Joe Benigno and Evan Roberts, who were filling in for the vacationing Mike Francessa. Again, this lineup should be an “upgrade” for Mets fans since Big Mike has never been accused by anyone of being a professional Mets fan.

But within five minutes of listening in on Joe and Evan – I had to call someone to confirm that the Mets HAD won earlier. I couldn’t even wait for the 20-20 update I just had to know! The “hot topic” was the hosts apparently fantastic grilling of Mets Manager Jerry Manual in an earlier interview that of course I didn’t hear. Every possible thing that was wrong with the team was discussed, including the inability of the Mets to trade for Roy Oswalt – a pitcher with a no-trade clause who has NEVER shown a serious interest in wanting to pitch for the Mets.

It occured to me at that moment yesterday how absolutely FRUSTRATING it must be to be a true blue Met fan. Outside of their own pre and post game shows, Mets fans are constantly subjected to the “geniuses” of the airwaves who are smarter than every person who works for the Mets. These gifted individuals solely possess the ability to turn the Mets into a perennial World Series champion. Why don’t these people go help President Obama? Oh yeah, because they don’t ACTUALLY know squat, just how to whine.

The first thing these geniuses usually do is compare the Mets to the Yankees. Why? THERE IS NO COMPARISON. Two different organizations in two different leagues with two different philosophies. And before you say, “well the Yankees won the World Series last year” I will remind you that both team’s differences existed when the Mets were selling out Shea in 1986 and the Yankees were awful and drawing 5,000 fans to night games on a regular basis.

The Mets are currently 6-1/2 games back in the NL East and 7-1/2 games back for the wild card with sixty games remaining. Their season is not hopelessly over like the Chicago Cubs, the Oswalt-less Houston Astros, Pittsburgh Pirates, the now Strasburg-less Washington Nationals, or even the Arizona Diamondbacks – this weekend’s vistitor to Citi Field. The Mets are very much a team to root for, with just as good of a chance to make the postseason as any team in the National League.

Yet I wonder if one travelled to Pittsburgh if they would hear such on-air bashing of the perennially awful Pirates on the radio. Thanks to DirecTV, I tune in to MASN and CSN on a fairly regular basis and the DC hosts keep it real in regards to their struggling Nationals. And the day it’s acceptable to bash a sports team like it’s done in Philadelphia…

So here’s my two requests:

Joe and Evan – please don’t do us any favors. Stay in your mid-morning slot and continue to appeal to your target audience of cranky old men. WFAN should be able to find SOMEONE who actually LIKES the Mets and put them on the air for everything but the Whiney-twins slot from 10am-1pm.

Hey Mets? Instead of “infomercial afternoons” and “SportsNite” re-runs on SNY, could we have some drive time call-in shows similar to every other city in America with a Major League Baseball team? WFAN HATES the Mets and ESPN-1050 with Michael Kay — well enough said.

And one final thought: if the “everyday” Mets fan really hates the Mets as much as professional fans Joe and Evan… wow. I actually think that REAL Mets fans are tired of all the negativity and that they would overwhelmingly support outlets that would allow them to root for the team and not have to be subjected on a routine basis to the “Professional” Mets fans.

I think it’s worth a try.

I am also a HUGE Bill Madden fan. I’m pretty sure I have read every book he has written. I respect his viewpoints, since he has always been a class-act as a witness to New York baseball for decades.

That is why I am STUNNED to read today’s article with his byline that mentioned the lack of Yankee players at Bob Sheppard’s funeral service yesterday. So stunned that I actually have a problem believing that Bill Madden had ANY part of it getting into print. I’m going to believe that some idiot editor - deserving of a pink slip - thought he/she could drop the few lines into Bill’s words about the service to “spruce it up” and nobody would notice. I am believing this explanation until I read the apology that a man with Madden’s class will surely make.

I attended the service yesterday. Almost everyone in the packed church sanctuary arrived WELL in advance. Aware that transportation was being made available from Yankee Stadium, I wasn’t surprised to see the large group of Yankees employees and beat writers arrive at the same time – including Mr. Madden. The “lack” of players arriving seemed to dictate that something MUST have happened to their transporation. I’d like to believe that the Yankees and anyone in that travelling group would have realized how absolutely disrespectful it would be for them to enter the sanctuary after the reverent service began and try to “scootch” into the already-packed pews.

It’s also important to know that there was quite a large contingent of “fans” in the rear seats of the sanctuary. I was horrified to see that people would pay their “respects” to Bob Sheppard by showing up in “Evil Empire” t-shirts and other similar wardrobe choices. Knowing how much a Majestic pinstripe uniform top costs – there’s only one word to describe anyone who would show up at a funeral dressed for a day in the Yankee Stadium stands – DISRESPECTFUL.

It was a hot and humid morning in downtown Baldwin yesterday, and all of the doors of St. Christopher’s were open to provide a breeze. Once the service began, I was hoping that the Yankees that were surely on the way would stay away – since their arrival would have likely elicited cheers from those lined on Merrick Road outside. Those cheers never came – keeping the solemnity of the service intact. I don’t know if players attended the burial service or sent their regrets to the family. What I DO know is that once the funeral service began I didn’t think anything of the lack of Yankee players there. For whatever reason they were NOT there – respect dictated their absence from that point on.

As was stated by more than one person during the service Mr. Sheppard was many things in life. Being a “Yankee” was far down his own list, as well as the lists of his family and friends. Christian, family man, teacher – THOSE are the monikers that mattered to all.

Dear New York Daily News – do the right thing and confess to the poor judgment displayed in such a headline. ASAP.

The date was Tuesday, October 19, 1976: Game 3 of the 1976 World Series between the Cincinnati Reds and the New York Yankees. It was the first World Series game in Yankee Stadium in my lifetime, as I celebrated my tenth birthday just 17 days before. No, I wasn’t there in the Bronx – far from it.

What “got” me that night was the “voice” of the PA Announcer during the pre-game ceremony. THAT voice. The voice of Bob Sheppard. I listened as Mr. Sheppard announced the players, coaches, and managers of both teams. By that point of my life I had heard quite a few really good public speakers, not the least of which was my own father. But this was DIFFERENT. As a kid living in Pennsylvania with a TV antenna on my roof, Yankee games were hard to come by, except for during the post season. And unfortunately, other than an “Oh, that guy” response there were not too many people to talk about Bob Sheppard deep in the heart of Phillies and Eagles country.

So the story fast-forwards twenty years. I’m dating the love of my life, and she takes me to Yankee Stadium for my first Yankee game. And of course, Mr. Sheppard was still going strong. Sometime during that afternoon I made the “I’m going to find a way to be here every day” vow that most of my family and friends know I took to heart. Along the way I found out that said love-of-my-life’s mother, godmother, and godfather all had a “Mr. Sheppard” as a teacher at John Adams High School in Queens, but none of them were really sure it could possibly be the same guy.

Within three years of that first trip to Yankee Stadium, I was “covering” MLB games in New York and sitting in the Yankee Stadium press box. Which brings me to my first “meeting” with Mr. Sheppard. As I was riding up the press elevator one day, I found myself alone in the elevator with him. I finally got up the courage to say, “Mr. Sheppard – I hate to bother you but can I ask you a question?” He graciously allowed me to ask if he was the same Mr. Sheppard that had once taught at John Adams. He answered in the same voice one hears over the Stadium’s PA system, “That was – many years ago.” When I told him of my “family connection”, he asked what they were all doing now in the way it seems all teachers ask about their former students. “Mr. Sheppard, they’re all retired”, was my answer – probably said before I should have thought of a better answer. Without any hesitation, his piercing eyes looked at me and said, “so what you are telling me is – that my students are smarter than their teacher.” Before I could have possibly thought of anything to say, he was gone. It dawned on me that perhaps I might have just upset “the man”.

Quite to the contrary, a friendship developed. From time to time he would ask how my “family” was. When he learned I lived in Woodhaven, he told me that he grew up in nearby Richmond Hill. When I told him that my fiancé’ was a St. John’s alum and catholic school teacher, he shared with me memories of the school’s days in downtown Brooklyn, and asked about her parish school. In 2000, I had the opportunity to be the PA announcer for baseball games at the brand new “Ballpark at St. John’s” and you know it was one of the first things I shared with him the next time I saw him. I’m proud to say that I still announce St. John’s baseball games to this day.

I considered it an honor to be invited into his small announcer’s booth during rain delays to “chat”. I always thought it was because it screened him from those that wanted autographs, pictures, or just to hear him “say” things at their request. We often talked about Dexter Park, the former ball field where he played baseball and football for St. John’s that stood three blocks from my house in Woodhaven. He told me about the “Wonder Five” – if you have to ask, go look up the real BEST basketball team in St. John’s history. And we talked about religion, politics, and history; conversations that I will never forget. I consider myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to speak to him about these subjects – a learned man who had LIVED through important times in our country and really wanted to tell those stories. My understanding of 20th century history grew exponentially because of his willingness to share his experiences.

It was during one of those conversations in 2001 that he feigned disappointment. “I have been told that you are getting married this weekend,” he said, “and I haven’t received my invitation yet.” I reminded him that the Yankees were playing the Mariners that Saturday and he made a comment about not knowing in time to give my fiancé’ and me a gift. When I told him that I had formally requested an audiotape through the proper channels but that my request had been denied, he said, “Well – you didn’t ask ME”. He asked what we had wanted him to say, and after I mentioned an introduction for the reception he told me to stop by during the day game the following day. When I returned, there was a package waiting for me with a cassette tape inside. Too afraid to have it jam in my car’s tape deck, I waited until I got home to hear:

“Ladies and Gentleman – your attention please.
Introducing for the first time – as husband and wife…”

Of course, I told my best man EddieBoy about the tape as soon I could. And when he got to the reception with tape in-hand, the DJ proudly stated that he didn’t carry a cassette deck with him anymore. I’m not sure how one magically appeared before the appointed time, but I suspect my family’s convincing nature had something to do with it.

So as our bridal party formally entered the reception to “Whoop There It Is”, my wife I waited behind a closed door. She had no idea about the tape. All of a sudden the music stopped, and after what seemed seconds of dead silence, THAT voice said THOSE words. The look on her face was priceless – she thought it was as cool as I did! The funny part of the story was how the people at our reception took it. A large group were Yankee fans, and thought it was cool to hear from the “Voice of the Yankees”. Another group were St. John’s grads, and thought it was cool we included “Professor Sheppard”. The non-sports fans of my family, who were still trying to acclimate to a Long Island wedding said, “What’s with the tape of the guy that sort of sounds like your Dad?” Clearly, there were limits to the reaches of Bob Sheppard’s voice.

Just weeks after our wedding day, everyone’s world changed. As I sat in the Bronx on Monday, September 10th waiting for word that the game would be “called” due to rain, I never imagined all that would transpire before I would see the Yankee Stadium Pressbox again. When we returned for that first game back, I was immediately struck by how angry Mr. Sheppard looked. I will never forget some of the first words I heard him say over the PA that night. It’s one of the few times my normally photographic memory of words fails me, so I apologize for paraphrasing:

“On September 11, 2001, terrorists unsuccessfully attempted
to crush the spirits of the American people and our way of life.
Instead – in Lower Manhattan and in Washington, DC -
the greatest rescue operation in the history of the United States
successfully saved thousands – through the efforts of
police and fire men and women, EMS workers, doctors, nurses,
and civilians from all walks of life.”

Mr. Sheppard didn’t have “script writers”, I have no doubt that he carefully penned every word. In a world full of tragedy and chaos, here was a former WWII naval officer calming down his “troops” by re-stating the positives. I will never forget how important it was for me to hear those words at that time, and it’s a coaching strategy that I use to this day.

I’ve heard from many that they didn’t know if Mr. Sheppard had a sense of humor – which I find disappointing. He might have been one of the funniest people I ever met; it only took that glimmer in his eyes to let you know he was about to lay one on you. For example:

Mr. Sheppard was always very private about his age, which really wasn’t that hard to figure out – I was able to figure out in the early days of the internet. In 2007, Mr. Sheppard graciously agreed to be the Master of Ceremonies at the dedication of Jack Kaiser Stadium at St. John’s – an event that was his first trip back to his alma mater in many years. I had the pleasure of introducing him that day, and he deadpanned:

“For those of you that don’t know, my name is Bob Sheppard. I am a graduate of St. John’s University – Class of 1932.”

I’m sorry, but in front of a stadium-full of people who were absolutely there because he was – that’s pretty funny. And watching the non-StJ grads doing the math to figure out how old he was – priceless.

Another great line concerned St. John’s football and their quarterback of the early 1930′s:

“David – there are those that say I was the greatest quarterback in the history of St. John’s football.”

One day I bit, and asked him “who” said that? With a glimmer in his eye he replied,

“I did.”

On January 8, 2006, Mr. Sheppard announced his final football game at Giants Stadium. Between the east and west sections of the press box was a big dining room. There were no private areas there and seating was always a premium. As I was walking towards the dining area during halftime, Mr. Sheppard beckoned me over to where he was standing. As I got closer, he motioned me even closer – so he was whispering in my ear. He then said words that I will never forget: “David – I need to rest for a few minutes, and I was hoping that if I continue to stand here and whisper like this – people will see we are having an important conversation and leave us alone.” Of course, I told him that would be fine, and for the next few minutes he stood there in complete silence pretending to whisper in my ear, his hands cupped over his mouth. When the pressbox announcer signaled that the teams were returning to the field, he stepped away and simply said “Thank You”.

Like many, I was hoping that Mr. Sheppard was going to make a visit to the new Yankee Stadium one day. I simply refused to count out the strongest and most “full of life” person that I have ever met.

But on July 11, 2010 – God decided he wanted his voice back, and called him home.

There are so many things I would have wanted to say to him during that return, but one of the wisest men I have ever known always preached, “Clear, Concise, Correct”.

Mr. Sheppard: “Thank You.”

I’d also like to throw my two cents into the debate of those that were not elected. Bert Blyleven was one of the best pitchers of his era – despite playing for some awful Twins teams. Over 22 seasons, he started 685 games and pitched nearly FIVE THOUSAND innings. He won 274 games, fanned 3,700, and pitched 242 complete games along the way.

Unlike Blyleven, Roberto Alomar had the opportunity to play on some pretty good teams in his 17-year career. He won two World Series with the Blue Jays, and played for Orioles and Indians teams that also made the postseason. Unlike Blyleven, Alomar was never considered to be the best player on his own team, much less MLB. He finished fifth in NL Rookie Of The Year voting in 1988 behind legends Chris Sabo, Mark Grace, Tim Belcher, and Ron Gant and never finished higher than sixth in MVP voting in either league.

Despite his nightly viewing on SportsCenter for making routine plays look spectacular, his lifetime fielding percentage (.984) is equal to his contemporaries Edgardo Alfonzo-.986, Craig Biggio-.984, Chuck Knoblauch-.982, and Jeff Kent-.980 to name a few. Jim Kaat won 15 Gold Gloves and he’s not in the HOF either.

Roberto Alomar may someday be elected to Baseball's Hall of Fame - but not as a first-ballot inductee.

Among current members of the Baseball Hall of Fame, Alomar’s career does not stand out. Of course he’s better than Bill Mazeroski - everyone in the HOF is. Joe Morgan played five more seasons then Alomar and was the NL MVP in BOTH seasons the Big Red Machine won the World Series (1975 and 1976). Ryne Sandberg played one season LESS than Alomar, won an MVP and had more home runs and a higher fielding percentage. Nellie Fox won an MVP and was considered among the best fielding second basemen of his era.

One of the bobbleheads on the MLB-Network couldn’t stop talking about Dawson fast enough so he could begin his whine about Alomar’s “overwhelming credentials”. A “new hire” to the network thinks that there aren’t enough HOF voters that actually “watch” baseball. That comment is insulting to those voters who demonstrated objectivity. I’m thankful that they vote and not the rah-rahs who need to resort to name-calling and sensationalism to justify their airtime. Alomar was an above-average second baseman on good teams whose early career apex was negated by his terrible final years where he demoralized teammates and fans with his actions on and off the field.

Alomar needs to take his place BEHIND Gil Hodges as the person most deserving but not in the Baseball HOF. Hodges had seven straight 100+ RBI seasons and was considered the best first basemen of his era as a player. As a manager, he turned the laughable Mets franchise into a World Series Champion. Don Mattingly, Dave Parker, Dale Murphy, and Ron Guidry are others who were considered to be the among the best players in baseball at one time of their career – something that has never been said about Alomar.

Congratulations Andre Dawson. For the rest of you – wait until next year.

Twenty years ago, college basketball fans in New Jersey were pinching themselves. It didn’t seem possible that the men’s basketball team from little Seton Hall University could be front-and-center on the national college basketball stage. It seemed as if the whole state banded together and watched as the Pirates came within one point of winning the 1988-89 NCAA National Championship. Although the 80-79 loss to Michigan was the end of that magical season, it was also the beginning of bigger things to come.

Back in 1989, John Morton was the go-to guy for Seton Hall. Arguably the greatest player in Seton Hall history, he scored 35 points in the National Championship game – on his way to a stellar professional basketball career.

AnnounceGuyDave and Coach Morton hanging out at the William J. Murray Golf Outing - supporting Saint Peter's College Athletics

It’s been twenty years, and nobody has topped his 35-point effort in the finals. It was his three-pointer that turned out to be the last points and the final lead for the Pirates that day, before two Michigan free throws ended the Pirates run.

At the twenty-year reunion at the Prudential Center in Newark this past winter, Morton would get the last shot – twice. In front of ten thousand fans, Morton was the last person introduced - as he delivered the 1989 Runner-Up Trophy to a halftime standing ovation. And right after the Pirates upset the Hoyas, Morton joined Head Coach John Dunne and the Peacocks basketball team as they played the final game of the day on the Prudential Center Court.

As proud as Morton is of his past, he’s also excited at the prospects of the Saint Peter’s men’s basketball team now. “Twenty years ago, we were the kids that stayed home to play ball,” Morton remembered. “At Saint Peter’s, we’ve all worked hard to recruit the best players from New Jersey to stay here in New Jersey.” And it’s not the only thing he hopes that his Seton Hall team of twenty years ago has in common with the Peacocks of today. “We struggled as a team learning how to win in our freshman and sophomore years. But we put in the work to get better, and stepped up and became leaders in our junior and senior years”. Good advice for this year’s Peacocks – the third youngest college team in the nation.

I worked the Friday night Mets/Yankees game in the Bronx. Luis Castillo dropping an easy pop up to cost the Mets a victory was about as bizarre an ending to a game I have ever seen. Until…

Here’s what I remember: I watched Castillo get under the ball and began typing the keystrokes to enter the pop out and finalize my game file. I watched Castillo drop the ball, watched Jeter cross the plate, and then watched Teixiera give everything he had to not fall over and cross the plate for the winning run. I quickly backed out of the “Pop Out” keystrokes, and quickly began the “Error-2b” keystrokes and plating of the runners – both unearned of course. Somewhere in between all that I tried to understand WHY Castillo threw the ball to second base after he picked up his boo boo. And that’s when it hit me.

I’m not speaking of his rationale, I’m speaking of the full beer bottle that was sitting in my lap – after it struck me in the jaw and caromed off of my arm. Apparently, an overexhuberant fan just let it go from the seats directly below the press box, based on the speed and trajectory. I never saw it coming.

The Magic Bottle: Mentioned in the New York Post!

If it had hit someone in the front row of the press box, it might have been a tragedy. I was stunned for a good few moments, and I asked the Official Scorer like five times in a row what the “time of game” was, because although I saw him talking I couldn’t hear what he said over the boom booms going off in my head.

I sent my game file and chatted with the Yankee Stadium officials who now were standing directly behind me. They had already checked with the security in the section below the press box and nobody saw anything. Luckily, there are cameras pointed in every direction of the stadium, so I’m waiting to hear the results of the video review.

It’s pretty amazing that in all of my musical travels over the years I never got hit with a bottle until Friday. How I survived a few years of serenading across Carbon County, PA without getting hit is fairly amazing, and the last place on earth I ever expected it to happen was sitting in the press box in the new Yankee Stadium.

Hopefully, it will never happen again. To anybody.

Should Joba Chamberlain be in the Yankees bullpen?

Should Daniel Murphy be moved out of the outfield?

These are two examples of such debate.  But I am aware of no topic for baseball debate that fires me up more than the following hypothesis:

Derek Jeter is one of the worst
defensive shortstops in baseball.

Obviously, I do not agree. I started covering games at the ballpark early in Jeter’s career, and this discussion seems to have surrounded him from day one. I’ve watched him with my own eyes, and it’s just not true.

First, he was the second-best shortstop in New York – behind Rey Ordonez of the Mets. The fable of the late 90′s was that Ordonez saved at least one run a game defensively. I tracked many of those games, and I always felt that Ordonez guarded the middle of the infield exceptionally well, which left many “routine” balls in the hole become hits. Perhaps the biggest indicator to me was a video the Mets released back then featuring Ordonez. It was an “instructional” video, where they would show Rey-O sliding to make a play, and coach Cookie Rojas would immediately say “Now kids, don’t do what Rey just did – let me show you the proper way to field the ball…” Of course, Ordonez is long gone. The myth of his saving a run a game was validated by his inability to hit. Now the Mets/Yankees competition switches to a guy named Reyes…

The next discussion was how Jeter was the worst of the “new” brand of shortstops. A few years after that debate Nomar is “no more” topic of any discussion, and A-Rod has moved over to become one of the best third baseman in the game, following a similar transition that a guy named Ripken made. Through it all, Jeter has continued to keep on keeping on.

My favorite chapter of the debate came to us via Pennsylvania – where some dudes claimed to have scientific evidence that Jeter is an awful defensive shortstop, declining by the minute. For those of you that don’t know, it is commonly accepted in Pennsylvania that if Penn State University says something is true – it’s true. For the rest of us, we have the ability to discern facts using our own mental capacity. This highly-questionable ”study” was conducted by a bunch of guys in a room watching video footage. These “scientists” never actually observed Jeter in person, and in fact admitted that their conclusion was further supported by John Sterling’s constant “…past a diving Jeter…” comments on those broadcasts. Since their observations were limited to what was recorded on video, it obviously wasn’t important for them to realize that maybe Jeter was diving towards the middle because he started the play in the hole.

I thought about all this while working last night’s game at Yankee Stadium, where I watched the 18-game errorless effort by the Yankees come to an end. What’s that? How does a team with the worst shortstop in baseball go 18 games without an error? Especially when the “experts” say his fielding abilities are in a free-fall decline? And before you ask, Derek Jeter did not commit the error to end the streak.

So let me add my theory to the decline of Jeter’s fielding ability. For the first six years of his career, Derek Jeter had one of the best defensive first baseman in the game catching his throws - Tino Martinez. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Then, another guy took over for virtually the past seven years. I won’t embarass him here, but let’s just say his defensive abilities are not why he played (large contract and the ability to hit balls over the short right field porch). The Penn State study neglected to mention this important fact, since it would have interfered with their ability to gain media attention to their efforts as well as diminish their chances of perpetuating their time in the video room getting paid to conduct additional studies. Unfortunately for their theory, the Yankees signed a new first baseman this year to replace the aformentioned guy. Surprisingly, the Yankees set the errorless game record. Surprisingly, Jeter’s defensive abilities have IMPROVED. Wow – who would have thought it?

Next topic, please.

Speaking about the subject-at-hand is the easy part for me, whatever the scheduled banquet topic is. Public speaking and the ability to wax poetic are genetic attributes that have thankfully been passed down to me by my forefathers and fore-mothers. The part of the night that I “earn” is the scoring banter that occurs table-side before/during/after my work on the mic. You know, “…blah blah blah, let me ask you a scoring question smart guy…” It doesn’t matter what the question is or who asks – I consider the exercise to be an acceptable occupational hazard. After all, we’re talking baseball…WOO HOO! The problem is that I haven’t mastered how one looks good answering these unanswerable questions.

For example, here’s a recent discussion I had:
Q: “Yo buddy, I was at this game once and the batter hit a ball down the third base line. The batter appeared to hit the ball off of his foot, but none of the umpires signalled the ball foul. How would you score that play?

A: Hmmmmmmmm. At this very moment, there is no right answer – I simply do not have enough information.

By the way, if I were an umpire, the question would be phrased the exact same way - except that instead of “Yo Buddy”, the question would have started with “Yo Blue”.

As a point of reference, I have never, EVER met a real umpire that appreciates being called “Blue”. To put this in perspective, ask your spouse if she’s “really wearing that” when you take her out for your next anniversary. Her disdain is about one-third of an umpire’s when you call him/her “blue”. Really. Just ask them.

OK, so now I ask the question: “What happened next?”

Instead of getting an answer, I get “how” the inquistitor would have scored the play…

“5-fielder’s choice-unassisted”.

Now I have to ask: “Were there runners on base?”

Answer: “No.”

Next question (thank god I watched “Perry Mason” as a child):
“Did the third baseman run home with the ball and tag the batter?”

Answer: “Of course not, he threw to the catcher, silly! I thought you knew baseball…”

See – one can never win these discussions.

Final question:
“What did the umpire do when the catcher tagged the batter with the ball the third baseman threw to him?”

Answer?

The umpire signalled it was a foul ball.

It’s a simple game. Really.

Send your questions and comments to the mailbag. Until next time – Peace.

**********

Sitting in the "big chair" prior to an OS assignment at Yankee Stadium

My personal scoring knowledge is the sum of three sources:

1) Official Baseball Rules, published by Major League Baseball.

2) Official Scoring in the Big Leagues, written by Bill Shannon (2006). I had the distinct and unique privilege of being one of the “crash test dummies” for its content, as Mr. Shannon painstakingly committed his oral pedagogy to paper, which turned out to be this book. I often respectfully refer to this publication as “The Book of Shannon“. Unlike the other attempts available in published form, the author of this publication is arguably the best Official Scorer in the major leagues.  I personally value the time over the years that I have observed him at work as well as the time spent listening as he held court on many occasion.

3) My life experience of watching “many” major league, minor league, and college baseball games live and in person – getting the opportunity to be the Official Scorer for a lot of them. In my opinion, functioning as a competent Official Scorer requires a thorough knowledge of the Official Baseball Rules, as well as the secondary ability to be able to find anything in the rulebook quickly that one has not committed to memory. Functioning as a successful Official Scorer requires a competent evaluation of  the level of “ordinary effort” of the players competing in that particular game, as well as the ability to make correct decisions without “committee” input. While the world we live in today is all about “consensus”, baseball official scoring is NOT. Red Foley, one of the best Official Scorers of the twentieth century said it best, “We don’t make popular calls, we make correct calls”.

And on April 15, 1947, Jackie Robinson played in his first regular-season major league baseball game, opening doors of an entirely different type.

Robinson died in 1972. I was all of six years-old at the time, and never got to meet him. But I do have a story to share.

On April 15, 1997 I was living and working in Boston. Needless to say I missed New York a great deal. I had told the future love-of-my life days before that I wished I could be at Shea Stadium that night, the 50th Anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s life and legacy. I don’t know why, I just felt like I needed to be there. But there was really no way it could happen, as I was deep into a project at work, away from my desk and my email.

In these pre-cell phone/texting days, a secretary interrupted my work to tell me I had an “emergency” phone call – the only acceptable reason to disturb our progress. Turns out that tickets for the sold-out game at Shea between the Dodgers and the Mets had been offered to the above-mentioned love-of-my life. I was told there was now one ticket for me if I could find a way to get there.

I knew that the planes flew every hour between Logan and LaGuardia Airports, but I still had to get my work done and get to Logan – not an easy task during a “Big Dig” rush hour. After I realized I had maxxed out my credit cards with payday a few days away, I called my credit card company, asking for an emergency credit limit increase. Moments later I purchased my ticket for the flight.

Of course my co-workers were incredulously trying to figure out WHY I needed to drop everything to go, especially because my “baseball fan” existence didn’t even seem to explain it. I worked hard to get done, but the clock kept moving closer and closer to my departure time. Finally, I could leave, less than 30 minutes before takeoff. I knew I couldn’t make it in time via the “T”, so I searched rather inpatiently for a cab. I ended up run-walking quite a few blocks until I found one.

I got in the cab and told the driver when my plane was taking off at Logan, and he laughed. Knowing right away this wasn’t my guy, I jumped out of the cab and into the path of an empty cab behind us. As I jumped in the back, I started telling the driver my impossible plight. He made no promises other than to do his best. He was an older gentleman, and made a comment about younger people always waiting until the last minute under his breath. I explained to him what I was doing and when he asked me WHY? – I stumbled to tell him that I didn’t know, except that I knew in my heart I had to.

Then the man said something I will never forget. He said that he had never imagined he would be risking his life to take a white man to the airport in order to honor Jackie Robinson. He said that my “reason” made all the sense in the world to him, because it was God’s way of telling “this stubborn black man” that this world was indeed changing. The very conversation he was having with God before I jumped in front of his cab.

My trip from Storrow Drive to the terminal took exactly nine minutes. I never felt I was in harm’s way – but I can’t be certain those in other vehicles felt the same way. As I went to pay him, he asked me to do him a favor. He asked me to send him back a commemorative program from the game. I mailed it to him the next day, since I made the plane and the ceremonies with seconds to spare. You can’t make this stuff up.
**********
When I moved back to New York, I found out quite by accident that Jackie Robinson was buried in a cemetery a short walk away from where I had moved. It took me a few tries to find the gravesite, but I finally did. During my search online for the exact location, I noticed that most references on the web mentioned the site was in terrible shape. Since that time, I’ve tried to “visit” at least once a month during the warm months, picking up the trash and trying to make the area look presentable.

Jackie was preceded into death by his son, Jack Robinson, Jr. The gravesite overlooks the former Interborough Parkway, since renamed the Jackie Robinson Parkway. If you ever want to visit, let me know – perhaps I’ll join you.

Sorry Brooklyn Baseball fans, but the book was one of the first to debunk the convenient, but not accurate assumption that Walter O’Malley was solely to blame for the migration of the Dodgers to the west. As you read the book, you will see similar forces at work that are also very much a part of the current Brooklyn Nets/Atlantic Yards fiasco today. O’Malley, by the way, is long since departed.

The book also sheds light on the involvement of his majesty, Robert Moses. His borderline psychotic and irrational lifetime infatuation with developing The Flushing Meadows was heavily affecting his judgment by the mid-50′s, and O’Malley simply had no chance whatsoever to gain approval from Moses unless he agreed to move to the Magic Meadow. This may not be breaking news, but it’s important to realize that the Dodgers were going to move somewhere, because the Borough of Brooklyn and the City of New York were simply not capable of enacting any realistic plan to keep them.

The part that story that surprised me were the circumstances surrounding the Giants move to San Francisco. I never realized that Giants’ owner Horace Stoneham made his decision completely independently of O’Malley. For those of you that doubt it, here’s a Stoneham quote, found on page 442 of Peter Golenbock’s book, Bums:

“…I had intended to move the Giants out of New York even before I knew Mr. O’Malley was intending to move. I was unhappy playing in the Polo Grounds. The ballpark was old, and it was darn near impossible to finance one in that area. I had intended to go to Minneapolis…”

Given the circumstances, why didn’t Moses offer Stoneham the Magic Meadow? Even Manhattan Borough President Hulan Jack had a suggestion for Stoneham: build a 110,000 seat stadium at the west side railroad yard? Sound familiar?

But here’s where the story gets interesting – the “efforts” of George McLaughlin and William Shea.

In 1957, McLaughin worked for Moses. He contacted Stoneham and offered to purchase the Giants for $5 million on behalf of an unnamed, non-profit entity. One can assume Moses was standing by, at the ready to create yet another of his infamous governmental money funnels. The Giants would then rent a stadium that would be built for them at the Magic Meadow in lieu of paying taxes - a deal O’Malley never asked for in Brooklyn. When Stoneham made it clear the Giants weren’t for sale, McLaughlin continued to pester him. McLaughlin eventually went public, offering any National League team the opportunity to relocate to Queens.

That’s when William Shea got involved. The attorney informed National League President Warren Giles of the “Moses, McLaughlin Plan” to put a National League team in Queens – before the Dodgers and Giants had even made their decisions to leave. After McLaughlin was stone-cold-busted in propogating a lie that Stoneham had secretly negotiated for the Reds to move to Queens, McLaughlin demanded that Giles force a team to move to Queens or grant a new franchise – before the 1957 season ended or the Dodgers or Giants had made their decisions to move. Giles ignored the request.

Robert Moses must have been beside himself. Didn’t the National League know who he WAS? Shea focused his efforts to the Continental League concept, which of course led Major League Baseball to welcome the Los Angeles Angels, Houston Astros, Minnesota Twins, and New York Mets expansion franchises in 1961-62. I’m not sure what McLaughlin got for his troubles outside of a taxpayer pension, but we all know one of the rewards for private citizen Shea – his name would be etched on the side of the  Montrosity at Moses’ Magic Meadow - from 1964 to 2008.

Flushing Meadows Park - 1959

After reading the book, it’s easy to see how the events of 50 years ago continue to affect us today: the failure of the proposed stadium at the West Side Yards, the ongoing Atlantic Yards fiasco, the new Yankee Stadium, and of course Citi Field. I can’t be certain, but I’d like to believe that the Yankees and Mets hierarchy read Sullivan’s book.

You should too.

Growing up in Pennsylvania, in a non-sports house, people always asked me how in the world did I ever become such a huge baseball fan? It’s easy to say that largest influence was – listening to Harry Kalas. I remember like it was yesterday, listening to broadcasts on KYW, the home of the Phillies back in the day. There was something about that voice that led me to tune in faithfully day and night, season after season. It was easy to get caught up in his enthusiasm, because he seemed to know those mid-70′s Phillies were getting better each year. I’m on shaky ground claiming to have ever been a true Phillies fan, but I have no problem admitting that I have thoroughly enjoyed watching and listening to Phillies baseball broadcasts throughout my life.

I rooted for rain delays so that I could listen to his stories. I’d stop everything when Phillies pitchers had two strikes on a batter just so I wouldn’t miss “Swing and a miss he STRUCK him owwwwwt.” And although I don’t remember hearing the “Michael Jack” Schmidt calls as much as everyone else seems to, I DO remember how much fun it was to hear Harry get juiced for “swing and a LONG FLY BALL TO DEEP LEFT FIELD…” you all KNOW how those signature calls ended.

I have three personal Harry Kalas stories to share:

When I was 11 years-old, Harry Kalas appeared at the Eugene Jacobs clothing store in the nearby Westgate Mall, and I made my Dad take me. After I got Harry’s autograph, I entered a drawing at the store. Much to my surprise I found out moments later that I had won a $100 gift certificate after Harry pulled my name out of the bowl. I got to take my picture with him, and boy I wish I knew where that picture was today. More importantly, I got fitted for my very first (and only) Leisure Suit. Bright green. And yes, I thought I looked great, and made sure to tell everyone how Harry “hooked me up”. And unfortunately, I’ve got LOTS of pictures of me in that bright green polyester nightmare.

When I started working MLB games at the ballpark, I had just left a pretty cool music career. I really had no interest in meeting players or other baseball royalty – but I wanted to meet Harry. And then one day pregame in the Shea Stadium pressbox, there he was – and he preceded to sit down right next to me and ask me some questions about the Mets. I gave him all the information he asked for and left, never giving me the chance to gush. I think he knew.

Harry Kalas at the Vet (photo by George Widman-AP Photo)

Finally, I got an assignment at Veteran’s Stadium in its final season. It was the first and last time I ever got to work there. After the game, I wandered into the dining area, empty except for one person – Harry Kalas. He was sitting by himself, having a cold one, gearing down from the game. He called me by name, and invited me to sit down and talk with him. He seemed content to listen to me babble awhile, and after I finished my thoughts on the imminent closing of Veteran’s Stadium, I broke out the leisure suit story. Harry was horrified. He humorously apologized for what he called “the negative impact he had on my childhood”, which of course couldn’t have been further from the truth. But from that day forward, whenever I saw him in Philly or in New York he always made sure to tell me how good I looked.

Harry Kalas – thank you for introducing baseball into my life.

God Bless You.

The South Dakota native is one of the best women’s bowlers in the country. As the junior led her Nebraska Cornhuskers to the 2009 NCAA National Championship Match against the Central Missouri Jennies, her efforts would likely be the difference between becoming a champion or a runner-up.

Unlike clutch players in sports like basketball or baseball, this young lady takes the last-second, game winning shot several times each day, as compared to other sports where athletes simply hope for the opportunity. A anchor bowler’s skills are as mental as they are physical when you consider they know long before a baker match begins that the key moment of the game and/or match will likely to come down to them. And like Mariano Rivera, Cassie Leuthold is the best closer in her sport.

Earlier tonight in Game One of the Championship Match, Leuthold threw a baby split in the 10th frame – giving Central Missouri an excellent opportunity to steal the first game away. If she missed both pins or hit just one, victory would be determined by the opposing anchor. If she knocked down both, the opposition’s chances for victory would become microscopic. As she’s done countless times before, she calmly peered down the lane with a stare Andy Pettite would be proud of before converting the difficult spare. Her work was not done, as she turned microscopic into impossible by rolling a strike to give the Huskers an unreachable 200 score. The Jennies would finish 15 points behind.

Pins - like at bats and free throws - matter. Rolling in the fifth frame of Game Two, Cassie’s booming strike was a clanging wake-up call to her teammates, who failed to mark any of their first four frames. The Jennies weren’t budging however, leaving Leuthold nothing to shoot for in the 10th frame. She drained a useless strike before giving way to a sub. Better to save the arrows in a 1-1 match.

Game Three’s margin remained close heading into the 5th frame, but yet another strike by Leuthold put the Huskers ahead. Her teammates would mark every frame leading up to the 10th, handing Cassie the task of knocking down nine pins to clinch the game. Instead of nine, she rolled her fifth strike of the match to put the Huskers back on top 2-1.

Game Four was similar to the previous one, as the Huskers were finally executing as a team. In the 5th frame, Cassie left four pins after her first shot, but dumped the bucket for her fourth spare of the match, giving the Huskers a slight lead. Her teammates again marked their way to the 10th frame, as Cassie easily knocked down the five pins needed to clinch a commanding 3-1 lead in the match.

The Huskers marked the first four frames of Game Five, as Cassie found herself facing her second bucket. She dropped it again to add to what was now an almost thirty pin lead. The lead held, and after Cassie dropped nine pins in the 10th frame, the Huskers work was done.

Cassie’s work in the championship match was outstanding. She calmy closed out two important early wins in the first and third games, negating the shaky start of her teammates. As they all settled in, she calmly filled the role dealt to her – a role where her 5th frame efforts became more important than the 10th. For her efforts, she helped Nebraska win the National Championship, and was named the Most Outstanding Player of the 2009 NCAA Bowling Championships.

Too bad she doesn’t throw overhand.

Although I’ve been to a few “openings”, this one was the largest – literally. I am not going to bore you all with stuff you’ve read everywhere else, but there are a few points I’d like to make outside of the fact that the place is HUGE.

The view from my "new" seat

The pressbox has characteristics of Camden Yards, only at a higher elevation. At first I thought the stadium clock was again hidden from view in the Official Scorer’s seat, but then I realized there are digital clocks down both outfield alleys. Looking down on the field, there is no doubt you are looking at the field of Yankee Stadium. To me, walking around the stadium was reminiscent of US Cellular Field in Chicago, and the wide concourses are very much like Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia.

As I struggled to decide how I felt, my first thought was “why couldn’t they have surrounded the OLD field with all this stuff?” My second thought was “Dave, let it go.” And so I have. Turn the page.

A few of my personal thoughts after my first two “visits”:

If anybody wants to know what to get me for future gifts, the answer is simple: a gameday ticket for the Mohegan Sun Sports Bar, located in centerfield. I stood inside during the workout session, and in my opinion this is as uniquely cool of a view as anyone can find on the planet. Think “glass bottomed boat” in the Carribean, only baseball. Add alcohol, and I’m all set for a few hours of relaxing. Some blogger wrote, “who would pay $100 to sit 500 feet from home plate when they could just go to the ESPN zone?” The answer? ME.

I’ve never had “vertigo”, but it’s got to be a lot like how I felt navigating around the new Stadium. You have a familiar reference point (the field) that is NOT a reference point any longer. I’m thinking it’s going to take me a while longer to find all the shortcuts around Yankee Stadium than it might at say, CitiField.

Is is just ME, or do “interim” PA Announcer Paul Olden and the immortal Mark Fratto sound frighteningly similar? I’d watch out Paul, at the very least Mark sounds more like you than Mr. Hall sounds like Mr. Sheppard. Of course, the other three would simply be keeping Mr. Sheppard’s seat warm for his return. I keep hoping.

I watched Yankees batting practice alongside the smartest man on TV, and we both commented simultaneously about the wind patterns in right field. It’s only April, but if the winds continue to blow towards the short porch it’s a safe conclusion there will be quite a few balls flying into the right field seats.

Along the backstop

I was looking forward to spending a few moments chatting with my boyhood friend who’s been the producer of Cubs telecasts for WGN for over a decade. Turns out, he has moved east to ply his trade with the Pirates. Good luck Pete!

There was a farmer’s market located next to the press elevator, on the way up to the press box. Market, like fruits and vegetables. Who knew?

Of course, these first two visits were practice. It’ll be for real come April 16th.

I’m not complaining about the distance - I chose where I need to go, and I’m happy to do it. In fact, it’s a commute I did before…for years. The difference now compared to “back in the day” was that for a while a ferry ride was included, when the PATH tubes between Exchange Place and the World Trade Center were “under construction”.

So, my question now is why are the governmental entities making it HARDER for all of us to use public transportation? The MTA is raising fares, yet putting nothing back into the infrastructure. Outside of tourist locations and their home at Jay Street in Brooklyn, it’s hard to find any evidence of MTA station maintenance of any kind. The answer to broken stairs at my home station was to barricade the entrance shut for months. Oh yeah, I think one day they added a coat or two of paint to the now barricaded area. When the steps where finally reopened last week, the only noticeable difference was a quick patch, which appeared to be the first efforts on the stairway in years. More stairs will break – perhaps the staircase itself will fall down – before the next visit by MTA maintenance people.

Meanwhile, underground is another story. The efforts to put a wheelchair ramp between the A and E platforms at World Trade Center/Chambers St. were undertaken by a not-so-small army of workers who have been lurking behind the plywood for months (about as long as my home staircase has been broken). Track work seems to be underway at emergency levels – based on all of the MTA lines that have now been re-routed or scuttled during the overnight hours. All of that work is being done simultaneously, so if you need a subway in downtown Manhattan after 12:01AM – take a cab or the PATH. Don’t bother reading the impromtu signs, they’re usually incorrect. After you’ve paid your fare and passed through the turnstiles, simply ask one of the hoardes of workers hanging out in the station.  They’re the ones wearing yellow vests and carrying heavy tools, or walking on the tracks aimlessly. They will happily tell you that there are no trains running the way you need them to, if you ask them. Go on, ask – they need something to do.

Crossing the Hudson has gotten harder as well. The importance that Mayor Bloomberg and his LMDC cronies have made of finishing  the Terrorist Victory Historical Site means that PATH service will cease on nights and weekends at the World Trade Center station, the main time I travel. So I am looking forward to navigating the aforementioned MTA construction to another PATH station in order to earn a bonus “layover” in Hoboken. Additional reading time awaits me as I wait for my “train” to arrive and take me towards Newark. This should effectively double the final leg of my trip, pushing total travel time further past the two-hour mark.

The solution? It might be time to buy a car. Or rent a room in New Jersey. At least I will be stimulating the economy. With money I don’t have to spend.