When I was a kid, the Yankees were formidable. Most everyone I knew was a Yankee fan, probably because most everyone I knew was Italian, and the Yankees were Italian-loaded.
Somehow, my father loved the Red Sox,, and so did I. We suffered for many years under the mantra of, « Wait till next year. » Now that baseball’s post-season is in full swing, I thought you might enjoy this lovely post by my friend, Tony.
Here’s Tony . . .
In the 1950s, the Yankees were the team to beat, but no one could. The fans knew it, the announcers knew it, and the Yanks knew it. With a lineup of extreme talent, Joe, Lou, Yogi, Whitey, and of course, Mickey, the greatest of the great at that time.
My Uncle Joe, a semi-pro player, taught my brothers and me how to catch, throw, and hit. He went to Yankee Stadium often to visit his cousin, the Yankee clubhouse boy. Uncle Joe returned with hats, balls, bats, and anything Yankee for us.
We became Yankee fans forever.
Anytime my brothers and I had time, we played in our backyard. It was a simple game: a broomstick, a paper ball made from masking tape, and a brick wall for a backstop. When Uncle Joe was around, he hit some balls at us.
In those early years, we improved enough to try out for local and high school teams.
But it is the Little League story that lives.
Our bread man, Jerry, also the little league coach, stopped by the house every afternoon with hot bread. My brothers and I would race for the end pieces. My father was not happy to see both ends gone when he came home for dinner.
One day, Jerry saw us playing baseball in the yard. Since he was the coach of Rocchio Oil, a little league team, he mentioned to my Mom and Dad that I should try out for one of the teams.
My Dad took me to the trials. We kids in the outfield took turns catching fly balls. Most of the kids couldn’t catch very well. Thanks to Uncle Joe and his blistering hard practice shots off his bat, I was able to catch and throw the ball on one hop to home plate.
Jerry came up to me and said, “Anthony, go home. Find your father and go home.”
“Go home? That’s it? My baseball career is over,” so I thought.
I told my Dad and Mom, who were surprised, but accepted it.
The following week, Jerry delivered the bread, but this time he stopped to tell my Mom that I was on his team.
“Tony, you made it!”
“I made it! How?
Well, the coaches were assigned points to the players trying out. At the end of the bidding, Jerry had a point left and got me for basically nothing. But that point was one more than I ever got in the schoolyard.
There, I was never picked to play with the boys because I had asthma! The kids thought it was contagious, so they shunned me. Well, I showed them.
I went to little league practice and did well. The big day arrived: Opening Day at the Prete-Metcalf Field. And there I was, heading out as the starting left fielder!
The day defined my future in baseball. I went 5 for 5, 2 home runs, 2 doubles, and a single.
The following week at school, I was picked FIRST! Life was good. We won our Little League Championship, the Yankees won the pennant, and I was one of The Boys.
Can’t get any better than that at age 11 in 1956.
Great story! Thank you for sharing it.
My father was a solid Yankee fan, I would support Red Sox, basically to annoy him, but actually to make him happy when they won, my Red Stockings lost.
For years I was "wait until next year", and he was... "Yeah, Good luck to you and the Boston Red Socks, you both need it".
Simple times, simple joys.