I’m hardly an expert on the mechanics of a pitcher, but even I can tell that the finish of Lance McCullers’ delivery in this game against the Blue Jays looks rather painful. When your head is completely turned toward first base just as you’ve released the ball toward home plate, there is something desperately wrong.

As a young reliever with the Padres, McCullers had the kind of talent over which scouts salivate, a powerful right arm that could manhandle opposing hitters. Some folks called him “Baby Goose” because his style mirrored Hall of Fame teammate Rich “Goose” Gossage. I remember well when the Yankees acquired McCullers as part of a package that sent slugging Jack “The Ripper” Clark to the Padres. Reacting to the news with boyish fervor, I thought that the trade would help the Yankees on two fronts. With a 95 mile-an-hour fastball and a knee-bending slider, McCullers appeared to be the young relief ace who could effectively replace the erratic Dave Righetti. That, in turn, would have allowed the Yankees to put Righetti back in the starting rotation, thereby strengthening one of the weakest areas of the team.

Unfortunately, the Yankees didn’t receive my memo. They stubbornly resisted the temptation to change Righetti’s role, instead announcing that McCullers would become his primary setup man in the bullpen. McCullers then compounded the problem by flopping in his first season in pinstripes. After having pitched remarkably well for three seasons in middle relief, McCullers did not take well to a similar role in the Bronx. His ERA rose by more than two runs, from 2.49 to 4.57, despite a reduced workload in 1989. Often unhittable in the National League, McCullers found hitters in the junior circuit to be far less impressed with his arsenal of riding fastballs and diving sliders.

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Over at The Hardball Times, I feature a regular column detailing the history and origins of baseball nicknames. Since the Yankees have had their share of nicknames over their long history, it seems appropriate to highlight a few of the more memorable monikers in this space. So to start things off, and with apologies to the “Iron Horse,” the “Commerce Comet,” and “Mr. October,” here are five of my most favorite Yankee nicknames:

Phil Rizzuto: Whether it was as a ballplayer or as a broadcaster, who could not love a nickname like “The Scooter?” Rizzuto’s small physical stature, particularly his short legs, contributed to this label. While still in the minor leagues, veteran infielder Billy Hitchcock took note of Rizzuto’s fielding and running style and said to him, “Man, you’re not running, you’re scooting.” Hitchcock’s characterization caught on almost immediately, with teammates happily calling Rizzuto “Scooter.” For his part, Rizzuto loved the nickname. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” Rizzuto once told Stephen Borelli of USA Today. “It could have been some other name they could have called me.” “Scooting” seemed to work for Rizzuto. He became one of the game’s best fielding shortstops of the 1940s and early fifties, eventually earning election to the Hall of Fame in 1994.

George Selkirk: The outfielder who had the misfortune of succeeding Babe Ruth in right field, Selkirk also had a distinctive way of running with his weight pressed onto the balls of his feet. Some of his teammates with the minor league Newark Bears of the International League noticed this tendency and dubbed him “Twinkletoes.” (And once you’ve got a nickname like that, you’re never getting rid of it.) The nickname followed him to the major leagues, where Selkirk established himself as a solid hitter for average who also drew plenty of walks. From 1936 to 1942, Twinkletoes played for six American League pennant winners and five world championship teams.

Walt Williams: Williams’ two Yankee seasons of 1974 and ‘75 coincided with the lost years at Shea Stadium, but “No Neck” made a stirring impression on those who followed the team during the lean years. The nickname perfectly described the head-and-shoulders region of Williams, a fireplug of an outfielder who also played for the White Sox and Indians. From a distance, Williams appeared to have no neck, his head seemingly sitting on his collarbone. The descriptive name was the brainchild of journeyman catcher John Bateman, one of Williams’ teammates during his first major league stop with the Houston Colt .45s. Along with a fitting nickname, No Neck Williams brought some color to his various major league stops He ate hamburgers voraciously, ala “Wimpy” in the old “Popeye” cartoons, and liked to cover his body in Vaseline both before and after games. Williams felt that it would be good for his skin, even if it did nothing to elongate his neck.

Jimmy Wynn: This underrated outfielder spent only part of one season in the Bronx, but his nickname, “The Toy Cannon,” is too good to pass up. At five feet, nine inches tall and 170 pounds, Wynn hardly struck the pose of a prototypical power hitter. Originally a prospect with the Astros, Wynn soon proved that appearances can be deceiving. Wynn hit with such remarkable power, even in a hitter’s bone yard like the old Astrodome, that a contingent of Astros fans began referring to him as “The Toy Cannon.” Whenever I hear the nickname, an image comes to mind of Wynn pulling a toy cannon by a string, as he slowly walks from the on-deck circle to the batter’s box. It’s a strange image to say the least, but it says something about the powerful connotations that come with such a visual nickname. The nickname was fully in place by the time that the Yankees signed the aging Wynn as a free agent in 1977. It’s just too bad that the Yankees hadn’t brought him to town sooner, when he was putting up big numbers and playing terrific defense for the Astros and the Dodgers.

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Back in the late 1980s when I worked in radio, my broadcast partner Danny Clinkscale was asked by a caller about the possibility of the Yankees acquiring a left-handed hitting catcher. Danny wasn’t optimistic. “Finding a left-handed hitting catcher is like finding the Rosetta Stone,” he said, using a rather creative analogy, while extinguishing the dream of the hopeful caller.

With those words firmly planted in my mind, I remember hearing the news that came in the middle of the 1990 season. The Yankees had acquired Matt Nokes, who only three years earlier had hit 32 home runs as a rookie catcher for the Tigers. In the midst of an otherwise disastrous season, I was ecstatic that the Yankees had acquired a left-handed hitting catcher of such prominence and relative youth.

Little did I know that the Matty Nokes of 1990 was not quite the same as the rookie phenom of 1987. American League pitchers began to realize that Nokes could kill low fastballs, but struggled against curveballs. On a broader level, just about everybody’s offensive numbers received a bump in 1987, not because of steroid use but because of something that appeared to be going on with the manufacturing of baseballs. Nokes would never hit 32 home runs again; in fact, he would never come close, achieving a high of 24 home runs for the Yankees in 1991. He also lacked patience at the plate, a heightened concern for a player who usually batted in the .250 to .260 range That’s not to say that Nokes was a bad offensive player. He hit with real power for the Yankees in 1990 and ‘91, putting together a series of multiple-home run games during the latter campaign. (For what it’s worth, Nokes could hit a low fastball like few hitters I’ve ever seen, sometimes falling to one knee to golf a pitch off his shoe tops.) He just wasn’t the second coming of Lance Parrish or Bill Freehan, as some Tiger fans had been led to believe during the summer of ‘87.

Even more significant problems with Nokes could be found on the other side of the ball. When it came to the defensive skills required of a catcher, Nokes came up short just about everywhere. He moved stiffly behind the plate, making him a liability on pitches in the dirt. He didn’t throw well, hampered by bad mechanics and lackluster arm strength. And just to complete the trifecta, he had little understanding of how to call a game. Yankee pitchers didn’t like to throw to Nokes any more than Tiger pitchers had during his first three major league seasons.

To their credit, the Yankees didn’t give up on Nokes. They hired former big league catcher Marc Hill as their bullpen coach, assigning him the responsibility of working with Nokes one-on-one. A onetime catcher with the Giants, Cardinals and White Sox, Hill had developed a reputation for two attributes: strong defensive fundamentals and a joy of eating. The second attribute didn’t figure to help Nokes much, but the first one fit Yankee needs to a tee.

Working with Nokes on a day-by-day basis, the oversized Hill, who was fondly nicknamed “Booter” by former teammate Willie McCovey, helped the novice catcher improve his mobility behind the plate, his throwing mechanics, and his pitch-calling acumen. Anyone who watched the Yankees faithfully that season–as I did that long, scorching summer–could see the improvement in Nokes by July and August. He had become a passable defensive catcher, which coupled with his offensive firepower, made him one of the few assets during an otherwise dismal season.

So how did the Yankees reward Hill after the season? They fired him, of course. Citing nebulous deficiencies in other areas of his coaching, the Yankees considered those issues more important than his success with his No. 1 reclamation project. Predictable results ensued. The following season, Nokes fell back into all of his bad defensive habits and resumed being a liability behind the plate. His offensive play also fell off, perhaps a by-product of his defensive woes.

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“Arthur George, you’re on the air.” I can’t tell you how many times I heard those words during the early 1980s. With that unusual greeting, Art Rust Jr., who died earlier this month from Parkinson’s disease at age 82, welcomed his callers to the WABC airwaves to take part in his iconic sports talk show. This was before the inception of all-sports radio, first introduced by WFAN in 1987 and now a common format to most major markets. Prior to WFAN, Rust’s nighttime show represented the sum of sports talk radio in the tri-state area; it became a must-listen for rabid sports fans.

With his deep, distinctive voice, acute knowledge of baseball history, and willingness to interview beat writers and columnists, Rust provided listeners like me with an opportunity to dissect the controversial issues of the day, while also learning about some of Rust’s favorite old-time ballplayers, like Marty Marion and Terry Moore. The show was especially good during the winter, with Rust tending to baseball’s hot stove like a master chef. Ironically, the show achieved a huge jump in popularity during the baseball strike of 1981; with no games to be watched or heard, thousands of sports fans tuned in to WABC to hear Rust pontificate about the latest issue of the day.

Unfortunately, the show began to lose credibility with me one winter, when Rust made a series of predictions about the Yankees’ off-season plans. He stated plainly that the Yankees would make several blockbuster moves, including a trade that would send Willie Randolph to the Cubs for Bill Buckner and another deal that would land Buddy Bell from Texas for some unknown package of talent. Rust said the trades were “done deals” that would happen, without question. Well, none of those trades ever took place. Rust never apologized for being wrong–he made a backhanded excuse about why they didn’t happen–and with that, I began to lose a little faith in his on-air proclamations.

Nonetheless, Rust supplied baseball fans with plenty of entertainment during the 1980s. With all-sports radio and the Internet unknown concepts yet to be introduced to the public, Art Rust, Jr. made many winter nights far more passable. For that, I owe Arthur George Rust, Jr. a debt of thanks…

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I find it hard to believe that the Yankees are seriously shopping Nick Swisher, as indicated by a published report this week. Swisher is currently the only outfielder with any kind of power on the 40-man roster—a fact that isn’t likely to change until the free agent situations of Johnny Damon and Hideki Matsui (if we can even consider him an outfielder anymore) are resolved. With the Yankees showing little interest in either Jason Bay or Matt Holliday, the prospects of a Melky Cabrera-Brett Gardner-Austin Jackson outfield would do little to ease the minds of nerve-wracked Yankee fans.

It’s easy to dismiss Swisher because of his poor postseason, which resulted in his benching in Game Two of the World Series, but that would be a short-sighted approach. This is the same Swisher who hit 29 home runs during the regular season, compiled a near .500 slugging percentage, played a far better right field than predecessor Bobby Abreu, and brought some much needed life and verve to a staid and stagnant clubhouse. Furthermore, Swisher seems to be genuinely liked by his Yankee teammates, in contrast to his days in Chicago, where some of the veteran White Sox resented his non-stop talking.

Then there are the matters of Swisher’s relative youth and his contract status. About to turn 29, Swisher is one of just four Yankee regulars who are under 30 (along with Mark Teixeira, Robinson Cano, and Melky Cabrera). Sure, I wish Swisher would have hit more in the postseason, but a 15-game slump should not completely override a productive regular season. I, for one, hope Swisher returns to the Yankee stable in 2010…

A potential trade between the Yankees and Tigers, centered on Curtis Granderson, has me torn. On the one hand, I love Granderson’s combination of power and speed, along with the vast range that he carries in center field. My sources with the Oneonta Tigers also rave about him from his days there; he’s highly intelligent and brings a good attitude to the ballpark. On the other hand, Granderson is older than I initially thought, with his 29th birthday arriving before Opening Day 2010. His on-base percentage also fell off badly this year, dropping from .365 to .327. Even at his best, Granderson is not particularly well-suited for the leadoff role the Tigers have given him; he’d be an ideal No. 6 hitter for a team like the Yankees.

Then there’s the matter of what the Tigers would want in return for Granderson. As much as they want to shed his long-term salary, they’d be crazy to just give him away for a package of Shelley Duncan and Ramiro Pena. The Tigers are probably going to want at least one player (and possibly two) from a group that includes Austin “Ajax” Jackson, Joba Chamberlain, Phil Hughes, and Zach McAllister. That may be too much for the Yankees to swallow. And if the Tigers insist on Jesus Montero, that demand should be a dealbreaker from the New York standpoint…

His passing didn’t create many headlines, but it did strike a chord with this writer. Former Yankee reliever Ron Klimkowski died last Friday at the age of 65, succumbing to heart failure. Initially signed by the Red Sox’ organization, Klimkowski came to the Yankees as one of the players to be named later in the Elston Howard deal. He pitched very well as a middle reliever in 1969 and ‘70, but was then traded to the A’s as part of the deal that brought Felipe Alou to New York. Klimkowski remained in Oakland until May of 1972, when the A’s released him; the Yankees signed him later that day. The timing wasn’t particularly good for Klimkowski, who missed out on Oakland’s world championship and then suffered a knee injury, which essentially ended his career.

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I was reluctant to write about this subject matter during the World Series because I didn’t want to be seen as providing aid and comfort to the enemy, but now that the Yankees’ championship run is complete, the timing is right. Whenever Jayson Werth stepped to the plate for the Phillies, I not only feared that he might torch a Yankee pitcher for a home run, but I also thought regularly of former Yankee Dennis Werth.

Dennis Werth is now best known as the stepfather of Jayson Werth. He married Jayson’s birth mother in the 1980s, not too long after completing his own major league career, brief as it might have been, with the Yankees. The older Werth is hardly a household name in baseball circles, but at one time he appeared in line to have a productive career as a “superutility” man of sorts, a player capable of playing first base, catching, or playing third base.

As a 19th round draft choice by the Yankees in 1974, Werth faced a long climb in trying to convince the organization of his value as a prospect. He started out his pro career with a bang in nearby Oneonta—located just 22 miles from here in our Cooperstown headquarters—by hitting .336 in 64 games. He then methodically worked his way up the Yankee farm system, putting in time at just about every minor league affiliate: Ft. Lauderdale, West Haven, Syracuse, and Tacoma.

Werth lacked athleticism—he had only nominal power and no footspeed—but he hit the ball hard at practically every level. He posted batting averages of better than .300 in three of his six minor league seasons. He also showed patience and an understanding of the strike zone, once drawing 88 walks in a minor league season. In addition to producing good numbers throughout the Yankee farm system, Werth impressed scouts and talent evaluators with his intangibles. Limited in physical talents, Werth maximized his potential through hard work, hustle, and determination.

Though the Yankees drafted Werth out of college as a combination first baseman/third baseman/catcher, they made him a fulltime first baseman early in his pro career. He justified that decision by becoming a deft fielder, complete with good hands and range around the bag. As former Yankee outfielder “Uptown” Bobby Brown once said, Werth “picked it at first as good as anybody in the league. All he needs is a chance.”

Yet, Werth realized that he could improve that chance by reverting to the versatile ways of his high school and college career. In a striking contrast to today’s major leaguers, who generally treat position changes as if they were being asked to give blood, Werth approached the Yankees about re-learning the catching position. By once again wearing the tools of ignorance, Werth figured he would stand a stronger chance of making the big league roster as a backup catcher, first baseman and emergency third baseman.

Werth figured right. In 1979, he finally cracked Billy Martin’s roster. The promotion came five and a half years after being drafted on the 19th round. Whereas some players might have packed it in, or started making plans to play in the Japanese Leagues, Werth watched his perseverance pay off richly.

After making his move to the Bronx, Werth quickly became one of my favorite Yankees. While some of my Yankees were stars, like Thurman Munson and Bobby Murcer, I’ve always taken a liking to the platoon players and the utility men, the foot soldiers of major league teams. I liked the fact that Werth could catch, a position that had just been left vacant by the tragic death of Munson, while also filling in at first base, and even giving Graig Nettles a day off at third against a tough left-hander. The Yankees needed right-handed bats at the time, making Werth even more desirable as part of Billy Martin’s bench brigade.

How much did I like Werth? In the early 1980s, I came up with the idea to create my own baseball cards, made out of cardboard and black-and-white photographs from the New York City newspapers. One of the first cards I made was one for Werth; it was fashioned from a small portrait photo that had appeared in the New York Post. I wish I still had those make-shift cards. They weren’t worth much, but I took pride in them, especially the card of Dennis Werth.

Perhaps I lost those cards because Werth really never made it with the Yankees. Playing in parts of three seasons in the Bronx, Werth failed to become the standout bench player that I had once envisioned. Except for the 1980 season, he never hit much as a Yankee, though in fairness, his managers never gave him more than 65 at-bats in a single season. If only one of them—Martin, Dick Howser, Gene Michael, or Bob Lemon—had given Werth a larger role.

But let’s not fret over Werth’s lack of development as a Yankee. He has shown talents in other areas, becoming a successful sales representative for an orthopedic company. He also developed an intriguing knack for making decorative lamps out of baseball bats. His former owner with the Syracuse Chiefs, the colorful Tex Simone, still has one of Werth’s homemade lamps. Another one of those lamps actually made it on to the set of Seinfeld; it can be spotted in scenes that depict George Costanza’s fictional office at Yankee Stadium.

By all accounts, Werth has also become a good father to Jayson. This is not the stereotypical story of the malicious stepfather, as once portrayed so devilishly by Terry O’Quinn in the late 1980s. Quite to the contrary, the younger Werth often credits Dennis for aiding his progression as a young ballplayer. In a baseball family that includes Jayson’s grandfather, former shortstop Dick “Ducky” Schofield, Dennis has fit in quite nicely.

And that brings us to our final point. Dennis Werth might not have had much of an impact as a Yankee in the late seventies and early 1980s. Perhaps Jayson Werth can make up for that in the future; after all, he’ll be a free agent one year from now.

Bruce Markusen, still celebrating the Yankees’ 2009 world championship, lives in Cooperstown with his wife Sue and daughter Maddie.

I keep reading these missives from the mainstream media that breathlessly wonder how the Yankees are going to deal with the Angels’ attack-dog offense, their aggressive baserunning, and their deep starting pitching. Well, here’s what I want to know. How are the Angels going to deal with the Yankees, who scored more runs than any major league team in the regular season, have the best starting pitcher of the two teams in the ALCS, and feature a far deeper and more dynamic bullpen? How are the Angels going to deal with a balanced lineup filled with hitters who know how to control the strike zone, most notably Derek Jeter, Mark Teixeira, and Alex Rodriguez? And just how will an undermanned Angels bullpen handle a lineup that features four switch-hitters in Mark Teixeira, Jorge Posada, Nick Swisher and Melky Cabrera, making favorable late-inning matchups a difficult proposition?

Perhaps it’s just the usual glass-half-empty approach from an overly paranoid New York press crew, but all of the expressed concerns about the Angels have me wondering how the Yankees could possibly be favored by the oddsmakers. It seems to me that all of the fawning analysis about the Angels ignores two basic facts: 1) the Yankees, and not the Angels, led the major leagues with 103 wins and 2) the Yankees won three of the final four head-to-head matchups against their longtime nemeses. Maybe it’s just me, but an objective analysis of the teams and their accomplishments has me thinking optimistically about the Yankees’ chances. For what it’s worth, I’ll take the Yankees in six.

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The Yankees’ three-game sweep of the Division Series has me feeling so good that I’d thought I’d profile one of my favorite ex-Yankees and one of my most cherished cards in this week’s feature.

As you can see, the player featured on this 1973 Topps card has almost no neck. That’s not an example of skillful Topps airbrushing at work; he simply doesn’t have much of a neck—at all. Hence the nickname Walt “No Neck” Williams, a journeyman outfielder who would make a brief pitstop in New York. While there’s little neck, there’s plenty of sideburn, a staple of players in the early 1970s.

Then there’s the uniform worn by Williams, who was traded from the White Sox to the Indians during the winter of 1972. Williams is actually wearing the colors of the White Sox—in fact, you can see the “S” from “SOX” along his chest—but the Sox cap logo has been whitewashed and replaced with the Indians’ “C,” thereby creating the illusion that he is donning the uniform of his new team. (It helps that Chicago and Cleveland both used red as a primary color in their uniforms back then.)

Finally, you might notice that the Sox’ uniform doesn’t have any buttons on the front, nor is it one of those pullover polyester monstrosities that became all the rage in the early 1970s. Instead, the jersey features a zipper running from the base of the shirt all the way to the neck. The White Sox, in a highly questionable maneuver, brought back the zippered look that a few major league teams had tried unsuccessfully during the 1940s. The zipper failed because players sometimes found the top of the zipper embedded into the skin of their neck after a headfirst slide. Just consider the torn flesh and the blood that resulted from such accidents. Then again, maybe the Sox figured that wouldn’t be a problem for Williams because, once again, he doesn’t really have much of a neck.

Williams earned his memorable nickname during his first major league stint. Signed by the Houston Colt .45s in the early 1960s, Williams made his debut with the Colts in 1964. It didn’t take long for his teammates to take note of his unusual physique. At five-feet, six-inches, Williams had unusually short stature for an outfielder. Built like a fireplug—he made Kirby Puckett look lean and angular by comparison—Williams was extraordinarily well developed in the chest, with muscles in his upper torso seemingly obscuring the length of his neck. Colt .45s catcher John Bateman, after observing his teammate for only a short time, dubbed him “No Neck.”

After Williams appeared in only ten games for Houston, the Colts tried to sneak him through waivers. The effort failed. The Cardinals snapped him up, but immediately demoted him to the minors. Williams would never appear in a game for St. Louis. After the 1966 season, the Cards sent him packing to the White Sox as part of a deal for veteran catcher Johnny Romano. It was with the White Sox that No Neck would find his niche.

Displaying outfield skills that belied his blocky, bulky appearance, Williams overcame a weak arm and became an adept fielder, best suited for the corners but also capable of filling in occasionally in center field. Thought not a particularly strong or powerful hitter, the free-swinging Williams rarely struck out (and rarely walked) and used his contact-hitting skills to bat .304 in 1969, putting him in the top ten in the American League batting race.

Almost as importantly, Williams became a cult figure and fan favorite at Comiskey Park. Always smiling and seemingly thrilled to be playing games at the major league level, Williams drew the favor of both the White Sox’ faithful and his teammates. They loved his upbeat attitude and his willingness to hustle. Not surprisingly, more than a few Sox diehards reacted with anger on October 19, 1972, when the White Sox traded No Neck to the Indians for infielder Eddie Leon (another future Yankee). Williams’ sporadic hitting had rendered him expendable, and the Sox needed help at shortstop, but those realities did little to comfort enraged members of the Williams fan club.

Williams batted .289 in his one year with the Tribe, but the Indians couldn’t pass up the opportunity to use him as part of the bait in a three-team spring training trade that brought veteran right-hander Jim Perry to Cleveland. The trade united Perry with his brother Gaylord, while finally fitting No Neck for the pinstripes of the Yankees.

During his two-year sojourn in New York, which coincided with the Yankees’ brief tenure at Shea Stadium. Williams made some light-hearted news with his Ruthian appetite. Williams, first baseman-DH Ron Blomberg, and shortstop Gene Michael often made trips to the local branch of Burger King, downing multiple hamburgers at the 1970s price tag of 39 cents a burger. Somehow the burgers didn’t add too much fat to Williams’ stocky 185-pound frame.

No-Neck spent two mostly non-descript seasons with the Yankees, filling in as a backup outfielder and pinch-hitter, and making cameo appearances at second base, a position that he had never before played in the major leagues. He did hit fairly well in a bench role in 1975, but the Yankees released him during the spring of 1976. The release essentially ended his big league career, while denying him an opportunity at postseason play, as the Yankees went on to win the Eastern Division and the American League pennant.

So there were no playoffs or World Series for Walt Williams. He just had to settle for ten happy-go-lucky big league seasons filled with smiles, zippers, and hamburgers. And he’ll always be remembered for being No Neck. In a game where so many are forgotten so quickly, that’s not a bad legacy to have.

Bruce Markusen writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

Will the Yankees experience another “golden moment” like the one depicted here? We all hope so, but the bar has been set extremely high. If you want to warm the soul of a Yankee fan over the age of 35, just mention the tiebreaking “play-off” game of 1978. Although it wasn’t technically a postseason game—all tiebreakers are considered extensions of the regular season—it had all the feel of an October playoff game, perhaps even a World Series game, with the highest imaginable stakes on the table. Win the game, and you earn the Amercan League East crown, along with a ticket to the League Championship Series against the Kansas City Royals. Lose the game, and you get—nothing. No division title, no consolation prize, not even a runner-up trophy. Nothing.

With the Yankees and Red Sox deadlocked at 99 wins and 63 losses through 162 games, the rules mandated a one-game tiebreaker between the two rivals. Since the Red Sox had won an earlier coin flip determining home field advantage, they enjoyed the luxury of playing the game at a place most unfriendly to the Yankees, Fenway Park. In a coincidental twist, Red Sox manager Don Zimmer selected Mike Torrez, a former Yankee, to start the game. Just 12 months earlier, Torrez had won the clinching game of the 1977 World Series for the Yankees against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Now Zimmer was asking Torrez, a 16-game winner, to reverse the situation on the Yankees and place them on the losing end of a clinching October celebration.

Yankee manager Bob Lemon had an easier decision to make in selecting his starting pitcher for the tiebreaker. Even though he would be pitching on only three days rest, the choice of starters was obvious. Lemon handed the ball to rail-thin left-hander Ron Guidry, who had been unhittable for much of the summer on the way to winning an astonishing 24 of 27 decisions and clamping American League opponents to an ERA of under 1.8 runs per nine innings.

Thanks to a lineup loaded with right-handed power hitters like Jim Rice, Carlton “Pudge” Fisk, Butch Hobson, and George “Boomer” Scott, the Red Sox posed a formidable match for the letter-high fastballs and tilting sliders thrown by the Yankees’ southpaw. Yet, it was Boston’s premier left-handed hitter, the venerable Carl Yastrzemski, who started the scoring by driving one of Guidry’s pitches down the right-field line. The ball, though not hit particularly far, was well directed, staying just to the left of the famed “Pesky Pole.” Yaz’ drive landed in the right-field stands, giving the Red Sox an early 1-0 lead.

In the meantime, the Yankees did little against Torrez, who kept New York scoreless over the first six innings. The Sox then added to their lead in the bottom of the sixth inning. Leading off the inning, Red Sox shortstop Rick Burleson pounded out a double and moved up to third on Jerry Remy’s sacrifice bunt. Rice—who would win the American League’s MVP Award over Guidry in a controversial decision—followed with a line-drive single to center field. Rice’s 139th RBI of the season gave the Sox a tidy 2-0 lead, with only three innings remaining.

In opening the top of the seventh, Torrez showed no signs of tiring. He retired Graig Nettles, putting the Red Sox within eight outs of the AL East title. Then, without warning, Torrez weakened. He allowed back-to-back singles to Chris Chambliss and Roy White. Presented with the Yankees’ first real scoring opportunity of the afternoon, Lemon made his first move. He sent up Jim Spencer, always a tough out against right-handed pitching, as a pinch hitter for Brian Doyle, a light-hitting second baseman who was playing only because of a season-ending injury to Willie Randolph. Rather than opt for a left-hander (such as Tom Burgmeier or Andy Hassler) from his bullpen, Zimmer stayed with Torrez. The veteran right-hander fulfilled his manager’s confidence, retiring Spencer on a harmless fly ball. Now, with two on and two out, No. 9 hitter Bucky Dent stepped to the plate.

A few Yankee fans must have shouted profanities at their radios and televisions, wondering aloud why Lemon didn’t send up a pinch-hitter for Dent, by far the Yankees’ weakest hitting regular player. The 1978 Yankees had a very good bench, loaded with capable veteran bats like the free-spirited Jay Johnstone, the underrated Gary Thomasson, and the intimidating Cliff Johnson.

But there were two problems. First, the rules of the day mandated the Yankees and Red Sox play the tiebreaker with 25-man rosters, not the expanded rosters allowed in September. Second, while the Yankees had depth in the outfield and at catcher, they had little in terms of the middle infield. With Randolph hurt and Doyle already removed for a pinch-hitter, Lemon would have to bring in Fred “Chicken” Stanley to play second base. If he now pinch-hit for Dent, he would have no one available to play shortstop. (Perhaps Lemon could have done something radical and played his gifted backup outfielder Paul Blair at second base, but that would have been a gamble of radical proportions.) So Dent, the starting shortstop, would have to hit for himself.

Torrez delivered his second pitch, which Dent fouled off his left foot. Dent hopped several times near home plate, stung by the force of the foul tip. He hobbled back to the on-deck circle, where Mickey Rivers offered to loan him his bat. Taking his teammate up on the offer, Dent returned to continue his at-bat against Torrez.

On the next pitch, Dent lifted a high fly ball toward left field. The ball had only moderate depth, making it nothing more than a routine fly ball in most major league ballparks. But this was Fenway Park. The ball had plenty of depth to reach the park’s famed left-field wall. There was just one question: did the ball have enough height to clear the wall, or would it hit the top of the wall and remain in the field of play?

Yankee fans watching the game on television struggled to see the ball against the October background of late afternoon sun and shadows. “Deep to left,” cried Bill White, announcing the game on WPIX-TV in New York. “Yastrzemski will not get it… it’s a home run!! A three-run home run by Bucky Dent…” White’s words provided Yankee fans with confirmation of something they could not believe they had seen—a home run by the Yankees’ weakest hitter, a man who had managed all of four home runs during the first 162 games.

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In what is likely a sign of the times, Joe Girardi has become a lightning rod for debate in these parts. Even in the midst of a 100-plus win season and a guarantee of the best regular season record in baseball, Girardi still has his share of critics. They say he bunts too much, brings too much tension to the dugout, doesn’t tell the truth about injuries, mishandles the bullpen, etc, etc, etc.

Such is life in the age of the Internet and talk radio. Every manager, no matter how successful, is severely criticized by a percentage of his team’s fan base. Every manager fails at handling the bullpen, an inevitable gripe when a manager has six or seven fulltime relievers. If you listen to the criticism long enough, you’ll soon believe that every manager is the reincarnation of the village idiot.

So what is the reality? In the case of Girardi, his biggest weakness is probably an over reliance on the sacrifice bunt. If that’s his Achilles heel as a manager, then he grades out pretty well. Girardi has done a very good job in 2009, as indicated by the team’s total of 102 wins, with the potential of three more wins this weekend. When I looked at this Yankee team in the spring, I tried to assess the club objectively. Weighing the strengths of a tough schedule and a difficult division, along with the absence of the team’s best player for six weeks, I considered the Yankees a 95-win team. So at this point, Girardi has guided the Yankees to at least seven more wins than I originally projected. In my mind, that is significant overachievement, which is worthy of praise, not derision.

Girardi has succeeded in relaxing the atmosphere in 2009, compared to the general tension he created last year. He doesn’t make major mistakes with his lineup, uses his improved bench sufficiently, and distributes the workload in the bullpen evenly. In terms of preparation and reviewing scouting reports, I don’t know of a manager who puts in more hours or works any harder. Girardi’s high level work ethic is unquestionable.

If you don’t believe me, consider some of the other precincts registering votes. After the Yankees clinched the AL East on Sunday, reporters asked Alex Rodriguez who should be considered the team’s MVP. Rodriguez listed the accomplishments of several teammates, but then ultimately answered “Girardi.” And when the results of the AL Manager of the Year award are announced, do not be surprised if Girardi receives a few votes and finishes third, behind only Ron Washington and Mike Scioscia. Joe Girardi, with his smarts, toughness, and willingness to work, is a keeper.

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Derek Jeter has made news on three different fronts in 2009. First, his defensive range and overall fielding have improved significantly, a direct result of improved conditioning and agility drills. Second, he successfully pursued and then overtook the iconic Lou Gehrig for the franchise’s all-time lead in hits. And third, Jeter’s revitalized hitting has made him an outside candidate for American League MVP honors, a resurgence that figures to place him in the top ten of league balloting for the prestigious award.

Jeter deserves to make a few headlines in a fourth respect, as well. Very quietly, he has been named the Yankees’ nominee for another prestigious award—the Roberto Clemente Award. Named for the baseball hero who did so much work for underprivileged youth and lost his life attempting to airlift relief supplies to earthquake-ravaged Nicaragua, it is one of the few awards that make an effort at judging and measuring a player’s level of character. Given Jeter’s popularity in the clubhouse, his leadership as Yankee captain, his involvement in charitable works, and his generally exemplary off-the-field behavior, it should come as no surprise that Jeter has made the final cut of 30 candidates for the Clemente Award.

With Jeter and Clemente sharing so many common character attributes—loyalty, leadership, and reliability come to mind—it seems appropriate to put the spotlight on Clemente’s final Topps card, which came out over 35 years ago. It is a card that always stirs sadness, fond reflection, and moral debate in this writer’s mind.

At the time that Clemente died so horrifically and unexpectedly in a New Year’s Eve plane crash in 1972, the Topps Company had already produced his baseball card for the 1973 season. The tragically untimely passing of one of the game’s superstars placed Topps in an especially difficult quandary: should the company continue its original plan and issue a card for a venerable player who was deceased, or should it pull the card from distribution out of respect for the loss of a revered legend?

After some internal debate and discussion, Topps opted to publish the card, which had been assigned No. 50 in the series. Topps certainly had precedence on its side, having issued a 1964 “In Memoriam” card for Ken Hubbs after the young Chicago Cubs second baseman who died while piloting his own plane. On a subjective note, I have to say that I heartily endorsed the decision. As one of the few Topps card that depicts Clemente in action, it’s an inherently aesthetic card. Clemente’s beloved status also mandated the publication of the card. As a player so revered, his fans deserved to have one last memento of Clemente. On all fronts, this seemed like the right decision by the folks at Topps.

Rookie cards usually carry the highest value on the open market, but for me, the final regular issue card carries far more sentimental appeal. That is especially the case with Clemente. Rather than fade into obscurity, the final card of Clemente has become the most attractive of all the Clemente cards that Topps had ever produced. The card displays the typically dignified grace of Clemente as he stands rather regally in the right-handed batter’s box. Ever determined, he eyes an unknown New York Mets pitcher in anticipation of swinging at the next pitch. The card also features Mets catcher Jerry Grote (wearing No. 15), who was regarded as one of the game’s finest defensive catchers in the early 1970s.

Amidst all of its classic elements, a common misconception about the card persists. Some fans assume that it shows Clemente during his historic at-bat on September 30, 1972, when he collected his 3,000th and final major league hit against the Mets’ Jon Matlack. Although the Mets did indeed provide the opposition that day, that game was played at Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Stadium; the background on the front of the card and the home pinstriped Mets uniform worn by Grote indicate that the Mets’ spring training site likely provided the setting for the card’s photograph.

This card will always serve as a reminder to me of what Clemente looked like on the playing field. That reminder is important because I only saw Clemente for a couple of years at the end of his career, a by-product of my extreme youthfulness at the time. But now I am reminded of Clemente a little more whenever I watch Derek Jeter take the field.

Bruce Markusen has written two books centered on the life and times of Roberto Clemente.

A few days ago, the New York Times ran an article that claimed the Yankees bypassed several golden opportunities to sign a young Willie Mays in the months before he officially became a member of the New York Giants’ organization. Like the Red Sox and numerous other franchises that populated the Jim Crow landscape in 1950, the Yankees gave Mays less than lukewarm attention because they felt little motivation to fully integrate their organization. On their way to a 98-win season and a World Series sweep over the Phillies, the Yankees were content to leave Mays in the Negro Leagues—or let him sign with some other major league team, one that was needier and perhaps even a bit desperate.

So let’s speculate a bit how much Yankee history would have changed if they had taken a more aggressive approach with regard to the young Mays. Even without Mays, the Yankees did their fair share of winning throughout the 1950s and the early years of the 1960s. But could they have won more? Though never particularly outstanding in postseason play, Mays could have made a difference in the outcomes of the 1955, ’57, ’60, and ’64 World Series, when the Yankees fell short to the Brooklyn Dodgers, Milwaukee Braves, Pittsburgh Pirates, and St. Louis Cardinals, respectively. The Yankees lost all four of those Series in the maximum seven games; perhaps Mays’ presence would have been sufficient to turn World Series defeat into the alternate reality of a world championship. Who knows?

Putting aside the harsh realities of the bottom line of world championships, I am certain that Mays would have made a huge difference in terms of baseball aesthetics. With Mays on board patrolling the monuments at the original Yankee Stadium, the Bombers, at least by 1960, would have been capable of boasting the greatest outfield in the history of the game. Let’s imagine the wonders of an outfield featuring Mays in center, flanked by the phenomenal Mickey Mantle in left field and the meteoric Roger Maris in right field, with all three men in the prime of their mid-to-late twenties. I mean, what more could you have wanted from three major league outfielders? High on base percentages, check. Gold Glove defensive ability, double check. Speed, check. And upper deck power, triple check.

The addition of Mays to the Yankee stable would have provided another lasting benefit to fans of the franchise, especially those who regularly attended games at the old Stadium. For fans of baseball in the 1960s, in particular, one of the most lasting images involved the sight of Mays rounding the bases. We can make all sorts of arguments about Mays being the greatest all-around player of all-time—I’m tempted to make that call, but know it will be met with rounds of debate and skepticism—but there should be little doubt that Mays was the most memorable baserunner of the television era. (And he just might have been the greatest baserunner of any era, with apologies to Ty Cobb.)

By the time this author began following baseball in the early 1970s, Mays was no longer in his overall prime, but remained a vibrant and dangerous baserunner. When Topps decided to include a series of “action” cards in its massive 1972 set, the company wisely chose to include a card depicting Mays in the act of completing one of his memorably dynamic and frantic runs around the bases. Specifically, his 1972 Topps card shows the “Say Hey Kid” sliding into home plate, his right arm extended, piling a cloud of dust onto the helpless catcher with his unseen but nonetheless powerful legs. And then there’s the Mays trademark on the basepaths—the cap. By the early 1970s, most major league baserunners wore helmets on the bases, but not Mays. He had always run the bases while wearing only his cap on his head, and he saw no reason to change in an era when player safety became more prevalent. There was just something right about Mays wearing that cap, which often flew out from underneath him because of the sheer force and torque with which he ran the basepaths. By the time that Mays reached home, his lonely cap was often sitting between third and home, or resting between second and third, waiting to be retrieved by a diligent coach or a batboy. I can see that picture on my old black-and-white Sony as if it were the day before yesterday.

As much as baseball statistics shed light on the quality of its players, they do little to convey the aesthetic landscape of the game, including the simple beauty of a runner making his way from first base to home plate. Thankfully, with its 1972 action card, Topps captured a small sample of what it was like to watch the artistic and comforting image of Willie Mays running the bases. And for those who love the visual dynamics of the game, there was nothing quite like it.

Bruce Markusen writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

Let’s file this in the category of “taking nothing for granted.” Even with a sizeable lead over the Red Sox, I’m happy to see that the Yankees haven’t waited for Scranton’s Triple-A playoff season to end before bringing some reinforcements to New York. Francisco Cervelli, Ramiro Pena, Mark Melancon, Edwar Ramirez, Mike Dunn, and Jon Albaladejo represent the first wave of call-ups, giving Joe Girardi additional options for the final month of the regular season. As painful as it is for fans of the minor league affiliates to hear, the priorities and needs of the major league team should always come first. Given the frequent rest needed by Jorge Posada and the semi-ludicrous pitching limitations being placed on Joba Chamberlain, the Yankees can use some bolstering in the areas of pitching and catching depth.

Once Scranton’s postseason run is complete, the Yankees should then promote their two best everyday players at Triple-A: Austin “Ajax” Jackson and Shelley “Slam” Duncan. If nothing else, both players deserve to be rewarded for fine seasons in Triple-A; minor league players need to know that they will be promoted if they produce at lower levels. Jackson still has flaws in his game (including a surprising lack of power and too many strikeouts), but did well enough to be named the International League’s Rookie of the Year. Duncan has had nothing less than a terrific season for Scranton-Wilkes Barre, leading the league in home runs, RBIs, and slugging percentage. Hopefully, the Yankees will be able to put an early clinch on the AL East and give Duncan some at-bats in which to impress opposing scouts. He could help any one of a number of teams, including the Indians, A’s, Diamondbacks, and Pirates. Heck, he’d be a good fit for the cross-town Mets, who probably won’t be re-signing Carlos Delgado and desperately need an infusion of power and enthusiasm. If someone gives Duncan a chance, they might just get some Dave Kingman-type numbers in return, with slightly better defense and significantly better attitude…

In pioneering the oversized S100 helmet made by Rawlings, David Wright has started me thinking about the history of batting helmets. Former Yankee great Phil Rizzuto is generally acknowledged as the first major leaguer to wear a full batting helmet in a game. “The Scooter” made the move from cap to hard hat in 1951, one year before the Pirates outfitted all of their players with helmets and a full 20 years before helmets became mandatory throughout the major leagues. Rizzuto wasn’t just a great shortstop and a funny broadcaster; he was a smart guy who realized the value of protecting oneself in an era when most pitchers felt comfortable pitching high and tight.

As much of a pioneer as Rizzuto was, he was not the first professional ballplayer to don a helmet in a game. That honor belongs to another Hall of Fame shortstop—longtime Negro Leagues great Willie “El Diablo” Wells. After being beaned and knocked unconscious in a 1942 game, the Newark Eagles’ legend returned to action wearing a workman’s helmet, which he found at a New Jersey construction site. Deciding that the construction helmet would work at bat, Wells donned the hard hat in his next game. El Diablo might have looked a little odd, but who could have blamed him?

Speaking of Wright, his use of the S100 helmet has conjured images of two of Hollywood’s beloved characters: The Great Gazoo from “The Flintstones” and the laughable Dark Helmet from Mel Brooks’ Spaceballs. So whom do you think Wright more closely resembles? It’s a close call, but I’ll place my vote with Gazoo, as portrayed by the brilliant Harvey Korman. In the immortal words of Gazoo, “Goodbye dum-dums.”…

Finally, has anyone else noticed how much Alfredo Aceves looks like former Yankee Jim Leyritz? Every time I see Aceves take the mound, I have to remind myself that “The King” is no longer playing. I had similar flashbacks when Bobby Abreu played for the Yankees; he always reminded me of former Yankee outfielder Matty Alou, at least in terms of their facial resemblance. Then again, maybe I’ve just been looking at too many old Topps baseball cards.

Bruce Markusen writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

In defeating the Texas Rangers last week at the Stadium, Andy Pettitte reached a significant Yankee milestone: tying Hall of Famer Lefty Gomez on the franchise’s all-time wins list. There’s something odd about Pettitte and Gomez having identical totals of 189 wins in pinstripes. These two left-handers couldn’t be any different in terms of personality and persona. Pettitte, outside of his dalliance with HGH, has led a pretty straight-laced life in New York. Gomez was anything but straight-laced. In fact, he may have been the most offbeat Yankee of all-time.

As the southpaw pitching ace for the Yankees of the 1930s, Vernon “Lefty” Gomez stood in contrast to several of his reserved and businesslike teammates. Unlike Joe DiMaggio and Lou Gehrig, the native Californian had an outgoing nature, with a priceless comic touch. Gomez even did the unthinkable in needling Joe D., who was usually spared from the normal clubhouse ribbing. Somewhat surprisingly, DiMaggio allowed Gomez to include him in the razzing, in part because he considered the eccentric left-hander to be genuinely funny.

Outside of baseball, the entertainment world took notice of Gomez’ personality. After the 1931 World Series, he was invited to join vaudeville for a three-week run. Unfortunately, his act didn’t pass muster, but Gomez didn’t allow failure to dampen his sense of humor. “I lasted three weeks,” Gomez told a reporter, “but the audiences didn’t.”

Throughout his career, Gomez produced a litany of classical quotations for both his teammates and the media. Gomez once proclaimed that he had come up with a new invention. “It’s a revolving bowl for tired goldfish.” Much like Mark “the Bird” Fidrych of a later generation, Gomez claimed that he often conversed with the baseball. “I talked to the ball a lot of times in my career,” Gomez contended. “‘I yelled, ‘Go foul, Go foul!’” And then there was his philosophy with regard to relief pitching. “A lot of things run through your head when you’re going in to relieve in a tight spot. One of them was, ‘Should I spike myself?’”

Tall and gangly, Gomez could be as clumsy as he was zany, especially when in the uncomfortable territory of the batter’s box. Always a poor hitter, Gomez at least tried to act the part of an accomplished slugger. During one at-bat, he adjusted his cap, tugged at his uniform, and then attempted to knock the mud from his spikes with his bat. Instead, he whacked his ankle with the bat, putting himself in the hospital for three days.

Gomez’ behavior could be as bizarre as his words. Pitching in the second game of the 1936 World Series, Gomez held up play because of his preoccupation in watching a plane fly overhead. Seething Yankee manager Joe McCarthy, who demanded professionalism from his players at all times, could only watch in stunned amazement from the dugout. When Gomez returned to the dugout after retiring the side, McCarthy berated his star pitcher. Gomez quickly defended himself. “Listen, Joe, I’ve never seen a pitcher lose a game by not throwing the ball.”

On at least one other occasion, Gomez felt that holding onto the ball was clearly the best strategy. Throughout his career, Gomez struggled in matchups against Hall of Fame slugger Jimmie Foxx. During one at-bat against Foxx, Gomez shook off every sign called by catcher Bill Dickey. Visiting the mound, Dickey asked Gomez what pitch he wanted to throw to Foxx. “Nothing,” Gomez said to his batterymate. “Let’s just stall around and maybe he’ll get mad and go away.” Gomez eventually did make a pitch to Foxx, who promptly swatted the Gomez offering over the outfield fence.

Unlike some star pitchers who act as prima donnas, Gomez displayed little ego. He liked to poke fun at himself, all part of his effort to pick up some laughs. He also understood his limitations—and when it was time to leave the game. Shortly after his retirement from pitching, Gomez applied for a job with the Wilson sporting goods company. The employment application included a space that asked why he had left his previous job. Gomez answered the question with brutal honesty. “I couldn’t get the side out.”

For most of his career, though, Gomez did well in getting the side out. His major league accomplishments, almost all of them coming with the Yankees, earned him election to the Hall of Fame in 1972. That honor will probably escape Andy Pettitte, but at the very least he’ll be able to say he matched Gomez in the win column.

Bruce Markusen writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

When the Yankee bullpen struggled so badly during the first two months of the season, too many members of the mainstream media called for either Joba Chamberlain to be relieved of his starting duties or for Brian Cashman to pull off a trade that would reel in a veteran reliever. Well, those media members have grown silent over the last two months as the bullpen has achieved lofty status in the American League. Those writers and broadcasters turned out to be dead wrong in their assessments, largely for two reasons. First off, they forgot that the Yankees boasted one of the league’s most efficient bullpens just last year. And second, they didn’t stop to consider the depth of pitching in the organization, specifically the wealth of talent waiting at Triple-A in the form of Phil Hughes, Alfredo “Ace” Aceves, and David Robertson.

I had already counted myself as a believer in the talents of Hughes and Aceves, but I have to confess to knowing little about Robertson prior to 2009. Kudos should go to the Banter’s own Cliff Corcoran, who was one of the first analysts to sing the praises of Robertson. Cliff turned out to be absolutely right about the 24-year-old right-hander. With a consistent 93 to 94 mile-per-hour fastball and a terrific overhand curveball (reminiscent of Neil Allen in his hey day), Robertson has the stuff to be a reliable reliever for the foreseeable future. If he can improve his control sufficiently, he could be the much-celebrated eighth-inning bridge by 2010. For now, the Yankees have four different relievers (Robertson, Hughes, Aceves, and lefty Phil Coke) that they can feel good about in the seventh and eighth innings…

The Yankees have assembled one of their best benches in years, and it figures to get better whenever Brett “The Jet” Gardner returns from the broken hand that landed him on the disabled list. Gardner will not only give Melky Cabrera the competition that he seems to thrive on, but also one of the most explosive pinch-runners in the game. So here’s the question: whose roster spot will Gardner take? I’d vote for sinkerballing Sergio Mitre, who is still building arm strength after major surgery, but the Yankees have become as married to the 12-man pitching staff as they once were to left-handed hitting DHs. So that means that Ramiro Pena will become the odd man out once Brett the Jet returns. Pena has done well in spot duty this year, but he lacks the experience and versatility of Jerry Hairston, Jr., the power of Eric Hinske, and the ability to catch (the role filled by Jose Molina). When and if the Yankees send Pena down, they should give him as many at-bats as possible during the Triple-A postseason, with the idea of letting him compete for the utility role in 2010. Pena might not hit enough to play everyday at shortstop, but his glove, speed, and ability to work the count should merit consideration for a backup job…

Speaking of Gardner, I’m trying to figure out if he’s the fastest Yankee I’ve ever seen. Prior to Gardner’s arrival last year, I would have voted for Mickey Rivers, followed by Rickey Henderson and Alfonso Soriano. (Rickey was obviously the best basestealer of the three, but at his peak “Mick the Quick” was slightly faster.) Perhaps I’m missing someone else from the last 40 years, but I believe Gardner has to at least move into the top three of this list, bumping Soriano to honorable mention…

The staying power of the late Thurman Munson is eye-opening. Thirty years after his death, the story of the tragic Yankee captain remains a compelling and popular read. Marty Appel’s new book, Munson: The Life and Death of a Yankee Captain, has been the nation’s best-selling sports book for the last four weeks. That’s quite an achievement, considering that Munson is not a Hall of Famer and is generally not considered an all-time great. Furthermore, most Yankee fans 35 and under don’t remember seeing him play, except for the occasional replay of the Bucky Dent Game and the 1978 World Series. In an era when the Yankee dynasty of the 1996 to 2001 has overshadowed the accomplishments of the Bronx Zoo years, Thurman Munson’s story still manages to capture the sincere interest of so many lifelong Yankee fans.

Bruce Markusen, a resident of Cooperstown, writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

Four prominent members of the 1979 Yankees have passed away over the years. I’ve written extensively about three of them—Thurman Munson, Bobby Murcer, and Jim “Catfish” Hunter— in this space. All three were beloved players, though for very different reasons. I have hardly written anything about the fourth player. It’s about time to end that practice.

Jim Spencer has become a forgotten link to the late 1970s. When he died in 2002 from a heart attack, there was barely a mention in the New York newspapers, like the Daily News and the Post. There might even be a few longtime Yankee fans who are surprised to hear that Spencer is deceased. His passing created little fanfare, even for those who grew up with the Yankees during the Bronx Zoo years.

No one ever remembers Spencer fondly as part of the late seventies run of pennants and world championships, just like no one remembers Jay Johnstone or Gary Thomasson. I guess that’s the fate that befalls old platoon players or bench guys; the more time that goes by, the less and less they seem to become pertinent. That natural human tendency to forget overshadows the fact that Spencer could provide decent production in a part-time role. Did you know that he led the 1979 Yankees in OPS with a mark of .970? I certainly didn’t. In just 295 at-bats, Spencer clubbed a career-high 23 home runs. It’s too bad that Spencer couldn’t have timed that performance to occur in 1978, when it would have felt far more relevant as part of a world championship contribution. Limited by injuries in 1978, Spencer came to bat only 166 times, rendering him a footnote during that memorable summer and fall.

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As we all know, 1979 marked the final season of Thurman Munson’s career as a Yankee—the end result of one of the game’s worst tragedies. A number of other Yankee also played their final games in pinstripes that summer, though for far less heartbreaking reasons. Dick Tidrow left in May, traded to the Cubs in an ill-fated deal for Ray Burris. Mickey Rivers left in August, traded to the Rangers for Oscar Gamble and prospects. After the season, longtime Yankee mainstay Roy White moved on, opting to continue his career by playing in the Japanese Leagues.

A future Hall of Famer also left the team that winter. Jim “Catfish” Hunter decided to call it quits, his right arm having buckled under the stress of so many innings and far too many sliders.

Like most great pitchers, the 33-year-old Hunter owned great inner pride. He had no interest in hanging on as a mop-up man wallowing in long relief. The refusal to accept life as a fringe pitcher probably came as no surprise to people who had followed Hunter since his early days with the Oakland A’s. Prior to the 1971 season, A’s owner Charlie Finley had angered the pitcher when he offered him a mere $5,000 raise, which Hunter considered inadequate after winning a career-high 18 games in 1970. Finley preferred emphasizing Hunter’s 14 losses and his extreme reliance on closer Jim “Mudcat” Grant, who had rescued eight of Catfish’s wins with late-inning relief work. (Yes, it was a different baseball world back then.) Hunter didn’t appreciate the suggestion that he had depended so heavily on Grant to enjoy a successful season. “Mudcat was a good relief pitcher last year,” Catfish told The Sporting News, “one of the best I’ve ever seen. But I didn’t like it when some sportswriters suggested that he get half my salary this year. He did his job and I did mine.” Without minimizing the efforts of one of his teammates, Hunter had provided a thoughtful defense of his own contributions to the team.

Yet, Hunter didn’t take himself too seriously. He enjoyed playing practical jokes, which served to loosen up a clubhouse that was sometimes sidetracked by tension and mistrust. He never really liked being the center of attention, which was exactly where he found himself in 1964, when a horde of scouts had initiated an all-out raid on his home in Hertford, North Carolina, and its population of 2,012 residents. Scouts considered the young Jim Hunter one of the best high school pitchers in the country. Finley, at the time the owner of the Kansas City A’s, succeeded in signing Hunter to his first professional contract. The following spring, the A’s wanted to send the 19-year-old Hunter to the minor leagues, but his surprising maturity convinced management that he should remain with Kansas City.

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The great Yankee mystery of the month finally came to an end this week. I must confess that I’m as clueless as everyone else as to why Cody Ransom occupied space on the 25-man roster for as long as he did before finally being thrown into the baseball limbo known as being “designated-for-assignment.” Ransom has never hit curve balls, now struggles to hit waist-high fastballs, and has shaky hands on the infield. So what else is there? Even the explanation that the Yankees simply wanted a second utility infielder (to go along with the newly acquired Jerry Hairston, Jr.) fell short of justifying Ransom’s presence on the roster. If the Yankee high command believed that another utility guy was required, Ransom should have given way to rookie Ramiro Pena, currently playing a jack-of-all-trades role at Triple-A Scranton-Wilkes Barre. Pena is a better defender than Ransom, has a touch more speed, and now has the same level of versatility, considering that he’s been learning to play the outfield at Scranton. When a team is involved in a dogfight for a division title, every roster spot counts; it’s about time the Yankees either sent Ransom back to Triple-A or perhaps let him loose to try his wares with one of the weak sisters in the National League…

Speaking of Hairston, the reaction to his acquisition from Cincinnati has drawn a tepid reaction in these parts, but I’m slightly more enthusiastic. At the very least, he’s a major upgrade on Ransom, who had become the 2009 version of Mike Fischlin. Looking deeper, Hairston provides six-position versatility, can steal a base in the pinch, and has a modicum of power. He’s also highly regarded as one of the game’s most intelligent players, which is not so surprising considering his family’s baseball heritage. With grandfather Sam Hairston (a former Negro Leagues catcher and longtime coach and scout) and father Jerry, Sr. (a longtime backup outfielder and accomplished pinch-hitter with the White Sox), Hairston has received a good baseball education. And on a team that doesn’t always play the game smart (see Jorge Posada tagging a baserunner with an empty glove or failing to slide into home plate), that’s a nice attribute to have coming off the bench…

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We all find ourselves so caught up with the Yankees and the races for both the American League East and the wild card that we sometimes lose sight of some of the most enjoyable and nostalgic events on the baseball calendar. One of those is Hall of Fame Weekend, just completed on Monday here in Cooperstown. Here’s a simple bit of advice: if you live anywhere near Cooperstown and have never experienced Hall of Fame Weekend, make sure you attend this celebration at least once in your lifetime.

As a Cooperstown resident, I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to soak in Hall of Fame Weekend each year. There are so many different events going on—from autograph signings to clinics to the actual induction ceremony—that the weekend becomes a non-stop whirlwind of baseball activity that has something to fit fans of just about any sort, from casual to diehard.

One of the best and most underrated events of Hall of Fame Weekend took place last Friday. Sponsored by the Major League Baseball Players’ Alumni Association, the Hall of Fame’s annual youth clinic gave children ages five to 12 the rare opportunity to learn the game from some of its masters. Ten former major league players led approximately 150 children in a variety of instructional drills, including baserunning, pitching, outfield play, and catching fundamentals. Four headline names participated, including perennial Hall of Fame candidate Lee Smith, former Big Red Machine component George Foster, longtime Montreal Expos ace Steve Rogers, and old favorite Jim “Mudcat” Grant. (My nephew Brandon, who took part in the clinic, particularly enjoyed listening to Foster, who has become his new favorite player. After the clinic, we went to a local baseball shop, where Brandon soon asked me if the store had a section containing cards of Foster. Sadly, the store didn’t, but that didn’t quell Brandon’s passion.)

As I watched from the third base dugout at venerable Doubleday Field, I took note of how well organized the clinic seemed to be. Each group of youngsters spent 15 minutes at each station, as former players offered hands-on instruction, before moving on to the next post. The kids completed seven of eight stations, as some late afternoon thunder and lightning forced organizers to cut the event short by about ten minutes. The early termination didn’t matter; by then, the kids had received nearly two hours of instruction at the cost of exactly nothing. Yes, the event was completely free of charge.

Frankly, I’m surprised that more parents don’t sign their kids up for the experience. In addition to being free, it features outgoing instructors who all have a desire to teach youngsters about the game. There are few scenes more uplifting than watching a 75-year-old Mudcat Grant telling five to 12-year-olds stories about his playing days while emphasizing the important of getting an education. Grant did this despite his continued recovery from recent knee and hip surgeries. Mudcat walked with the assistance of a cane, but aside from the effects on his gait, he still looks good some 36 years after last throwing a pitch in a major league game. Mudcat is truly a modern day marvel—and a phenomenal ambassador for the game.

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Later this week, the roll call of Yankees in the Hall of Fame will grow by two. While most of the mass media will treat Sunday’s induction of the late (but deserving) Joe Gordon as an afterthought, there’s little doubt that the other former Yankee will grab the center of attention. We all know that Rickey Henderson is the game’s greateast leadoff batter and most prolific basestealer; he was also a legitimate four-tool talent whose throwing arm was his only attribute to elude greatness.

Henderson was also that rare breed of superstar who happened to be a colorful and clownish character. Through his unusual habits and sayings, Henderson became one of baseball’s leading eccentrics of the late 20th century. In my mind, that’s the aspect of his career that is just as worthwhile as exploring as his on-base percentage and his “Man of Steal” persona on the basepaths.

Even the beginning of Henderson’s life involved an uncommon occurrence; he was born in the backseat of an Oldsmobile on Christmas Day in downtown Chicago. He simply couldn’t wait for the car to reach the hospital, where a more conventional birth would have taken place.

As a ballplayer, Henderson brought some unorthodox qualities to the field. He batted right-handed and threw left-handed, an unusual combination for most non-pitching ballplayers. (Of all major league players with 4,000 or more at-bats in their careers, only two others—Hal Chase and Cleon Jones—batted right and threw left.) At the plate, Henderson batted out of a severely exaggerated crouch, which looked uncomfortable but created the illusion of a particularly small strike zone.

During the course of his major league journeys, Henderson gained notoriety for several peculiar tendencies, along with a few incidents best described as strange. Let’s consider the following from the Henderson files:

*Known for his deep voice and habit of slurring his words, Henderson enjoyed speaking in the third person. Rarely using the word “I,” he often referred to himself as Rickey. While most athletes who spoke in such a fashion received criticism for being arrogant and overbearing, the mumbling Henderson came across comically, giving himself an appealing, almost innocent quality.

*In the early 1980s, Henderson signed a contract with the Oakland A’s that included a $1 million bonus. Later that same year, Oakland accountants found an unexpected balance of $1 million in their ledgers. They soon discovered that Henderson had never cashed the sizeable check, instead putting it in a frame and hanging it on a wall in his home.

*After breaking Lou Brock’s all-time stolen base record in a 1991 game against the Yankees, Henderson addressed his home fans at Oakland’s Alameda County Coliseum. “Today, I am the greatest of all time,” said Henderson, doing an unintended imitation of Muhammad Ali. Although Henderson later said that his words came out the wrong way, he drew severe criticism for sounding less than humble on the national stage.

*According to many of his teammates, Henderson spent part of his time in the clubhouse before each game looking at himself in a full-length mirror—all while completely naked. As he soulfully admired his muscular physique, Henderson softly and repeatedly mouthed the words, “Rickey’s the best.”

*In a much-disputed incident (most observers consider the story to be false, but a few “eyewitnesses” claim otherwise), Henderson heard Seattle Mariners teammate John Olerud discussing his problems with a brain aneurism suffered in college, a medical condition that necessitated he wear a helmet at all times, even while playing first base. As Henderson listened to the explanation, he allegedly exclaimed that he had previously played with another player who also wore a helmet in the field—an amazing coincidence! Remarkably, Henderson didn’t remember that it was the same man—Olerud—who had played with him only one season earlier with the Mets. The two men had also been teammates with the 1993 world champion Blue Jays.

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