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© 2011 by Lou Steiner
Several years ago when the long tenure of Joe Torre as manager of the New York Yankees ended, it was not surprising, given the welldocumented past behavior of the team owners, that the matter was ineptly handled, nor was it surprising that the most graceful and sensitive account of the events surrounding the termination appeared under the byline of Roger Angell. For decades, admirers of Mr. Angell have come to expect nothing less than wise, carefully considered, elegantly phrased observations reflecting a deep affection (make that love) for the game of baseball. Those of us who share that love winced in embarrassment when faced with the clumsy attitude and actions of a Yankee ownership unable to comprehend the respect devoted fans show for the game, an attitude that may accompany, but clearly transcends, loyalty to just one team.
As early as 1937, I caught a hint of the special excitement surrounding major league baseball during my first visit to Forbes Field with my father. That afternoon we cheered the Waner brothers, glimpsed Honus Wagner in the dugout, and watched the Pirates play the National League champion New York Giants in a doubleheader. The scorecard for the visitors listed Mel Ott, Carl Hubbell, Bill Terry, and other players I had known only from the sports page of The Latrobe Bulletin or the play-by-play radio broadcasts of Rosey Roswell.
My enthusiasm for baseball grew even stronger after several family visits to Cleveland. Each trip was planned to take in a night game at Municipal Stadium and a second one the following afternoon at League Park. During one of those visits, the lobby of the Hotel Cleveland became Valhalla and confirmed my growing dedication to the New York Yankees. Emerging from the elevators or sitting in lobby chairs, gods named Rizzuto, Gordon, Keller, Crosetti, Ruffing, Chandler, and McCarthy willingly gave autographs to an awestruck ten-year-old boy. The most highly prized signature came from Bill Dickey, the quiet, dependable catcher who had played a key role in winning five world championships in the ’30s. Dickey gained added distinction for having been a close friend of one of baseball’s authentic heroes, Lou Gehrig.
Although Joe DiMaggio, the most glamorous of the Yankee stars, was undoubtedly in the hotel, I never saw him in the lobby – so in that summer of his magnificent hitting streak, the highest of the gods remained only a mystical presence until he appeared on the field.
The enchantment of my Yankee years has diminished, but I continue to be grateful for their role in nurturing an appreciation for baseball’s subtle beauties that has endured for a lifetime. I like to think that Roger Angell would smile and give an understanding nod when I note that even though I now watch “baseball games” with the less than perfect eyesight of a man of eighty, I will always view the “game of baseball” with the 20/20 vision and excited enthusiasm of a boy of ten.
Lou Steiner continues his retirement project of writing a series of brief personal observations on a variety of topics, including travel, art, gardening, sports, books, and music.
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