At the Table With...Baseball Legends

We’ve all heard the obligatory conversation starter before: “If you could have dinner with an influential person, who would it be and why?” Ah, the sounds of a high school history class…except without all the snoring and with only half the amount of drool.

Believe me, I’m not asking you to relive it with me because, seriously, those conversations usually turned out to be as exciting as a Florida Marlins home game.

Personally, I always thought it’d be more interesting to think about what you’d actually say to these people as they were huddled around your kitchen table. What would you serve them? What in the hell would they say to you?

Ok, so maybe I think about pointless stuff a little too much. But I only do it so you, the faithful readers, don’t have to.

I’m a baseball guy, so let me share with you the top five ballplayers throughout history that I’d dine with. But I’ll even take it the extra mile for you. I’ll let you in on our conversations.

5. Alex Rodriguez

The Meal: An assorted tray of creams, jellies, and exotic antler sprays

The Conversation: 

CG: I’m glad you decided to stop by, A-Rod. Hey, you tired of that name yet? I know I am.

A-Rod: Big time. Thinking about starting a movement to change it. Maybe something like #50Cent_aur or #Lil_Shrink_Rod would work. Gain a little street cred , you know?

CG: No. I don't. But speaking of cred...how do you see the whole Biogenesis thing shaking out?

A-Rod: Does it really matter? There's a pretty good chance I nailed Madonna. 

CG: What does that have to do with anything? I mean, you're facing a pretty stiff suspension.

A-Rod: You said stiff. 

CG: Yes, Mr. Centaur, I did. Try to stay with me here. Don't you think this scandal will leave fans with a pretty grim outlook on your entire career?

A-Rod: Once again, the Madonna thing. Plus, don't tell Cashman but I'm about to cash his ass out over the next four years. I don't even have to play. I can just sit back, visualize the next six posters I'll have printed with my head attached to the body of a mythological creature, and collect my millions.

CG: Weird. Very weird. But hard to argue with you.

A-Rod: You know, you're starting to sound a lot like Bud Selig.

CG: Ok, I think this dinner's over.

4. Joe DiMaggio

The Meal: Veal Parmigiana and a pack of Marlboro Reds

The Conversation:

CG: Joe, I’ll always be in awe of your 56-game hitting streak. How’d you deal with the pressure?

Joe D: Trust me, it was easier than being married to Marilyn.

CG: High maintenance?

Joe D: You don’t know the half of it.

CG: Was it worth all the trouble?

Joe D: NO!!!  Well, yes.

CG: Shocking.

3. Pete Rose

The Meal: Bread and water

The Conversation:

CG: Sorry about the skimpy meal, Mr. Rose. You know, economy’s not all too good these days.

Rose: Don’t mention it. Besides, it happens to be one of my favorites. I used to refer to it as the after-parlay special back in Cincy.

CG: Sounds, um, healthy. Speaking of health, what’s your take on the whole Biogenesis scandal?

Rose: I’d be willing to bet more than half the league was using performance enhancers.

CG: Uh, are you sure you wouldn’t like to rephrase that last statement?

Rose: Why?

CG: Never mind….So how 'bout those Phillies?

2. Ty Cobb

The Meal: Fried chicken, collards, biscuits, and gravy

The Conversation:

CG: It’s an honor to have you, Mr. Cobb. I’m a huge fan. I celebrate your entire body of work.

Ty: I don’t know where you think this dinner is headed, boy, but you best leave my body out of it.

CG: What?

Ty: You know what I’m gettin’ at, you yella-bellied pretty boy.

CG: Actually, I don’t.

Ty: Look, just eat your damn chicken and zip your lip.

CG: …

Ty: That’s better. Now finish all your vegetables before I sharpen my spikes on that big old nose of yourn.

CG: Mr. Cobb, it’s been real.

1. Yogi Berra

The Meal: A bowl of Cap’n Crunch

The Conversation:

CG: Boy am I glad to be sitting here with you, Yogi…a man known for his dialogue.

Yogi: Well, they say a man’s dialogue is his treasure.

CG: Who says that?
Yogi: Well, it ain’t us, so it must be them.

CG: Of course it ain’t us, but who is “them?”

Yogi: All the people who think a man’s dialogue is his treasure.

CG: But I never heard anyone ever say that.

Yogi: What do you mean? I just said it two minutes ago.

CG: Are you sure you weren’t just reading random stuff off the back of the cereal box?

Yogi: Uhhh….ummm…It ain’t over till it’s over!

CG: What the…? Oh, forget it. Where’s Ty Cobb when you need him?

Lost in Translation: The Baseball Remix

With a veritable smorgasbord of drama being served up this week in the bigs, I figured some in-depth reporting would become the cherry on top of the sundae. I said to no one in particular, "Wow. A PED scandal, a brawl, All Star balloting, trade rumors, coaches on hot seats. If questioned, one of these guys might actually say something...that, you know, means something."

But I was wrong. So, I guess that puts my nose back to the old translation grind stone. I will not rest unless every scrap of meaningless drivel that serves as a quote in a morning sports page is eradicated. Until then I'll just help you get the true essence of these ready-made pieces of MLB drivel:


Phillies manager Charlie Manuel on moving Ryan Howard out of the cleanup spot after hitting one homerun in his last 111 at-bats:

"What the %$#*@ are you getting at? I'll do the managing. Whoever hits there, hits there."

Translation:

"In my day, we used to walk five miles....wait, who am I? Why am I here?"


Kirk Gibson on Donnie Baseball's fisticuffs during Tuesday night's ugly brawl between the Dodgers and D-Backs:

"Donnie was mad."

Translation: 

"Donnie really whipped Trammell's ass, didn't he? Don't let the Just For Men mustache fool you. This guy can still throw down."


(According to  Bob Nightengale of USA Today) Office of the MLB commish on the fallout from the brawl:

"Suspensions will not be handed down until at least Thursday"

Translation:

"Donnie really whipped Trammell's ass, didn't he? We'll need to examine the video a few more times. Bud, pass me a beer."


(According to David Lennon of Newsday) Mets front office on the possibility of a coaching change:

"There's absolutely zero chance of Wally Backman being a replacement."

Translation:

"Please join me in welcoming the new manager of the New York Mets, Wally Backman!"

At the Table With...Baseball Legends

By: C.G. Morelli

We’ve all heard the obligatory conversation starter before: “If you could have dinner with an influential person, who would it be and why?” Ah, the sounds of a high school history class…except without all the snoring and with only half the amount of drool.

Believe me, I’m not asking you to relive it with me because, seriously, those conversations usually turned out to be as exciting as a Kansas City Royals home game.

Personally, I always thought it’d be more interesting to think about what you’d actually say to these people as they were huddled around your kitchen table. What would you serve them? What in the hell would they say to you?

Ok, so maybe I think about pointless stuff a little too much. But I only do it so you, the faithful readers, don’t have to.

I’m a baseball guy, so let me share with you the top five ballplayers throughout history that I’d dine with. But I’ll even take it the extra mile for you. I’ll let you in on our conversations.

5. Manny Ramirez

The Meal: Something extremely rich

The Conversation: 

CG: I’m glad you decided to stop by, Manny.

Manny: Me too. I can never pass up a free meal, especially when I don’t have a place to call home.

CG: Free? I never said that.

Manny: It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay for it. Come on, look at this face. How can you resist me?

CG: Do I look like Ned Coletti?

Manny: Actually, yes.

CG: Take that back.

Manny: Give me 30 million.

CG: What?!?

Manny: I meant 45 million.

CG: Ok, I think this dinner’s over.

Manny: (walking to the door) You’ll call back. They always do.

4. Joe DiMaggio

The Meal: Veal Parmigiana and a pack of Marlboro Reds

The Conversation:

CG: Joe, I’ll always be in awe of your 56-game hitting streak. How’d you deal with the pressure?

Joe D: Trust me, it was easier than being married to Marilyn.

CG: High maintenance?

Joe D: You don’t know the half of it.

CG: Was it worth all the trouble?

Joe D: NO!!!  Well, yes.

CG: Shocking.

3. Pete Rose

The Meal: Bread and water

The Conversation:

CG: Sorry about the skimpy meal, Mr. Rose. You know, economy’s not all too good these days.

Rose: Don’t mention it. Besides, it happens to be one of my favorites. I used to refer to it as the after-parlay special back in Cincy.

CG: Sounds, um, healthy. Speaking of health, what’s your take on the whole steroids scandal?

Rose: I’d be willing to bet more than half the league was doing them.

CG: Uh, are you sure you wouldn’t like to rephrase that last statement?

Rose: Why?

CG: Never mind….So how about those Phillies?

2. Ty Cobb

The Meal: Fried chicken, collards, biscuits, and gravy

The Conversation:

CG: It’s an honor to have you, Mr. Cobb. I’m a huge fan. I celebrate your entire body of work.

Ty: I don’t know where you think this dinner is headed, boy, but you best leave my body out of it.

CG: What?

Ty: You know what I’m gettin’ at, you yella-bellied pretty boy.

CG: Actually, I don’t.

Ty: Look, just eat your damn chicken and zip your lip.

CG: …

Ty: That’s better. Now finish all your vegetables before I sharpen my spikes on that big old nose of yourn.

CG: Mr. Cobb, it’s been real.

1. Yogi Berra

The Meal: A bowl of Cap’n Crunch

The Conversation:

CG: Boy am I glad to be sitting here with you, Yogi…a man known for his dialogue.

Yogi: Well, they say a man’s dialogue is his treasure.

CG: Who says that?
Yogi: Well, it ain’t us, so it must be them.

CG: Of course it ain’t us, but who is “them?”

Yogi: All the people who think a man’s dialogue is his treasure.

CG: But I never heard anyone ever say that.

Yogi: What do you mean? I just said it two minutes ago.

CG: Are you sure you weren’t just reading random stuff off the back of the cereal box?

Yogi: Uhhh….ummm…It ain’t over till it’s over!

CG: What the…? Oh, forget it. Where’s Ty Cobb when you need him?

Heart of the City: Pop's Water Ice

By: C.G. Morelli

Most of my love for the game of baseball can be traced back to a single, humid July evening in Philadelphia in 1982. That’s when my father showed me a pair of Phillies season tickets and explained we’d be going to Veteran’s Stadium for my first baseball game. From that very first walk down the heavy, concrete steps which led to section 325, peanut shells crackling beneath my Velcro sneakers, the smell of stale beer and shouts of “Hey Schmidty!” floating through the air, and a curious green mascot dancing around on the rooftop of the first base dugout, I was hooked.

Today, I can’t remember many details of the actual game. There was just so much for me to take in; I guess the game itself sort of molded together with the new and exciting surroundings of the Vet. But one thing I remember quite clearly is the moment the game ended. My father leaned over and said, “Now it’s time for the best part…we’re going to Pop’s.”

At that moment I couldn’t see anything redeeming about going to my grandfather’s row home at 10:30 at night, but I quickly realized my father was instead referring to a South Philadelphia mainstay known as Pop’s Water Ice.

For those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about when I say “water ice,” here’s a quick lesson. If you walk into a supermarket and head to the freezer section, you might find a box of Dixie cups with a rock hard concoction inside. People often like to call this stuff Italian Ice, but it’s actually just a cheap and somewhat embarrassing reproduction of real water ice.

A more authentic alternative to the supermarket stuff comes from a popular chain called Rita’s, which happens to be the leading rip off artist of the Pop’s tradition. Rita’s is decent, but it’s certainly not Pop’s. It often lacks the most satisfying characteristic of a good, refreshing cup of water ice: the fact that you should never need to bother yourself with the use of a spoon. At Pop’s you simply need to squeeze the sides of your cup and basically drink the semi-frozen slush that rises to the top.

It’s the same way people enjoyed the treat as far back as 1932, when Filippo “Pop” Italiano first started selling his water ice from a single push cart in South Philadelphia’s Marconi Plaza. Seventy-five years later his frozen treats are a staple along Oregon Avenue, in the shadows of Philadelphia’s major sporting venues. The Italiano family has continued Filippo’s tradition, sticking closely to his famously guarded recipe and building a reputation as the perennial winners of the South Philly Review’s Best of Philly Award.

If you don’t believe the hype, simply drive past the Pop’s storefront after a Phillies game and notice the line that routinely trails to the end of the city block and wraps around the corner. Or, try to park your ride anywhere in the vicinity of the famous stand and I guarantee you’ll be sitting in a pile-up of automobiles that runs three-deep to the curb.

In this case, your best bet is to partake in another South Philly tradition and simply park your car on the median. Don’t worry about getting a ticket, because there’s always a good chance the fuzz will be sitting in line waiting for a large cup of lemon water ice and a pretzel rod along with you. 

One thing I’ll tell you is Pop’s Water Ice is not a flashy place, nor is it a huge entertainment complex where you can unload the kids in front of a row of arcade games. The place has really changed little since Pop himself was pushing his cart through Marconi Plaza. But one thing’s for sure, this place has always been a respite for battle-weary Phillies fans to heal their wounds after a tough loss or celebrate the glory of an unlikely victory.

Heart of the City: Pop's Water Ice

By: C.G. Morelli

Most of my love for the game of baseball can be traced back to a single, humid July evening in Philadelphia in 1982. That’s when my father showed me a pair of Phillies season tickets and explained we’d be going to Veteran’s Stadium for my first baseball game. From that very first walk down the heavy, concrete steps which led to section 325, peanut shells crackling beneath my Velcro sneakers, the smell of stale beer and shouts of “Hey Schmidty!” floating through the air, and a curious green mascot dancing around on the rooftop of the first base dugout, I was hooked.

Today, I can’t remember many details of the actual game. There was just so much for me to take in; I guess the game itself sort of molded together with the new and exciting surroundings of the Vet. But one thing I remember quite clearly is the moment the game ended. My father leaned over and said, “Now it’s time for the best part…we’re going to Pop’s.”

At that moment I couldn’t see anything redeeming about going to my grandfather’s row home at 10:30 at night, but I quickly realized my father was instead referring to a South Philadelphia mainstay known as Pop’s Water Ice.

For those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about when I say “water ice,” here’s a quick lesson. If you walk into a supermarket and head to the freezer section, you might find a box of Dixie cups with a rock hard concoction inside. People often like to call this stuff Italian Ice, but it’s actually just a cheap and somewhat embarrassing reproduction of real water ice.

A more authentic alternative to the supermarket stuff comes from a popular chain called Rita’s, which happens to be the leading rip off artist of the Pop’s tradition. Rita’s is decent, but it’s certainly not Pop’s. It often lacks the most satisfying characteristic of a good, refreshing cup of water ice: the fact that you should never need to bother yourself with the use of a spoon. At Pop’s you simply need to squeeze the sides of your cup and basically drink the semi-frozen slush that rises to the top.

It’s the same way people enjoyed the treat as far back as 1932, when Filippo “Pop” Italiano first started selling his water ice from a single push cart in South Philadelphia’s Marconi Plaza. Seventy-five years later his frozen treats are a staple along

Oregon Avenue

, in the shadows of Philadelphia’s major sporting venues. The Italiano family has continued Filippo’s tradition, sticking closely to his famously guarded recipe and building a reputation as the perennial winners of the South Philly Review’s Best of Philly Award.

If you don’t believe the hype, simply drive past the Pop’s storefront after a Phillies game and notice the line that routinely trails to the end of the city block and wraps around the corner. Or, try to park your ride anywhere in the vicinity of the famous stand and I guarantee you’ll be sitting in a pile-up of automobiles that runs three-deep to the curb.

In this case, your best bet is to partake in another South Philly tradition and simply park your car on the median. Don’t worry about getting a ticket, because there’s always a good chance the fuzz will be sitting in line waiting for a large cup of lemon water ice and a pretzel rod along with you. 

One thing I’ll tell you is Pop’s Water Ice is not a flashy place, nor is it a huge entertainment complex where you can unload the kids in front of a row of arcade games. The place has really changed little since Pop himself was pushing his cart through Marconi Plaza. But one thing’s for sure, this place has always been a respite for battle-weary Phillies fans to heal their wounds after a tough loss or celebrate the glory of an unlikely victory.

Heart of the City: Reading's First Energy Stadium

By: C.G. Morelli

If you hop on the PA Turnpike in Philadelphia, and head north for about an hour, you’ll probably run right into what I’d consider a quaint, Pennsylvania Dutch city known as Reading. Of course, if you’ve ever played Monopoly, you may have tried to build your fortune by scooping up the Reading Railroad. Yep, same place.

I’ll admit there aren’t too many attractions in Reading, so don’t pack up the family and put in for vacation time just yet. But, the one thing this city does have is a gem of a ballpark and a great atmosphere, amidst a backdrop of lazy foothills, for minor league baseball.

It was in 1951, that the last few bricks were mortared into place in the façade of Reading Municipal Stadium. It was originally used for conventions, fairs, and municipal celebrations, but in 1964, the Phillies moved their AA affiliate, the Reading Phillies, inside its bricked walls. The natives of Reading took to their team immediately, charging the ballpark with the electricity you’d normally find in major league surroundings.

If you’re a minor league baseball enthusiast, Reading Municipal Stadium is a must-see…kind of a Mecca in the middle of the Pennsylvania cornfields. Now called First Energy Stadium, there have been a few modifications to the original structure but with the same charm. You still couldn’t find a bad seat in the place if you tried (I dare you to look), and you still might find yourself out in the parking lot with a throng of Phillies fans waiting for a 37-car train from the original Reading Railroad to pass before you can cross the street and enter the park (I’m serious about this). 

Once inside, park the kids in the swimming pool that literally borders the back of the right field fence (and has become somewhat of a magnet for waterlogged home run balls) and grab yourself a cold bottle of Yuengling. It’s brewed just a few miles down the road in nearby Pottsville. Just one word of advice: have the number of a cab service handy because the beer garden area along the left field line may quickly become one of your favorite spots on Earth.

In 2006, this park was actually named one of the best places in the country to watch a minor league game by the Minor League News. One thing’s for sure, Old Reading Municipal (First Energy Stadium), offers a charm that you can’t find at just any ballpark these days. If you see a game there, you’ll know what I mean. 

Baseball and Haiku...A Match Made in Heaven

By: C.G. Morelli

hai⋅ku (hahy – koo) n.  1. An ancient form of Japanese poetry consisting of three lines and a 5-7-5 syllabic pattern.

Now I know poetry is probably the last thing on the minds of baseball fans at this time of year…heck, at any time of year. But I’m here to tell you Haiku doesn’t need to be imprisoned within the elementary confines of a second grade classroom.

Please allow me to bring it back into the fold for you. Why? Because with about 50 days remaining until Opening Day and no football to satisfy my thirst for sports, I’m bored out of my mind.

I’m sure you are too.

That’s right, I’m talking to you Mr. Avid Sports Fan who’s craftily reading this article in your cubicle with your left eye while keeping a vigilant watch on the door to your boss’s office with your right eye. Don’t despair, my friend. Together, we can whittle away the idle moments until Opening Day and extinguish our work day boredom simultaneously.

I took the liberty of getting the ball rolling, but it’s hard for me to say I’ve compiled on this page the greatest list of baseball Haiku known to man. After all, poems like these can be whipped up in no time flat. So basically, the following Haikus happen to be the best I was able to create in the last 15 minutes.

That’s why I need your help. You never know if the greatest baseball Haiku poem of all time is lounging around in your brain just waiting to be unleashed. Please join me in creating the definitive list of baseball Haiku. I promise I’ll keep ‘em coming too.

Here’s A Hearty Helping of Baseball Haiku:

-------------------------------------

I love Don Zimmer

He got in Pedro’s face once

Even though he’s old

-------------------------------------

Beer here! Cold beer here!

I’m reaching for my wallet

I don’t have twelve bucks

-------------------------------------

Manny, oh Manny

Won’t you come back to Fenway?

Who the hell needs ya?

-------------------------------------

Pete Rose was the best

Who cares about gambling, just

Put him in the Hall

-------------------------------------

I love baseball but

MLB is a nightmare

Why is Bud in charge?

-------------------------------------

The Phils won the series

Will somebody please pinch me?

It might be a dream.

-------------------------------------

White ball falling fast

He runs, he dives, he catches

Runner stops and swears

-------------------------------------

Steinbrenner had kids

That took over the Yankees.

They’ll make it worse, though

-------------------------------------

The baseball Afro…

When will it come back in style?

I miss it dearly

-------------------------------------

Little Earl Weaver

Had a very big mouth and

The O’s need him back

-------------------------------------

Philly’s Fanatic

Is clearly the best mascot

In baseball today

-------------------------------------

The pitchers report

The air is getting warmer

It’s almost that time…

Much Love for Richie Ashburn

By: C.G. Morelli

Twenty-nine home runs in a 14-year career?  Is that it?  Well, no.  Not by a long shot.  If there was one thing Richie Ashburn didn’t do too much (hit a lot of homers), there were a million things he did quite often (steal bases relentlessly, hit for average, drive in runs, range-rove the outfield, snap a witty one-liner).

The late Phillies announcer, Harry Kalas, once said of Ashburn, “Anybody who ever saw him play loves him because he was a bust-tail player who hated to lose.”  Possibly the only description that suited him better was the nickname Whitey, which paid tribute to his trademark, nearly-white hair.

Ashburn busted his tail as a rookie in 1948 to the tune of a .333 batting average with 154 hits, 17 doubles, and a whopping 32 stolen bases.  He was the only rookie elected to the NL All-Star team that season. Whitey had broken onto the scene in a big way.

After a two year absence from the Midsummer Classic despite pretty steady numbers, the young veteran went back into “bust-tail” mode, putting together a season that solidified his hero status in a very tough sports town. 

Whitey was the only spark in on an otherwise lifeless ’51 Phillies squad.  He smacked a career-high 221 hits, while batting .344 (second in all of baseball, only to Stan Musial’s .351), and he had 31 doubles, many of them created by sheer hustle.  Added to that were his 29 stolen bases and 63 RBI as a leadoff man.  He only hit four home runs, but the Phils were more than willing to look past that.  It was clear, after his offensive outburst in ‘51, that Whitey would be keeping his Philadelphia address for quite some time to come.

He spent 12 seasons manning centerfield for the Phils and blazing a trail for himself to Cooperstown. During that time he made five All Star appearances, led the league in hitting twice, and bested NL outfielders in put-outs nine times. He smacked 2,574 hits, and registered a lifetime .308 average. Ashburn’s #1 was retired by the Phillies in 1979 and he was inducted into the Hall in 1995.

People rarely remember that Whitey finished his career in New York when the Mets selected him in the first-ever expansion draft. But Whitey would reclaim his Philly address shortly after hanging up the spikes. He spent 27 seasons calling the Phillies alongside legendary announcer, Harry Kalas. The two arguably made up one of the greatest broadcasting tandems in baseball history. The always-insightful banter between Harry and Whitey combined with the slow, drawling crescendo of Kalas’s famous home run calls were even enough to keep fans interested in a club that’s spent most of the last two decades in the league’s basement.

Whitey died from a heart attack in 1997 at the age of 70. He left us with the memories of a sparkling Hall of Fame career, both on the field and in the booth, and his never-say-die, bust-tail spirit that won him the hearts of all Philadelphians. Perhaps Harry Kalas best reflected the sentiments of an entire city in remembering Ashburn:

"Whitey was as good a friend as I ever had," Kalas said, “I think of him every day with warmth in his heart and a smile on his face.''