You're Outta Here!!

By: C.G. Morelli

Before you get all worked up over my not-so-politically-correct decision to sing the praises of unsportsmanlike conduct in the game of baseball, please spare me the tears. I’m not here to endorse fighting, or cursing, or even umpire bashing. I’m not here to teach you how to kick dirt on someone’s shoes. I’m simply not the kind of guy who condones this type of behavior.

But still, there’s something inherently passionate about a coach who storms out on the field to defend his version of justice before his team. I don’t care who you are, there’s something completely satisfying about seeing an umpire’s arm reach to the heavens before unceremoniously pointing a manager in the proper direction for a shower.

As much as we can all admit this behavior is better left to the dogs, we still can’t quite forget there’s something about a manager meltdown that’s essential old school baseball. It’s gritty, and it brings us back to the days of old John McGraw, when winning a ball game was more about protecting your pride than protecting the fan base.

That’s why, as I attempt to fill the next three months until opening day and the next million Sundays until football starts again in Carolina, I’d like to share with you some of the most entertaining meltdowns in baseball history.

The Most Entertaining Manager Meltdowns in Baseball History

We’ll start out with the simple but classic approach to getting ejected. Here’s Ricky VanAsselberg of the Alexandria Aces minor league team giving a gentle nod to the old school as he buries home plate under a mountain of sand. Give a few style points to the ump on the toss.

Butch Hobson of the Can-Am League Nashua Pride added a little creativity to his meltdown routine. Hobson decided a call on a close play at first was so blasphemous that no one should ever again be allowed to touch that base…except, of course, the group of ten year olds seated near the top of the bleachers he delivered it to after being axed. Give this one a minute, it’s worth it.

There are a million clips of Tommy Lasorda hurling insults, spit, and whatever else at unwitting and perhaps even dimwitted umpires. The man’s slight problem with his temper is well documented. But, to me, nothing is more telling of the man’s passion for the game, his team, and his player than this clip. I mean, the guy was ready to argue even in spring training! 

Asheville Tourist’s manager Joe Mikulik would probably like to do these few minutes of his life over again.

Sometimes when I watch Lou Piniella really give it to an umpire I have to ask myself, “Was he basically put on Earth for this exact purpose?” If there’s such a thing as a meltdown artist, Sweet Lou would have to be the one and only. Here’s a double dose for you.

This is perhaps my favorite clip of all time, in any sport. Phillip Wellman, manager of the minor league Mississippi Braves, puts on a performance worthy of an Oscar after getting tossed from a Southern League game. Take note as he army-crawls to the mound, pulls the pin on the, uh, resin bag? And then tosses it grenade style? Genius.

I present to you Earl Weaver, Master of Language. WARNING! Let’s just say this might not be the best clip to play on full volume in the middle of a board meeting. But if a few choice words aren’t enough to get your panties in a bunch, I promise you’ll be in tears during this one. And, by the way, don’t ever put your finger on me again. You’ll know what I’m talking about in a minute.

Honorable Mention

I know, I know. How can I compile a list like this without including all time ejections leader Bobby Cox of the Atlanta Braves? Well, for all the times Bobby’s been given the old heave-ho, he’s really been able to keep a lid on it. That’s pretty surprising when you consider Cox has been sent packing 158 times in his professional managerial career. At any rate, here’s an honorable mention for a guy who clearly prides himself on quantity over quality when it comes to arguing.

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.

Stan the Man

By: C.G. Morelli

Throughout his career, Stan Musial was a man's man. It's no surprise the nickname stuck. In addition to compiling a cartoon-like career stats line (475 dingers, 3,630 hits, a lifetime .331 average, and three MVP awards), serving in the Navy during WWII, and being elected to the Hall of Fame with over 93 percent of the votes in 1969, Stan the Man touched the lives of so many of his fellow players, coaches, and fans that you'd need at least twenty Busch Stadiums to contain them all.

On Tuesday, President Obama honored Musial with the highest honor a civilian in the United States could possibly receive: the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Congratulations, Stan, the honor was long overdue. Here's a recap of the all time Cardinals great accepting the honor:

Rube Waddell: A Real Piece of Work

By: C.G. Morelli

Charles Edward Waddell was a small town Pennsylvania farm boy when minor league scouts recognized his ability to throw lightning. Before long, he’d attracted a nickname (“the Rube”) and he was hurling fastballs in the minors. He found immediate success and, by 1902, he was wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates uniform.

In Pittsburgh, however, the Rube found success a little more fleeting. Sure, the kid had great stuff.  But he also had a bit of a strange side to him to say the least. Waddell quickly gained more notoriety for his wild antics than for his ball playing. The man was known to actually leave the playing field during games to chase fire engines, and his unpredictable drinking binges caused him to be chronically and excessively late to games and practices.  Frustrated with his odd behavior, the Pirates cut him loose…and who was there to scoop him up but the old baseball gentleman himself, Connie Mack.

Mack signed Waddell in 1902 to compliment his already burgeoning roster of solid players. Waddell joined the likes of Eddie Plank, Lave Cross, and Nap Lajoie. But the Rube immediately shot to the top of the list, leading the league in strikeouts every year from 1902 through 1907. He led the Athletics in team ERA four times during this span.

For a while, with Mack acting as his surrogate father, Waddell kept his strange behavior at bay, and when he couldn’t restrain himself the citizens of Philadelphia ate him up anyway. Fans especially loved him because he would hang out at local bars in Philly and end up bartending by closing time. He was also known for playing random pickup games in the streets with local kids and for volunteering his services to the fire department.

But eventually, Rube lost his way once more and his erratic, sometimes personally endangering, behavior began to wear on Papa Mack. Waddell was beginning to wear out his welcome. A breaking point appeared to have occurred at the conclusion of the 1905 season. He had led the Athletics to the World Series that year, but couldn’t pitch against the Giants because he’d supposedly injured his elbow in a bizarre incident that culminated in a barroom brawl. It didn’t take long for the public to suspect gamblers were pulling Rube’s strings and rumors began to fly. Nothing was ever proven, but the scandal haunted the Pennsylvania hayseed for the rest of his career.

The scandal, his increasingly flaky attitude towards the game, and his strong taste for drinking, led Mack (who was at the end of his rope) to sell Waddell to the hapless St. Louis Cardinals for $5,000 before the start of the 1908 season. Mack’s Athletics, who had finished a hopeful 2^nd with an 88-57 record the season before, could not recover. Without Rube’s services they skidded through the 1908 season, finishing a pitiful and disappointing 6^th in the American League with a 68-85 record.

Many Philadelphians, who had almost unilaterally exalted the venerable Connie Mack, lost some respect for their beloved manager who, in the end, could not control his wayward “son.”  The city eventually learned to live without their loveable idiot, but it never found anyone unique enough to replace him in their hearts.