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"The Irish found their way in sports, too, earliest and perhaps most memorably in boxing. ….The Irish were also drawn to baseball." –The Irish in America; Coffey & Golway; 1997; page 182.
Usually, my contributions to the DU sports forum focus on the sport of boxing. However, in recent weeks, I’ve posted a few comments about the NY Yankees. Most of my friends here have taken those comments in good humor, which I appreciate. Perhaps a few have realized that there was a reason – beyond the 2009 post-season – why I was posting the comments I made. I’d like to take a minute to explain that reason.And, as so often is the case, the "moment" I take may stretch out a bit ….as it covers a few generations.
My great grandfather, James, moved his family from Ireland to New York in 1879, when my grandfather was 4 years old. As was common at the time, my great grandfather was among a wave of immigrants who came to live with or near other family members, who came in a wave several years earlier. Most of the men in my family were stone-cutters, first working on the canals, then the railroads. James was a small farmer, who instead was able to support his family by using his horses and wagons to haul trash. He would rent or buy land, fill it in, and improve it. When he owned the land, he would re-sell it; if he had rented it, the owner would have that option. An example of this was some bottom-land near Coogan’s Bluff, owned by the Coogan family. An area that was once prone to seasonal flooding became a fun place to play baseball.
My grandfather, Michael, loved baseball and boxing, in that order. His younger brother, Pat, loved boxing and baseball. Mike became the owner of a large construction company. He also owned and played on one of the many "semi-pro" baseball teams of that era. Pat was a railroader, who boxed professionally. There was, of course, a period where professional boxing was illegal in NYS, and so like so many fighters from that era, his actual record is "incomplete," and lost to history.
I grew up hearing stories about Mike and Pat’s experiences. Decades of living in the NYC-NJ region, owning a company that employed boxers who didn’t earn enough in the ring to only box, and the playing baseball, gave them the opportunity to know a heck of a lot of top athletes. Grandpa employed Arnold Raymond Cream, who went on to win the heavyweight title as Jersey Joe Walcott. He used to drink with Ty Cobb and Two-Ton Tony Galento. (And yes, I know the legendary Cobb’s general dislikes of certain ethnic groups, but he shared a friendship with my grandfather.) He was proud that his team once played against the NY Highlanders. Even after he was retired, Uncle Pat served as a sparring partner and assistant trainer for guys like Jack Sharkey, Jimmy Braddock and Max Schmeling.
My father’s older brother Pat was a talented baseball player, though not good enough for the pros. The sport had changed, of course, with the distinction between the semi-pro, now farm teams, and the Big Dance. So Pat became a sports writer, and eventually covered the NY Yankees for a sports magazine. He died from complications from the Irish flu before I was born, and I only have one photograph of him, in a uniform from a NJ team, out on the baseball field.
Mike and Pat both eventually moved their families to rural, upstate NY. They would frequently travel to Yankee Stadium, for both baseball games and boxing matches. My father and uncles loved baseball, though only one brother boxed. They carried on the tradition of family trips to Yankee Stadium. Also, the Yankees used to play an exhibition game at Cooperstown every year. As my uncles were high-ranking in law enforcement in the state, they could get us full access to the games. Hence, my brother has a mint-conditioned 1963 Yankee yearbook, autographed by every player on the team.
While both of my brothers loved boxing and baseball, I focused almost exclusively on boxing. I did play a lot of "neighborhood" baseball, of course. Our hamlet used to play against kids from other villages, hamlets, and neighborhoods. The same bags that held our baseball gear also carried the boxing equipment, and after a ball game, we would have boxing cards. Thus, my participation in baseball was a vehicle for boxing.
I remember reading that Ty Cobb considered baseball to be a form of warfare, with every "at bat" being a highly emotional contest of wills. I could relate that to my approach to boxing. And so, even though baseball wasn’t my thing, I learned to pitch. I didn’t have the fastest pitch, but my father and brothers taught me how to move the ball around. I got good enough that I could strike out anyone. Because very few of the guys we played against would want to box me after the game under normal circumstances, I used this pitching skill – along with some of the most obnoxious, insulting, degrading trash-talk I could muster – be create unusual circumstances.
For example, there was one guy, Bill, who I wanted to box. He was a little older than me, bigger and definitely stronger. But, as I had already decisioned his even older, bigger brother in five rounds previously, Bill didn’t want to box me. Bill and I were not friends, and didn’t pretend to be. So, his first time up, I struck him out, and made him the target of crude jokes. A few innings later, when he came up again, he glared at me and said, "I want to slam a line drive into your fucking face." I responded with something like, "Well, let’s see if you can." I knew that as long as we had eye contact, I’d strike him out, which I did.
After the game, he wanted to box me. He came out throwing bombs, and as I told him a few years ago when we saw each other, he hit me as hard as anyone ever did. Of course, I knocked him out in a manner that would make Ty Cobb smile.
At a recent family reunion, my cousin’s young son wore his Yankees’ jersey. This boy loved baseball. The family tradition of traveling to Yankee Stadium continued! My west coast brother, who tries to make it back for a game there as often as possible, and I had a blast talking to Robert about baseball history. My brother knew then that, on his next trip, he would give that yearbook to someone who would appreciate it.
Old habits die hard, so eventually, I started telling Robert that I could easily strike him out. Of course, he challenged me. I remember walking out on the lawn, and seeing his grandfather – my favorite uncle, who I am extremely close to – looking at me sideways. I’m old, and physically disabled. Was I actually going to try to make myself feel better, by striking a kid out? Robert was able to connect on every pitch I tossed his way, and subjected me to good-natured, youthful trash talk.
Robert died in his sleep on Christmas night, 2008. Doctors said it was a one-in-a-million thing, which took his life. I remember at his funeral, my cousin’s co-workers speaking about Robert’s love of the Yankees. Several of these gentlemen are, like many DUers, not fond of the team. When they would express their dislike of the Yankees, they said, Robert would tell them that deep down, they actually were Yankees fans. That they needed to get in touch with their "inner Yankee fan."
This is why it was important to me that the Yankees won this year.
Peace,
H2O Man
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