I of course saw the godawful Safe at Home -- though in 1962, when I was 10 and the famous home run chase was still fresh, it seemed wonderful to me. It's turned up on TCM a few times, but I haven't had the stomach to watch it.
I'm pleased though not surprised by the major outflowing of affection for Rizzuto. I looked at the ESPN posting board yesterday; by mid-afternnon there were hundreds of comments -- many "He was my childhood", but also a fair number of "I'm a (Enemy Team -- including several Red Sox) fan, but you couldn't help but like Rizzuto". It recalls the line from Sometimes a Great Notion, when Hank sees the huge turnout for his cousin's funeral: "I knew he was the kind of guy most people who knew him liked; I just didn't realize he KNEW so many people".
And I'm delighted the Pope line has been featured in many news reports. I'd only seen it in print once previously, and thought I was alone in savoring it.
R. I. P. Phil Rizzuto
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Mister Tee
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Mister Tee wrote:A Google search for Rizzuto and Grammy turns up nothing. It appears Meat Loaf's Grammy came later, for Bat Out of Hell 2.
After reading your comment, Tee, I realized that I was confused and what I had actually heard back in the day was that Phil received royalties for "Paradise On The Dashboard Light" -- which is still pretty cool.
I checked IMDb to see if Phil made any film appearances a la Mantle & Maris (and Fred Mertz) in the god-awful Safe At Home or Hank Greenberg, Bob Feller and Satchel Paige in the god-awful The Kid From Cleveland but all that came up was an appearance as "Calhoun Rizzuto" in The Phil Silvers Show.
"Y'know, that's one of the things I like about Mitt Romney. He's been consistent since he changed his mind." -- Christine O'Donnell
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A Google search for Rizzuto and Grammy turns up nothing. It appears Meat Loaf's Grammy came later, for Bat Out of Hell 2.Damien wrote:Is it Urban Legend or is my memory correct that Phil shared a Grammy with Meatloaf by dint of his voice being heard on "Paradise On The Dashboard Light"?
Ah, Yogi...the last of the Yankee Golden Age (well, Whitey, too). Back in 1979, an old girlfriend was in town, and I took her to a Yankee game. She'd been living in Germany, and didn't know a single one of the then two-time-defending World Champions. But she knew the first base coach: Mr. Berra.
It's probably not true anymore, but I believe there was a time Yogi was rated one of the top ten most recognizable people in the world.
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I remember clearly a bit of banter during a Yankee game around 1980 when I was at my uncle's house in Valley Stream, Long Island. The upcoming millenium somehow came up during the course of conversation.
Scooter: And we'll be in our 80s if we make it. (Pause) If I make it.
(Pause)
Frank Messner: You'll make it.
Scooter: Oooh, no. The Scooter is fading fast.
The broadcasting team was very much a part of the late 70s Yankees: Phil Rizutto, Frank Messner, Bill White, and Fran Healy . Every three innings or so, they would switch off. If you wanted to hear Phil and he wasn't doing play-by-play on WPIX "Eleven Alive", just switch on WCBS-880, and there he with Fran. "Professional standards of broadcasting?" Professional, shmessional. He was local color.
I'm very sad, but not devastated. Devastated will come when Yogi passes.
Scooter: And we'll be in our 80s if we make it. (Pause) If I make it.
(Pause)
Frank Messner: You'll make it.
Scooter: Oooh, no. The Scooter is fading fast.
The broadcasting team was very much a part of the late 70s Yankees: Phil Rizutto, Frank Messner, Bill White, and Fran Healy . Every three innings or so, they would switch off. If you wanted to hear Phil and he wasn't doing play-by-play on WPIX "Eleven Alive", just switch on WCBS-880, and there he with Fran. "Professional standards of broadcasting?" Professional, shmessional. He was local color.
I'm very sad, but not devastated. Devastated will come when Yogi passes.
"What the hell?"
Win Butler
Win Butler
Just the other day I saw the New York Baseball 1947-57 exhibit at the Museum of the City of New York (don't miss it, Tee, it's wonderful) and there was a video of Phil Rizzuto on the Ed Sullivan Show celebrating his 1950 MVP award. As a Yankee hater, I can still think of him fondly as a true New York icon.
Tee, love the Pope Paul anecdote.
Is it Urban Legend or is my memory correct that Phil shared a Grammy with Meatloaf by dint of his voice being heard on "Paradise On The Dashboard Light"?
Tee, love the Pope Paul anecdote.
Is it Urban Legend or is my memory correct that Phil shared a Grammy with Meatloaf by dint of his voice being heard on "Paradise On The Dashboard Light"?
"Y'know, that's one of the things I like about Mitt Romney. He's been consistent since he changed his mind." -- Christine O'Donnell
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Mister Tee
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For someone of my generation and fandom, an incalculable loss. His playing career was well before my time, but he was the voice of the Yankees for a long stretch.
By any professional standards of broadcasting, he's tough to defend: he'd be looking elsewhere and miss major plays; ignore on-field action to talk about cannolis; and famously leave the game in late innings to beat the Bridge traffic. In spite -- or because -- of all this, he was a delight to listen to: constantly cracking you up with off-the-wall observations or plain silliness. (A favorite: informed during a game that Pope Paul VI had died, he said "Oh, that puts the damper on even a Yankee win")
And by all accounts, he was one of the nicest guys who ever lived.
NEW YORK (AP) -- Phil Rizzuto, the Hall of Fame shortstop during the Yankees' dynasty years and beloved by a generation of fans for exclaiming "Holy cow!" as a broadcaster, died Tuesday. He was 89.
His death was confirmed by the Yankees. Rizzuto had been in declining health for several years and was living at a nursing home in West Orange, N.J.
Rizzuto, known as "The Scooter," was the oldest living Hall of Famer. He played for the Yankees throughout the 1940s and '50s, won seven World Series titles and played in five All-star games.
Rizzuto was a flashy, diminutive player who could always be counted on for a perfect bunt, a nice slide or a diving catch in a lineup better known for its cornerstone sluggers. He played for 13 seasons alongside the likes of Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle.
He stood just 5-foot-6 but was equipped with a productive bat, sure hands and quick feet that earned him his nickname. A leadoff man, Rizzuto was a superb bunter, used to good advantage by the Yankee teams that won 11 pennants and nine World Series between 1941 and 1956.
Rizzuto tried out with the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants when he was 16, but because of his size was dismissed by Dodgers manager Casey Stengel, who told him to "Go get a shoeshine box." He went on to become one of Stengel's most dependable players.
A Rizzuto bunt, a steal and a DiMaggio hit made up the scoring trademark of the Yankees' golden era, and he played errorless ball in 21 consecutive World Series games. DiMaggio said the shortstop "held the team together."
Rizzuto came to the Yankees in 1941 and batted .307 as a rookie, and his career was interrupted by a stint in the Navy during World War II. He returned in 1946 and four years later became the American League MVP. He batted .324 that season with a slugging percentage of .439 and 200 hits, second most in the league. He also went 58 games without an error, making 288 straight plays.
He led all AL shortstops in double plays three times and had a career batting average of .273 with at least a .930 fielding percentage. He played in five All-Star games.
After the Yankees released him in 1956, Rizzuto began a second career as a broadcaster, one for which he became at least equally well known.
In his decades on the radio and TV, Rizzuto's favorite phrase was "Holy cow!" It became so common, the team presented him with a cow wearing a halo when they held a day in his honor in 1985. The cow knocked Rizzuto over and, of course, he shouted, "Holy cow!"
"That thing really hurt," he said. "That big thing stepped right on my shoe and pushed me backwards, like a karate move."
Yankee fans also loved his unusual commentary. In an age of broadcasters who spout statistics and repeat the obvious, Rizzuto delighted in talking about things like his fear of lightning, the style of an umpire's shoes or even the prospect of outfielder Dave Winfield as a candidate for president.
He liked to acknowledge birthdays and anniversaries, read notes from fans, praised the baked delicacies at his favorite restaurant and send messages to old cronies. And if he missed a play, he would scribble "ww" in his scorecard box score. That, he said, meant "wasn't watching."
Despite his qualifications, Rizzuto was passed over for the Hall of Fame 15 times by the writers and 11 times by the old-timers committee. Finally, a persuasive speech by Ted Williams pushed Rizzuto into Cooperstown in 1994.
Williams, a member of the committee, argued that Rizzuto was the man who made the difference between the Yankees and his Red Sox. He was fond of saying, "If we'd had Rizzuto in Boston, we'd have won all those pennants instead of New York."
As in his playing days, Rizzuto was overshadowed by the headliners, teammates like DiMaggio, Mantle, Whitey Ford and Yogi Berra. All of them reached the Hall of Fame before he did.
"I never thought I deserved to be in the Hall of Fame," Rizzuto would say. "The Hall of Fame is for the big guys, pitchers with 100 mph fastballs and hitters who sock homers and drive in a lot of runs. That's the way it always has been and the way it should be."
Old-timers still talk about his suicide squeeze in the ninth inning during the 1951 pennant race to score DiMaggio, beating Cleveland 2-1 and putting the Yankees in first place for the rest of the season.
Rizzuto remembers Aug. 25, 1956, as a day he thought was the "end of the world," the day Stengel released him to make room for clutch-hitting Enos Slaughter in the pennant drive.
"It was Old-Timers Day, and I was out taking pictures, as I did every year," Rizzuto remembered. "The bat boy came over and told me that Casey Stengel and George Weiss wanted to see me in Stengel's office. It was the last day to add a player to the roster and have him eligible for the World Series. We were trading for Enos Slaughter because Stengel said we needed another outfielder, so we had to send someone down to make room on the roster.
"They asked me to read through the list of players and to check each player's eligibility, to see who we could let go," he said. "I sat there thinking that I was a veteran and they wanted my opinion. As we read through the list I pointed out a few players who I thought could be sent down, a pitcher we had hardly used and a catcher who had been in only nine games. But each time they said, 'No, we might need him.' We started to go through the list a second time, and then half way through it dawned on me."
"The Scooter" was done.
Rizzuto is survived by his wife, the former Cora Anne Esselborn, whom he married in 1943; daughters Cindy Rizzuto, Patricia Rizzuto and Penny Rizzuto Yetto; son Phil Rizzuto Jr.; and two granddaughters.
By any professional standards of broadcasting, he's tough to defend: he'd be looking elsewhere and miss major plays; ignore on-field action to talk about cannolis; and famously leave the game in late innings to beat the Bridge traffic. In spite -- or because -- of all this, he was a delight to listen to: constantly cracking you up with off-the-wall observations or plain silliness. (A favorite: informed during a game that Pope Paul VI had died, he said "Oh, that puts the damper on even a Yankee win")
And by all accounts, he was one of the nicest guys who ever lived.
NEW YORK (AP) -- Phil Rizzuto, the Hall of Fame shortstop during the Yankees' dynasty years and beloved by a generation of fans for exclaiming "Holy cow!" as a broadcaster, died Tuesday. He was 89.
His death was confirmed by the Yankees. Rizzuto had been in declining health for several years and was living at a nursing home in West Orange, N.J.
Rizzuto, known as "The Scooter," was the oldest living Hall of Famer. He played for the Yankees throughout the 1940s and '50s, won seven World Series titles and played in five All-star games.
Rizzuto was a flashy, diminutive player who could always be counted on for a perfect bunt, a nice slide or a diving catch in a lineup better known for its cornerstone sluggers. He played for 13 seasons alongside the likes of Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle.
He stood just 5-foot-6 but was equipped with a productive bat, sure hands and quick feet that earned him his nickname. A leadoff man, Rizzuto was a superb bunter, used to good advantage by the Yankee teams that won 11 pennants and nine World Series between 1941 and 1956.
Rizzuto tried out with the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants when he was 16, but because of his size was dismissed by Dodgers manager Casey Stengel, who told him to "Go get a shoeshine box." He went on to become one of Stengel's most dependable players.
A Rizzuto bunt, a steal and a DiMaggio hit made up the scoring trademark of the Yankees' golden era, and he played errorless ball in 21 consecutive World Series games. DiMaggio said the shortstop "held the team together."
Rizzuto came to the Yankees in 1941 and batted .307 as a rookie, and his career was interrupted by a stint in the Navy during World War II. He returned in 1946 and four years later became the American League MVP. He batted .324 that season with a slugging percentage of .439 and 200 hits, second most in the league. He also went 58 games without an error, making 288 straight plays.
He led all AL shortstops in double plays three times and had a career batting average of .273 with at least a .930 fielding percentage. He played in five All-Star games.
After the Yankees released him in 1956, Rizzuto began a second career as a broadcaster, one for which he became at least equally well known.
In his decades on the radio and TV, Rizzuto's favorite phrase was "Holy cow!" It became so common, the team presented him with a cow wearing a halo when they held a day in his honor in 1985. The cow knocked Rizzuto over and, of course, he shouted, "Holy cow!"
"That thing really hurt," he said. "That big thing stepped right on my shoe and pushed me backwards, like a karate move."
Yankee fans also loved his unusual commentary. In an age of broadcasters who spout statistics and repeat the obvious, Rizzuto delighted in talking about things like his fear of lightning, the style of an umpire's shoes or even the prospect of outfielder Dave Winfield as a candidate for president.
He liked to acknowledge birthdays and anniversaries, read notes from fans, praised the baked delicacies at his favorite restaurant and send messages to old cronies. And if he missed a play, he would scribble "ww" in his scorecard box score. That, he said, meant "wasn't watching."
Despite his qualifications, Rizzuto was passed over for the Hall of Fame 15 times by the writers and 11 times by the old-timers committee. Finally, a persuasive speech by Ted Williams pushed Rizzuto into Cooperstown in 1994.
Williams, a member of the committee, argued that Rizzuto was the man who made the difference between the Yankees and his Red Sox. He was fond of saying, "If we'd had Rizzuto in Boston, we'd have won all those pennants instead of New York."
As in his playing days, Rizzuto was overshadowed by the headliners, teammates like DiMaggio, Mantle, Whitey Ford and Yogi Berra. All of them reached the Hall of Fame before he did.
"I never thought I deserved to be in the Hall of Fame," Rizzuto would say. "The Hall of Fame is for the big guys, pitchers with 100 mph fastballs and hitters who sock homers and drive in a lot of runs. That's the way it always has been and the way it should be."
Old-timers still talk about his suicide squeeze in the ninth inning during the 1951 pennant race to score DiMaggio, beating Cleveland 2-1 and putting the Yankees in first place for the rest of the season.
Rizzuto remembers Aug. 25, 1956, as a day he thought was the "end of the world," the day Stengel released him to make room for clutch-hitting Enos Slaughter in the pennant drive.
"It was Old-Timers Day, and I was out taking pictures, as I did every year," Rizzuto remembered. "The bat boy came over and told me that Casey Stengel and George Weiss wanted to see me in Stengel's office. It was the last day to add a player to the roster and have him eligible for the World Series. We were trading for Enos Slaughter because Stengel said we needed another outfielder, so we had to send someone down to make room on the roster.
"They asked me to read through the list of players and to check each player's eligibility, to see who we could let go," he said. "I sat there thinking that I was a veteran and they wanted my opinion. As we read through the list I pointed out a few players who I thought could be sent down, a pitcher we had hardly used and a catcher who had been in only nine games. But each time they said, 'No, we might need him.' We started to go through the list a second time, and then half way through it dawned on me."
"The Scooter" was done.
Rizzuto is survived by his wife, the former Cora Anne Esselborn, whom he married in 1943; daughters Cindy Rizzuto, Patricia Rizzuto and Penny Rizzuto Yetto; son Phil Rizzuto Jr.; and two granddaughters.