Sunday, March 18, 2001
It was spring of 1959 and after a two-year stint with the U.S. Army in Germany, my feet once again walked on that good old terra firma of the United States. I was home again. Hallelujah!
It was like the powers that prevail had brought me home for something great, really special. Of course, seeing my wife and loved ones again was special enough, but due to a major cut-back at the local Westinghouse plant, I was not employed.
After several months of pounding the pavement looking for a job, I secured employment in the advertising department of a local newspaper.
Things were not going well at the time and money was scarce. As the weeks and months passed, everything seemed to improve, including my temperament. Then, in 1960, in the backroom morgue of that newspaper, it happened. THE PIRATES WON THE WORLD SERIES!
Glued: A Pirate fan my entire life, this was the greatest, the ultimate. I was listening to the game on the radio while, of course, doing my work. It was Game 7 of the Series.
A homer by Hal Smith in a five-run eighth had sent the Bucs in front, 9-7, however, my joy was shortlived as the Yanks battled back in the top of the ninth to tie it at 9.
Things were now looking dismal. The Yankees were not ready to roll over. They had routed the Pirates in three of the previous Series games while the Bucs had to capture some real nailbiters.
One swing of the bat by Pirates second-sacker Bill Mazeroski in that magnificent ninth sent Buc fans into seventh heaven. And in the morgue, newspapers were rifled into the air. My heart skipped several beats. For one fleeting moment, I thought I may pass out. I saw the newspapers flittering on the floor and I knew then that I still had life. Pandemonium broke out throughout the office (I guess there were others listening to the game). THE BUCS WENT ALL THE WAY!
In 37 years of sports writing, to me, this was the greatest, even better than the Immaculate Reception, which probably ranks No. 2.
The baseball lords didn't give the Bucs a chance against the brazen, power-hitting Yankees who boasted the sweetest pitching staff around. But those lords didn't count on a bristling bunch of gritty, gutsy, tough, hard-working baseball players who had a dream. They lived that dream to the fullest.
The heroes: There were great Pirate names on that 1960 squad: Clemente, Law, Friend, Virdon, Groat, Pace, Nelson, Haddix, and Cimoli, to mention a few. And of course, one can't forget the manager, old reliable Danny Murtaugh, the tobacco-chewing diamond wizard. Murtaugh had been quoted as saying prior to that final Series game, "The Series will be decided on games won, not on total runs scored."
The Yanks had won their three Series games by scores of 16-3, 10-0 and 12-0.
One can't forget either, the ground ball of Billy Virdon, an easy double-play ball, that took a bad hop and hit shortstop Tony Kubek in the throat, enabling the Bucs to go on to victory. Then where was the towering homer of Mickey Mantle in Game 2 that soared over the 450-feet mark and out of Forbes Field. They still talk about that one in Pittsburgh.
It was the wildest and wackiest World Series in baseball history. The Yanks had it all -- pitching, hitting, overall talent and newspaper clippings. The Pirates had only guts and the will to win, against all odds. What a story. What a baseball story.
Maz's epic homer still curls the hair on the back of my neck. For one brief moment, the world stood still. The crack of the bat resounded. The Yanks' Yogi Berra ran to the wall and was awaiting a carom. It never came. The ball skipped off the vines into never-never land.
Cloud 9: Maz, too, thought the ball may carom off the wall but when he rounded second, his feet never hit the ground until he was mobbed rounding third by crazed Bucco fans.
As for Maz, after 41 years, he was finally named as an inductee into the Baseball Hall of Fame earlier this month. All I can say, Maz, is that it was well worth waiting for. Thanks for the memories.