I enjoyed reading Bob Lefsetz’ eulogy for Yogi Berra:
He was a team player in a world where stars dominated. The press was all about Mickey, but it was Yogi who we loved. And kept on loving long after his playing days were through, because although he was a member of the jockocracy, Yogi danced to the beat of his own drummer, he was not beyond feuding with George Steinbrenner, because winning isn’t everything, it’s how you play the game that counts.
And it was the bottom of the 14th. And it looked like no one was ever gonna win.
And Yogi pinch-hit.
I’ve seen Mickey Mantle strike out. It’s so weird when the game turns upon their appearance. If only he could drive one over the fence the Yankees would win. But Mickey never came through in the clutch, not when I went.
But Yogi did.
There were a couple of men on base. But we were no longer on the edge of our seats, it felt like the game would go on forever.
Then Yogi hit one between the infielders, took off towards first, touched the bag and then immediately circled back towards the dugout and ran right in.
I wasn’t sure what had happened. I was too young, too inexperienced. It had all occurred too quickly. But Yogi knew it was all over, that he’d sealed the deal.
Long before he was famous for malapropisms, Yogi was famous for clutch hits.
Read the whole thing.