Fifty years out on the skids

Whitey and Yogi
Old and not in the way

Today is Old-Timer's Day at Yankee Stadium, which only slightly saddens me when I realize that most of the today's old-timer's are now young timers compared to me.

Growing up, OId-Timer’s Day was the only way I could ever see the likes of Joe Dimaggio, Phil Rizzuto, Yogi Berra and Bill Dickey in Yankee uniforms that weren’t old films. It was a chance to see living history, and I looked forward to it every year. We even went to Old-Timer’s Day once, which is memorable for many things, not the least of which was when my Mom shushed me when Bill “Moose” Skowron was introduced and I joined in the 50,000-plus chorus of “Mooooooooosse.” That sounded too much like booing to her ears, which is something we should not do.

Baseball’s grip on the American psyche continues to slip, and I highly doubt seeing Ron Guidry (great as he was) means as much to young fans as seeing Whitey Ford meant to me. Basketball, soccer and football have replaced the pastoral summer game in hearts and minds everywhere.

Why is this so?

Most likely it’s because attention spans grow shorter by the day. Who has patience for numerous pitching changes, pitchers constantly throwing to first base to check runners, and batters stepping out of the box after every pitch when you can play video games or change the channel for some ready-made violence and bad language?

To say nothing of steroids, the DH and interleague play.

To me, that’s a shame (except, of course, for the steroids, the DH and interleague play). It remains my favorite sport, even as the juiced players and the powers-that-be keep trying to ruin it.

Most likely, Jack won’t ever feel about the game the way I did – there are too many things and people competing for his attention. When I was his age, summertime meant being outdoors from morning to night, playing Little League and watching Sunday doubleheaders.

Just the memories of another Old-Timer.