The Stars Get The Breaks

It was a irritated crowd at Yankee Stadium. The Mighty Bronx Bombers were about to lose to the cellar dwellers, the Washington Senators. They were down 3 to nothing in the bottom of the ninth. They had the bases loaded, though, and the Great Bambino was at the plate. He had to strikes against him. Everyone knew he was going for the fence, including the Washington pitcher.

The pitcher was proud of himself. He had held the Yanks down all day. He had struck Babe Ruth out three times previously. But, here in the ninth, the Yankees had loaded the bases on him. He thought the manager would pull him from the game but the manager told him, “You got into this mess, you get yourself out of it”.

The one thing the pitcher wasn’t going to do is put one in high and outside. He did that and Ruth would send it to the upper deck. Low and inside was the only way to go. He reached back and put everything he had into what he hoped was the last strike of the day. As soon as he let it go he knew it was a bad pitch. It was going to get there right across the middle of the plate. Child’s play for Ruth.

Ruth didn’t swing! How can that be! The pitcher was ecstatic until the ump called out, “Ball!”.

The catcher was already screaming by the time the pitcher got there.

“Ball!! It was right across the heart of the plate! That was a strike if I ever threw one!”, the pitcher yelled.

The ump, known for his love of arguing a while and then tossing the player out, just smirked at the pitcher. He said to him, “Son, if that ball was anywhere’s near the center of the plate, Ruth would have swatted it to the upperdeck. He isn’t called the Sultan of Swat for nothing”.

The pitcher and catcher just looked at each other. That made sense even if their eyes told them something different. The pitcher turned to Ruth and told him, “Babe, you and I know it was a strike, don’t we?”

Ruth glanced over and said, “What was a strike? Did you throw a pitch? I was staring at that broad in red over there. I bet I won’t strike out with her!”.

Yea, superstars always get the break.

Whitey Ford threw a ball that did the whole shebang except yodel the Star Spangled Banner on the way to the plate. The hitter, a journeyman player, told the ump he wanted to see that ball. Yogi Berra tossed it to the hitter. The hitter looked at it and threw it down. Then he snatched a bunch of dirt and wiped his hands off. Then he tossed his cookies. Whitey and Yogi were amused by all that. That ball was gashed, cut, nicked. slit and scuffed. It was loaded with spit and tobacco too. Ford took his edge where he found it.

Yea, superstars always get the breaks.

The rule in the NBA is one step without dribbling. More than one step is traveling, a foul. Michael Jordan would run the length of the court to get a jump and put the ball through the basket. No ref ever called him for traveling. Air Jordan was the NBA. After Magic and Larry Byrd retired, Jordan saved the NBA from going back to the last page of the sports section.

One night, after devouring a dozen chocolate donuts, and washing them down with four cokes, Jordan made it three minutes into the game when the sugar kicked in. Michael grabbed the ball right out of the hands of a teammate, vaulted into the air, did a triple-axle and went through the basket. He went most of the way through. His hips stopped him.

The refs had never seen anything like it. No one had. They had a discussion and made the following announcement:

“He failed to put the ball through, so no basket. We’re calling a technical foul on the other team for having too small a basket. Since Jordan never misses, we’re awarding him two foul shots made”.

Yea, superstars always get the breaks.

Mean Joe Green would slap the opposing lineman silly and then turn the quarterback upside down and slam him into the ground. No penalty against Green. The fans and TV loved it. He couldn’t do it to Joe Montana though. Montana was untouchable. Montana and Green met before the game to talk it out.

“Joe, I am not going to be hit that way. For all I know, you’ll dump my wallet out and take it”, Montana said.

“Wallet? I ain’t no mugger, you sissified, prissy gray meat. You ain’t even a actual football player. You’re a quarterback. I ought to slap your head right now. The game ain’t started yet. Who’s your backup?”, Green asked.

“Uh, Joe, that was a jest, man”, Montana whined.

“Don’t you be facetious with me, you hear? I ain’t got no sense of humor”, Green responded.

The National Hockey League didn’t present their stars with any breaks, when there was a National Hockey League. They couldn’t. They didn’t have any kind of rules to begin with. Out on the ice, it was every man for himself, not that anyone really a rat’s ass. Leave out the fights and hockey was a tremendous bore.