Impact Player by Bobby Richardson

Author:Bobby Richardson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: RELIGION / Christian Life / Inspirational, BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs, BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Sports
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2012-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Too Much Koufax

In November of ’62 I received word that the Yankees had traded our first baseman, Bill “Moose” Skowron, to the Los Angeles Dodgers for pitcher Stan Williams. Joe Pepitone, the next can’t-miss prospect rising through the Yankees system, had spent about half of the ’62 season up with us, and the decision was made to turn first base over to him and let Moose go. I hated to see that happen—for both personal and professional reasons.

Moose, who had come over to the Yankees from Kansas City in 1954, was thirty-one years old and still productive. We knew we could expect at least twenty home runs and eighty RBIs from Moose every season. He was also an integral part of our tight-knit infield group—Moose, Tony Kubek, Clete Boyer, and I—which I believed was the best in baseball. And Moose could always make us laugh. Even today, thinking of Moose brings up something he did or said that still makes me chuckle.

When Hank Bauer was playing with us, he and Moose had been inseparable. They were known for being ridiculously early to airports. If they had a flight at six in the evening, for example, they would sometimes arrive at the airport before noon and wait there until six. And even if there were flights they could take during that time and arrive at their destination hours earlier, they would still wait for their scheduled flight for no better reason than the fact that their reservations had already been made.

Moose owed me money when he left for the Dodgers, and I knew that once he left the Yankees, my chances of collecting were gone. Moose didn’t trust himself when it came to catching pop-ups, especially really high ones, so before the start of each season, we struck a deal whereby he would give me five hundred dollars to catch all the pop-ups around first that I could.

When a pop fly was hit in his direction, instead of calling “Mine!” to let me know he’d take it, he would immediately yell, “Bobby!” and move out of the way.

Whenever Moose told that story, he would say, “I paid Bobby five hundred dollars to catch my pop-ups.” Well, the part about paying me wasn’t correct, and Moose knew it. Even in recent years, Moose would tell me, “I know I haven’t paid you yet, but I’m still gonna do it.” Then we both would laugh.

Betsy thought my arrangement with Moose was especially funny because she didn’t share his confidence in my ability to catch pop-ups. Shortly after Betsy and I arrived in Denver as newlyweds, I dropped a couple. After that she closed her eyes when I was about to field a pop-up. She couldn’t believe Moose would actually pay me—or at least intend to pay me—for doing that.

Moose and I had another arrangement—one that didn’t involve money. I liked to tip him off when one of our pitchers was throwing a changeup to a left-handed hitter, because that was the type of pitch a lefty was most likely to pull in Moose’s direction.

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