Phil Pepe - The Wit and Wisdom of Yogi Berra

Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
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Copyright 2012 by Phil Pepe
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com.
First Diversion Books edition October 2012.
ISBN: 78-1-938120-57-2

The sportswriter was nonplussed. He was visibly disturbed when he encountered Yogi Berra in a hotel lobby one morning.

Its ridiculous, the sportswriter said. This place is a ripoff.

Whatsa matter? Berra inquired.

I just had breakfast in the coffee shop, the sportswriter complained. Orange juice, coffee, and an English muffin. Eight dollars and seventy-five cents. Its a ripoff, I tell you.

Well, Berra replied. Thats because they have to import those English muffins.

Outside the rain fell steadily in torrents, pelting the small window and cascading down in a steady stream. Inside the small cubicle of a room Mets manager Yogi Berra talked with reporters. The room was hot and steamy from the September humidity and too small for the five reporters trying to squeeze their way in, hoping to get closer to catch every word.

His hat was off and his shoeless feet were propped up on an antique desk, and Yogi Berra was in a rare reflective mood, a rare talkative mood.

Im proud of this club, he said. Ill be proud of these guys even if we dont win. Dont forget, boy, they were 13 games under .500, now were two over.

Even if we dont win... hell, Ive had a good life. Ive had times you wish you were not managing... lots of times, even before this year... Id lay in bed and say, What the hell do I have to do this for? and then wed win a few and Id say its a great life. Carms good. She says dont let it bother you. Ill tell you who else is good. Scheffing. He calls me up and says Hang in there, do the best you can. He understands.

This was Chicago, the last Saturday of the 1973 season, and the rain would continue, hard enough so theyd have to cancel the game. The Mets were close now, close to their second miracle, and Yogi Berra had brought them therejust two days, two victories from winning a division title in an unbelievable year.

He was in the second year of a two-year contract, and it was no secret he was fighting for his job, his life. If the Mets didnt win, if they hadnt turned things around, he probably would not be back. His future was at stake. His life. The only life he had known in almost 30 years.

In July he was in last place. In August the fans booed him, yelled for his head. In September he was in first place. Funny game, baseball. Hero yesterday, bum today, hero again tomorrow.

Through it all Yogi Berra remained calm. Through it all he remained patient. Through it all he remained confident. Through it all Yogi Berra remained Yogi Berra.

During the long, frustrating summer, reporters would come to him and ask him what he thought of his teams chances. He would never give up. He could never give up. It wasnt in his nature. Things looked bleak, they appeared futile, but Yogi would find some reason for optimism, some reason for hope.

It was at one of these sessions that he uttered perhaps the most famous of all Berraisms, a single sentence that would be repeated for years to come, that would be quoted as a sign of perseverance and the never-say-die-spirit by football coaches, baseball managers, and even presidential candidates. Someone had had the temerity to suggest to Berra that the Mets were dead, their chances appeared hopeless. Berra would hear none of it.

It aint over til its over, he said in that simplistic way he had of stating the obvious.

He would win the thing. Naturally. He usually did. He was lucky. He was Yogi Berra and he had something, some indefinable thing called Berra Luckwhatever that was.

It would represent his greatest accomplishment, his finest hour as a manager, a leader of men and a homespun philosopher. But nothing is forever in the managing business and his greatest hour would be followed by setbacks, disappointments, and failure. And that is normally followed by unemployment.

The Mets were never able to duplicate their 1973 success, which should have been interpreted as a testimony to the leadership of their manager. Instead, it was the manager who suffered the consequences and paid the price for the Mets fifth place finish in 1974. When things did not improve as rapidly in 1975 as fans, press, and management thought they should, Berra was fired as manager on August 5 and replaced, with the Mets in third place having posted a record of 5663.

For the remainder of the season, the Mets would lose one game more than they won and after a winning record in 1976, they would suffer through seven consecutive losing seasons before winning more games than they lost.

As usual, Berra did not remain out of baseball for long. Fired in August, he spent the remainder of the season as a man of leisure, but that winter his old buddy, Billy Martin, called and invited him to return to the Yankees as a coach. It was a glorious homecoming for Berra, a return to the scene of his greatest triumphs, when he returned to Yankee Stadium.

He coached for eight years through a steady stream of Yankee managers, from Billy Martin to Bob Lemon to Martin again to Dick Howser to Gene Michael to Lemon again to Michael again to Clyde King and to Martin again, surviving each change, each time being passed over for the job and not regretting the slight.

Inevitably, Berras number came up. When Billy Martin was fired after his third term for punching a marshmallow salesman in a Minneapolis hotel, Berra was asked to replace him as manager of the Yankees. You dont say no to George Steinbrenner. And the idea of being manager had never left Yogis mind. He accepted the job with full knowledge of the consequences.

The Yankees finished third under Berras leadership in 1984, compiling a record of 8775. Yogi did a good job of managing under the conditions, considering the material he had. Everybody thought soalmost everybody. George Steinbrenner disagreed.

He criticized Berra privately and publicly, second-guessed him, threatened him. Finally, only 16 games into the 1985 season with his team still in the starting blocks, Berra was fired as manager of the Yankees. This time, it hurt more than the previous two. Berra was bitter. He refused to be seen in public, stayed away from ballparks all season, absented himself from the game he loved so much, the game he graced for years.

Eventually, his friend and neighbor, Dr. John McMullen, owner of the Houston Astros, offered him a job as a coach. He would be the perfect assistant to help break in the Astros new manager, Hal Lanier. It was not New York. It was not the Yankees. But it was baseball. Yogi accepted.

In their 25 years of existence, the Houston Astros had won only one division championship. They had not won in six years. In his first year as coach, Berra watched the Astros win the National League West. Naturally, they said it again: Berra Luck.

Berras boyhood friend Joe Garagiola says, Hes one of those Christmas Eve guys. There are people like that. There are people who are December 17th guys or October 19th guys. Me, Im an April 10th guy. And there are people who are Christmas Eve guys. Every day in their lives is Christmas Eve. Stan Musial was always a Christmas Eve guy. So is Yogi.