WHEN REGGIE MET THURMAN

There are teammates who become friends immediately.

Then there were Thurman Munson and Reggie Jackson.

When Reggie arrived in the Bronx before the 1977 season, the Yankees were already Munson’s team. Thurman was the captain, the reigning American League MVP, and the heartbeat of a club that had just gone to the World Series. Reggie arrived as something entirely different.

He was the superstar free-agent signing. He was outspoken. He was confident. He was controversial. And most importantly, he wasn't interested in quietly blending into the wallpaper. In other words, George Steinbrenner had just thrown another stick of dynamite into a clubhouse that already had Billy Martin walking around with a match.

And then came the quote.

In a 1977 Sport magazine article, Jackson was famously quoted describing himself as “the straw that stirs the drink,” while suggesting Munson could only stir it bad.

Whether Reggie believed he was quoted accurately or not almost didn't matter. The words were in print. Munson read them. And the captain was furious. This wasn't some anonymous teammate Jackson had taken a shot at. Munson had spent his entire major-league career with the Yankees. He had caught countless games on battered knees, taken foul balls off every imaginable body part and helped drag New York back to the World Series in 1976.

Then the new guy showed up and, before he'd accomplished anything in pinstripes, appeared to tell the world whose team it was.

That went over about as well as you'd expect.

Welcome to the Yankees, Reggie. Meet Thurman.

The relationship became one of the many soap operas surrounding the 1977 Yankees. Jackson battled with Martin. Munson resented the attention surrounding Jackson. The clubhouse had factions. Steinbrenner hovered over everything.

Yet something strange happened while everybody was waiting for the Yankees to implode. They won, and winning has a funny way of forcing two great players to recognize something they may not particularly want to admit:

I need that guy.

Munson could look beyond Reggie's personality and see an enormously talented baseball player who could help the Yankees win championships. Jackson could look beyond Thurman's hostility and understand why that clubhouse followed its captain. Their personalities were completely different, but their objective wasn't.

There are stories of the two finally clearing the air, including a memorable conversation in a sauna. It didn't magically turn them into childhood buddies. This wasn't a Hollywood movie where the music swelled and suddenly Reggie and Thurman skipped into Yankee Stadium holding hands.

It was something more believable. They developed respect. And for two intensely competitive men, respect probably meant more than friendship anyway.

Munson saw Jackson deliver when the Yankees needed him most. Reggie saw exactly what made Munson the captain—the toughness, the leadership and the willingness to play hurt without asking anybody to feel sorry for him.

By the time Jackson earned the name “Mr. October” with his three-home-run performance in Game 6 of the 1977 World Series, there wasn't much left to debate about whether Reggie belonged in New York. And Munson didn't need Jackson's approval to prove who he was either.

Thurman had already earned the Bronx. Their relationship continued to evolve. Jackson reportedly even flew with Munson in Thurman's plane, and accounts over the years have described Reggie affectionately referring to Munson as “Coach.” Think about how remarkable that is considering where these two started.

From a newspaper quote that nearly poisoned the clubhouse to two men eventually understanding each other. Not perfectly. Not sentimentally. But genuinely.

Then came August 2, 1979. Munson was killed while practicing takeoffs and landings in his Cessna Citation near Canton, Ohio. He was only 32.

Suddenly all those arguments, headlines and clubhouse battles didn't seem very important anymore.

What remained was the respect.

And maybe that's the part of the Reggie Jackson–Thurman Munson story worth remembering most.

They didn't have to be best friends. They didn't even have to particularly like each other at first. They were two enormous personalities fighting for space inside the craziest baseball clubhouse in America. But somewhere between the arguments, the championships, the back pages and the October nights, they figured each other out.

Thurman was the captain. Reggie was Mr. October.

The Bronx was big enough for both of them. And in the end, they knew it. Rest in peace, Captain.

Thurman Munson — June 7, 1947 – August 2, 1979. Nearly five decades later, No. 15 still belongs to him.

-- Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

WHEN DOLLY PARTON CAME TO THE BRONX

When you've followed the Yankees long enough, you realize that Yankee Stadium has hosted a lot more than baseball.

Presidents have been there. Popes have been there. Prize fights, football games and concerts have filled the old place.

And in 1987, Dolly Parton showed up. Yes, that Dolly Parton. Country music royalty walked into the House That Ruth Built, grabbed a baseball bat and spent some time with the Bronx Bombers.

With the sad news of Dolly's passing at age 80, we hear at Bleeding Yankee Blue found ourselves thinking about that wonderful little piece of Yankee history. Casey asked me to put this together and I was happy to do it.

Dolly came to Yankee Stadium while filming her ABC television variety series, Dolly, which premiered in September 1987. The Yankee Stadium visit was filmed for an "Out and About" segment appearing in the show's third episode. Waiting for her in the Bronx were four pretty recognizable Yankees:

Ron Guidry. Dave Righetti. Rick Cerone. Mike Pagliarulo.

For Yankee fans of a certain age, those names require no introduction. Guidry was Louisiana Lightning and already a Yankee legend. Righetti had gone from Rookie of the Year starting pitcher to one of baseball's premier closers. Cerone had been behind the plate through some memorable Yankee seasons.

And Pagliarulo — Pags — was the Yankees' hard-hitting third baseman.

Then Dolly Parton walked into the middle of them.

Only at Yankee Stadium. And Dolly wasn't content just shaking hands and posing for pictures. She picked up a bat. Standing near the first-base line, Dolly took a few swings and apparently wasn't too bad at it. At one point she wondered what would happen if she actually made contact and whether somebody might get hurt.

Pagliarulo eventually presented her with an official Yankees bomber jacket, which Dolly immediately put on. Then she wanted the cap. There was, however, a slight engineering problem.

Dolly Parton's hair. If you remember Dolly in 1987, you understand. That Yankees cap wasn't going over that hair. It was going to have to sit on top of it. And that's exactly what happened.

There she was — one of the biggest stars in America, standing at Yankee Stadium in a Yankees jacket with a cap perched on that famous blonde hair.

It was a terrific image. But looking back on it almost 40 years later, there's something else that strikes me about the moment. Dolly looked like she belonged there. That's probably because Dolly Parton seemed to belong everywhere.

She could stand on a stage in Nashville, appear in a Hollywood movie, walk through Dollywood or wander onto the field at Yankee Stadium and immediately make people smile. There was no pretense about her.

She was Dolly. The Yankees she met that day have long since retired. The old Yankee Stadium itself is gone. Baseball has changed enormously since 1987. But that's the beauty of Yankee history. Sometimes history isn't Babe Ruth hitting a home run. It isn't Lou Gehrig's speech. It isn't Reggie hitting three home runs in a World Series game or Don Larsen throwing a perfect game.

Sometimes it's something small and sweet. Something you almost forget happened. Like the afternoon Dolly Parton came to Yankee Stadium and took a few swings with the Yankees.

Today, that memory means a little more. Dolly Parton died yesterday at the age of 80, leaving behind an extraordinary legacy as a singer, songwriter, actress, entertainer, businesswoman and philanthropist.

Millions will remember the songs. Others will remember the movies. Still others will remember the enormous amount of good she quietly did for people throughout her life.

Here at Bleeding Yankee Blue, we'll also remember that day in 1987 when a little bit of Nashville came to the Bronx. Dolly Parton was one of us.

Rest in peace, Dolly. Thanks for giving us one more wonderful story from the House That Ruth Built. And somewhere, I hope there's a Yankees cap big enough for that hair.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee Historian Contributor

WHY IS THE ATHLETIC HINTING BLAME AT THE YANKS FOR A BROKEN DOWN MACOMBS DAM PARK?

I saw The Athletic's story about the disgraceful condition of Macombs Dam Park and immediately had two reactions.

The first one was simple: This is terrible.

The second?

Wait a minute. Why does it feel like they're blaming the Yankees for it? Because if we're going to start pointing fingers—and believe me, I'm always willing to point one at the Yankees when they deserve it—we should probably make sure we're pointing in the right direction.

And in this case, I'm not convinced we are.  The Athletic paints a powerful picture. Macombs Dam Park, including Heritage Field on the footprint of the original Yankee Stadium, has deteriorated. There are complaints about holes, uneven playing surfaces, weeds and fields becoming difficult to use.

Bronx Congressman Ritchie Torres called the park's condition a symbol of "broken promises." He's right. But whose broken promise is it?

That's the important part. Start with the owner. Here's the fact that should probably be printed in giant letters:

THE NEW YORK YANKEES DO NOT OWN MACOMBS DAM PARK. New York City does. And NYC Parks operates it. That's not my interpretation. That's the history of the entire Yankee Stadium redevelopment. When the new Yankee Stadium project displaced recreational facilities on roughly 22 acres of existing parkland, the city developed replacement recreational facilities and new parkland. NYC Parks' own environmental documents described the replacement plan and the department's intention to develop those recreational facilities for the community.

Today, NYC Parks itself describes Macombs Dam Park as a 17-acre public facility containing the track, soccer/football field, basketball and handball courts and the portion constructed largely on the footprint of the old Yankee Stadium.

So if the grass is bad, if a field needs reconstruction, if the lighting needs replacing, if holes aren't being repaired properly, how does that become the Yankees' responsibility? Reading the Athletic article, I feel like this Sam Blum dude is trying to subliminally place blame on the New York Yankees.  I don't like it. 

FOLLOW THE PAPERWORK!  That is where the story becomes much clearer. Bronx Community Board 4 has specifically requested reconstruction of the Macombs Dam Park synthetic-turf field and additional lighting. And guess which organization NYC's own budget documents list as the "Responsible Agency."

Not Yankee Global Enterprises. Not Hal Steinbrenner. Not Brian Cashman. Department of Parks and Recreation.

Even better, the city's FY2026 preliminary budget response says the agency supports the Macombs Dam Park project but that funding is needed. The later executive-budget response says the agency recommends funding it, but "the availability of funds is uncertain."

There it is. That's the story.

New York City has a park that New York City is responsible for maintaining, and New York City knows it needs major work. Yet somehow the money isn't completely there. And now apparently they need $54 million. That's right, according to reporting surrounding The Athletic's investigation, a complete renovation is projected at approximately $54 million, with roughly $48 million designated.

Meaning we're about $6 million short. And apparently that is enough to keep the larger project from moving forward. But here's where this story goes from frustrating to ridiculous.

Torres' office tried to provide federal funding. The city didn't take it.

According to NYC Parks, the proposed federal money came with Build America, Buy America requirements, and the city didn't have enough time to evaluate and comply with those requirements before the deadline.

I'm sorry... what? We have a deteriorating public park. We need money. A congressman's office tries to find federal money. And government bureaucracy helps prevent the government from taking government money to fix the government-owned park.

But we're looking across the street at Yankee Stadium? Come on. Now... you're asking, where do the Yankees fit into this?   This is where I think The Athletic's framing deserves some pushback.

I'm not suggesting the Yankees should wash their hands of the place. Far from it. This park has a unique connection to the organization. Part of it sits on the footprint of the original Yankee Stadium. The construction of the current Yankee Stadium was part of the redevelopment that displaced existing park facilities in the first place.

The Yankees should care deeply about this place. And apparently they have. The Yankees say it has contributed nearly $2 million to Macombs Dam Park over the years, provided groundskeeping assistance and training and supported community programs. The Yankees have also requested estimates for immediate repairs and are considering additional assistance.

Could the Yankees do more? Absolutely. They're the New York Yankees. They have the resources. This is their backyard. Their history is literally underneath part of this park. If Hal Steinbrenner wants to help close a funding gap or finance repairs, wonderful. I'd applaud him for it. But there's a huge difference between saying:

"The Yankees should help."

and

"The Yankees are responsible."

They aren't the same thing. Let's point blame at where the blame should go.

No. 1 — NEW YORK CITY / NYC PARKS. This isn't complicated. They own and operate the park. NYC's own budget paperwork identifies the Parks Department as the responsible agency for the reconstruction project. If a public park deteriorates for years, the government agency charged with caring for that park owns the biggest piece of this mess.

No. 2 — THE CITY'S CAPITAL-BUDGET PROCESS. Community Board 4 asked for reconstruction. Parks agreed it was needed. Then came the magic words every New Yorker loves hearing: Funding needed. Funding uncertain.  A $54 million reconstruction sitting roughly $6 million short while the facility continues deteriorating is a government problem, not a baseball problem.

No. 3 — THE BUREAUCRACY SURROUNDING THE FEDERAL MONEY. Torres tried to bring federal money into the equation. The city says compliance and timing issues prevented it from accepting that funding. Whatever the bureaucratic explanation, residents are still staring at the same lousy fields. That's a failure.

No. 4 — LOCAL ELECTED LEADERSHIP. Elected officials don't personally mow the grass, but this is exactly why capital budgets and constituent pressure exist. When a major neighborhood recreational facility deteriorates for years, everybody representing that neighborhood should be screaming until the money is secured and the work is done. Torres deserves credit for raising the issue and attempting to find federal funding. Others need to finish the job.

No. 5 — THE YANKEES. Yes, I'm putting them on the list. But they're fifth, not first. Their responsibility is different. It's a community responsibility, not the primary governmental responsibility for maintaining a city park. The Yankees benefited tremendously from the redevelopment surrounding the new stadium. Macombs Dam Park is their neighbor. Heritage Field preserves the footprint and memory of their former home. They should help. They should probably help significantly. But asking the Yankees to contribute toward fixing NYC's park is very different from suggesting the Yankees somehow allowed their park to deteriorate. It's not their park.

And so, that is our problem with the Athletic story. Bleeding Yankee Blue broke it down for you much better than Sam Blum ever could. By the way, Sam Blum is a reporter for the Dallas Morning News. Did he even make a phonecall to the city? Did he actually investigate or did he just see the shiny Yankee stadium in the background of the gross Macombs Dam Park and say "Oh, I know how to be provocative, angle the story so it blames the Yankees!" Could the Yankees do more? Sure. Do they have to? Nope. get over it.

Yes, The photographs are powerful. Paul O'Neill's connection to the place is powerful. The history is powerful. And putting Yankee Stadium in the background makes for one hell of an image. But it can also leave readers with a very convenient impression: Look at the beautiful Yankee Stadium while the Yankees let the park across the street fall apart.

Except that's not really what happened. I'm perfectly willing to blast the Yankees. But I'm not going to blame the Yankees for something simply because their stadium happens to make a great backdrop for the photograph.

If The Athletic wants to investigate why Macombs Dam Park has deteriorated, great. Investigate it, but investigate it right. Follow the responsibility all the way through City Hall. Ask NYC Parks why routine maintenance wasn't enough. Ask why the reconstruction wasn't funded earlier. Ask why a project everybody apparently agrees is necessary still doesn't have all its money. Ask how federal funding was allowed to slip away. Ask every elected official involved what happens next. And yes, ask the Yankees what they're willing to contribute.

Just don't confuse being the rich neighbor who could help fix the problem with being the government agency responsible for the property. Those are two very different things. Macombs Dam Park absolutely represents broken promises.

The Bronx deserves better. The kids playing there deserve better. And the old Yankee Stadium site sure as hell deserves better. But if we're going to assign blame, assign it accurately.

This is a New York City park. Maybe we should start by asking New York City why it allowed it to get this bad.

Our take over here at Bleeding Yankee Blue.

--Alvin Izzo

BYB Yankee History Contributor

THE MACHINE IS A CHAMPION!

How great is this?

Congratulations to DJ LeMahieu, who in his first season as manager of the Royal Oak Leprechauns just led them to their first Northwoods League championship.

And they certainly earned it.

Royal Oak had to fight just to get into the postseason, clinching its first Northwoods League playoff berth during the final week of the regular season. From there, the Leprechauns got hot. They beat Madison 6-1 to win the Great Lakes Division championship, setting up Thursday night's title game against the St. Cloud Rox.

Then they finished the job.

Behind terrific pitching, Royal Oak beat St. Cloud 3-1 at Joe Faber Field in Minnesota to capture the championship. It was the perfect ending to an incredible postseason run—and an incredible first year in the dugout for LeMahieu.

And I absolutely love this for DJ.

Yankee fans remember what LeMahieu was when he first came to New York. He was everything you wanted in a baseball player: quiet, professional, prepared and incredibly intelligent. No nonsense. No excuses. He simply understood how to play the game.

Apparently, he understands how to manage it, too.

LeMahieu was hired in May to manage a collegiate summer team filled with young players trying to develop and take the next step in their baseball careers. Royal Oak specifically wanted DJ's experience and baseball knowledge around those kids.

A few months later, they're champions.

That's not an accident.

His Yankee career didn't end the way any of us wanted it to, but that should never erase what DJ LeMahieu was at his best—or the respect he earned while wearing pinstripes.

Now he's taken that baseball knowledge into the dugout, helped guide a bunch of young players through a championship run and added another chapter to an already terrific baseball life.

The Machine is now The Manager.

And in Year One, DJ LeMahieu is already a champion.

Couldn't happen to a better baseball man.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

BABE RUTH CONSPIRACY? THE DUMBEST STORY OF THE DECADE

I never thought anyone would seriously need proof that Babe Ruth existed, but here we are.

Cubs All-Star Pete Crow-Armstrong recently repeated the bizarre claim that Ruth may not have been real. On the podcast “Let’s Be Honest” Crow-Armstrong was referring to was a 2024 interview with Mariners pitcher Tayler Saucedo, in which Saucedo argued that because there are not many videos of Ruth playing baseball, he must not be real.

That might be the most ridiculous baseball theory in recent history.

It also perfectly represents a generation that gets most of its news from TikTok. If there is no high-definition video, alternate camera angle or 30-second clip with captions, apparently the event never happened.

Look, Babe Ruth played from 1914 through 1935. During most of his career, motion-picture cameras were bulky, expensive and mounted on tripods. Raw film stock was costly, and newsreel crews were not recording complete nine-inning games. They usually captured a few swings, pregame warmups, dugout footage or a home-run trot.

Regular live television broadcasting did not exist during Ruth’s prime. That is why limited footage survives—not because Ruth was some character invented by baseball historians.

The actual historical record is enormous. Ruth’s career was documented through official scorebooks, newspapers, photographs, contracts, eyewitness accounts and surviving newsreel footage.

And those records describe a player unlike anyone else.

Ruth began as an elite left-handed pitcher before becoming baseball’s greatest power hitter. He finished with 714 home runs, a .342 batting average, a record .690 slugging percentage and a 1.164 career OPS. In 1927, he hit 60 home runs. During certain seasons, Ruth personally out-homered entire major-league teams.

He did not simply dominate baseball. He changed its basic strategy, helping move the sport away from bunts, stolen bases and low-scoring “small ball” toward the power game fans recognize today.

Questioning history is healthy. Ignoring a mountain of historical evidence because there are not enough TikTok clips is not.

Babe Ruth existed Crow-Armstrong, don't be ridiculous. Critical thinking is one thing, but this is just stupid.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

DID YOU KNOW THE YANKEES INTERLOCKING NY WASN'T ORIGINAL TO THE YANKEES?

There are certain symbols in sports that have become larger than the teams that wear them. The New York Yankees' interlocking "NY" is one of those icons. It's recognized around the globe, worn by celebrities, tourists, die-hard baseball fans, and people who have never watched a single inning of baseball. But here's a question that might surprise even the most knowledgeable Yankees fan:

Did you know the Yankees weren't the original organization to use the famous interlocking "NY" design?

That's right.

Long before Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio or Derek Jeterever wore it, the now-famous emblem had an entirely different purpose—one rooted in courage, sacrifice, and New York City history.

It started with heroism. The story begins in 1877, when legendary jeweler Louis Comfort Tiffany of Tiffany & Co. designed a New York City Police Department Medal of Valor.

The medal featured the now-famous interlocking "N" and "Y" as part of its elegant design. It wasn't intended to become a sports logo. It was created to honor extraordinary bravery among New York's finest.

One of the earliest recipients was Officer John McDowell, remembered as the first New York City police officer shot in the line of duty. The medal became one of the NYPD's highest honors, symbolizing courage, commitment, and service to the city.

Think about that for a second. One of the most recognizable logos in sports actually began as a tribute to heroes.

Enter "Big Bill" Devery. Years later, Yankees co-owner William "Big Bill" Devery entered the picture.

Before becoming involved in baseball, Devery served as the Chief of the New York City Police Department, making him very familiar with the Medal of Valor and its distinctive interlocking design.

When the American League franchise relocated from Baltimore and became the New York Highlanders in 1903, the club was still searching for an identity that represented New York itself. In 1905, the Highlanders experimented with an interlocking "NY" on parts of their uniforms. It wasn't yet the polished emblem fans recognize today, but it planted the seed.

By 1909, the organization officially adopted a refined version of the Tiffany-inspired interlocking "NY" for its caps and uniform sleeves.

The rest, as they say, is history. Over the next century, the interlocking "NY" became synonymous with excellence.

It witnessed:

• 27 World Series championships.
• Legends from Ruth to Gehrig.
• The DiMaggio era.
• Mantle's switch-hitting greatness.
• Reggie's October heroics.
• The Core Four dynasty.
• Aaron Judge carrying the franchise into a new generation.

But despite everything the logo has come to represent in baseball, its origins remain tied to something much deeper than wins and championships.

It began with public service. It began with bravery. It began with New York City.

And let me go further. Many newer fans also don't realize that the Yankees weren't always called the Yankees.

The franchise actually began as the Baltimore Orioles of the American League in 1901—not to be confused with today's Orioles franchise. Financial problems forced the club to relocate to New York in 1903, where it became the New York Highlanders, named in part because their ballpark sat atop one of Manhattan's highest points in Washington Heights.

The nickname "Yankees" slowly gained popularity through newspaper headlines because it fit more easily than "Highlanders." By 1913, after moving into the Polo Grounds, "Yankees" had become the club's official identity.

The famous interlocking "NY," however, had already become part of the team's visual identity years earlier.  While the interlocking "NY" became timeless, it wasn't the organization's only historic logo.

The Yankees' second official logo introduced the now-famous image of Uncle Sam's top hat resting on a baseball bat inside a baseball, complete with stars and patriotic imagery. That design evolved over the decades into the club's primary corporate logo and remains one of baseball's most recognizable marks, even though the interlocking "NY" continues to be the symbol players wear on the field.

It's fitting, really. One logo represents America. The other represents New York. Together, they've become inseparable from Yankees history.

It's amazing how many fans wear the interlocking "NY" every single day without knowing its remarkable backstory. What began in 1877 as Louis Tiffany's elegant Medal of Valor honoring courageous New York police officers eventually became the emblem of the most successful franchise in baseball history.

The Yankees didn't invent the design. They immortalized it. And maybe that's the coolest part of the story. Sometimes the greatest symbols aren't created for sports at all.

Sometimes they're born from history, courage, and the spirit of a city—and the Yankees were fortunate enough to carry that legacy onto the baseball field for more than a century.

That's baseball history worth remembering.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

THAT TIME RIZZUTO GOT "TRICKED" BY MEAT LOAF

Baseball has always found its way into American pop culture. We've seen the game inspire movies, books, television shows, and songs for generations. But every so often, something happens that no one could have predicted—a moment where baseball history and music history collide in the most unexpected way.

That's exactly what happened in 1976.

Phil Rizzuto wasn't simply a former Yankees shortstop by then. He was "The Scooter," one of the most recognizable voices in baseball. His colorful broadcasts, unmistakable enthusiasm, and ability to make listeners feel like they were sitting beside him in the Yankee Stadium press box had made him a New York institution. Whether he was describing a double play or drifting into a story about family, food, or the neighborhood, Rizzuto had a way of making every game feel personal.

Meanwhile, a young rock singer named Meat Loaf was putting the finishing touches on what would become one of the most successful albums ever recorded, Bat Out of Hell. One song in particular, Paradise by the Dashboard Light, needed something authentic. It wasn't enough to have someone imitate a baseball announcer. They needed a real one.

Through Meat Loaf's manager at the time, former Mets first baseman Art Shamsky, they reached out to a Hall of Famer.

Phil Rizzuto said yes.

As the story goes, the recording session at New York City's Hit Factory didn't begin as smoothly as everyone hoped. Rizzuto read the script professionally, but it lacked the excitement that baseball fans knew so well. The words were there, but the emotion wasn't.

So Meat Loaf did something wonderfully creative.

He placed pizza boxes across the studio floor to represent the bases and began acting out the play himself. Sliding from one "base" to the next, he recreated the excitement of a runner charging around the diamond. It was unconventional, maybe even a little ridiculous—but it worked.

Rizzuto laughed. More importantly, he relaxed.

Suddenly, the broadcaster everyone knew emerged behind the microphone. His voice carried the same excitement that had filled countless Yankees broadcasts, and the now-famous play-by-play sequence became one of the defining moments of the album.

Of course, that recording would spark one of music's most enduring debates.

Did Phil Rizzuto truly understand what he was describing?

For years, Rizzuto maintained that he had no idea the baseball call was serving as a metaphor within the song. According to his version, he believed he was simply lending his voice to an unusual recording session. It wasn't until Bat Out of Hell became a cultural phenomenon that he realized the context—helped along, he joked, by members of his parish who were more than a little surprised to hear the Yankees broadcaster on a rock album.

Meat Loaf always remembered things differently.

He insisted that Rizzuto understood exactly what they were creating. In his eyes, The Scooter wasn't fooled at all. If anything, Meat Loaf believed Rizzuto simply preferred to let everyone think he'd been "snookered," sparing himself a few awkward conversations at home and around church.

We'll probably never know which version is entirely accurate.

And perhaps that's what makes the story even better.

What isn't open to debate is the lasting impact of that recording. Bat Out of Hell would go on to sell tens of millions of copies worldwide, becoming one of the greatest-selling albums in music history. Rizzuto's unforgettable performance became woven into the fabric of one of rock's most recognizable songs, earning him a gold record and introducing his unmistakable voice to an entirely new audience.

It's one of those rare moments where two completely different worlds found common ground.

One was America's pastime. The other became one of rock's greatest albums. Together, they produced a piece of pop culture that has endured for nearly half a century.

For baseball fans, it's another reminder that Phil Rizzuto's legacy extends well beyond Yankee Stadium. For music fans, it's proof that authenticity matters. And for everyone else, it's simply a remarkable story about a Hall of Fame shortstop who, whether he admitted it or not, helped create one of the most memorable moments in rock-and-roll history.

Sometimes the best baseball stories don't happen between the foul lines. Sometimes, they happen in a recording studio with a few pizza boxes standing in for the base paths.

This story? It's incredible.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

BABE RUTH: HOME RUN NUMBER 714

By the spring of 1935, Babe Ruth's legendary career was nearing its end. His days as baseball's most feared hitter were largely behind him, and his brief stint with the Boston Braves had done little to recapture the magic that made him the sport's biggest attraction. But on May 25, 1935, at Forbes Field in Pittsburgh, Ruth delivered one last unforgettable reminder that even an aging Sultan of Swat could still put on a show unlike anyone else.

Facing the Pittsburgh Pirates, the 40-year-old Ruth enjoyed one of the most remarkable farewell performances in baseball history. He went a perfect 4-for-4 at the plate, blasted three home runs, drove in six runs, and nearly single-handedly kept the Braves competitive in an eventual 11-7 loss. The Braves lost the game, but nobody remembered the score. They remembered the home runs.

And not just because there were three of them.

The final blast of the afternoon was home run No. 714—the last home run Babe Ruth would ever hit in a Major League game. Think about that number for a moment. When Ruth retired, 714 home runs stood as one of the most untouchable records in sports. He didn't just hold the all-time home run record; he had completely redefined what was possible. Before Ruth arrived, no player had ever reached 200 career home runs. Ruth more than tripled that total.

His third homer that day was vintage Ruth. The ball rocketed off his bat and sailed completely out of Forbes Field in fair territory, becoming the first fair ball ever hit entirely out of the stadium. Witnesses offered varying estimates of the distance, with some claiming it approached 600 feet. Whether it actually traveled that far may never be known, but one thing is certain: nobody in attendance had seen anything like it.

The baseball eventually landed in a nearby yard beyond the ballpark. Ruth later signed the ball for the man who found it, and it ultimately found a permanent home in the National Baseball Hall of Fame, preserving a piece of one of baseball's most iconic afternoons.

The scene that followed was pure Babe Ruth.

After circling the bases for the final home run of his career, Ruth completed his trot, then casually made his way toward the Pirates' bullpen. There, according to popular accounts, he helped himself to a towel, sat down among the opposing pitchers, patted one on the knee, and remarked, "Felt pretty good out there today, boys. Felt pretty good."

It's hard to imagine a more fitting curtain call.

Three home runs in a single game. A perfect day at the plate. Six RBIs. Home run No. 714. The first fair ball ever hit completely out of Forbes Field. It was as if baseball's biggest star had saved one final performance for the closing act.

Ruth would play only a few more games before retiring, but May 25, 1935, remains one of the greatest farewell performances in sports history. It was the last time fans saw the Bambino at full power, launching baseballs into the stratosphere and leaving opponents shaking their heads in disbelief.

Baseball has spent nearly a century searching for the next Babe Ruth. It has produced Hall of Famers, MVPs, record breakers, and home run kings. Yet when conversations turn to the greatest player the game has ever seen, Ruth's name never stays out of the discussion for long. A career that ended with 714 home runs was impressive enough. Finishing it with three in one afternoon felt almost too perfect—a final reminder that the game's biggest legend still had one more Ruthian performance left in him.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

JASSON DOMINGUEZ PLAYED LIKE A TRUE THROWBACK

Maybe this is the old man in me talking, but baseball today feels a little… moisturized. Everybody’s worried about “load management,” preserving bodies, launch angles, recovery days, sleep metrics, hydration charts, and whether a guy’s heart rate got too high jogging to first base. Somewhere along the way, baseball stopped looking like a game played by maniacs and started looking like an HR department seminar.

I grew up watching players who treated the warning track like it was optional and basic human safety like a rumor.

Pete Rose didn’t slide into bases — he tried to assassinate them. The man played baseball like he had unpaid parking tickets waiting at every bag. Headfirst dives, dirt in his teeth, jersey permanently stained brown. Nobody ever accused Pete Rose of “taking a smarter angle.” The only angle he knew was full speed.

Then you had Ken Griffey Sr. and Dave Winfield scaling outfield walls in Yankee Stadium like rent was due at midnight. Those guys didn’t jog toward fly balls calculating risk assessment percentages. They went after baseballs with the kind of recklessness normally associated with action movies and bad financial decisions.

And don’t even get me started on Derek Jeter launching himself face-first into the stands against Boston. The man basically became an airborne folding chair just to record an out. Bloody face, bruised shoulder and Yankee fans still replay that clip like it’s the Zapruder film. THAT was baseball.

And honestly, that’s why I’m rolling my eyes at everyone ripping Jasson Domínguez for smashing into the wall making that catch against Texas. People are calling it stupid. I’m calling it beautiful.

The kid ran 81 feet tracking a rocket off the bat, went full speed into the chain-link part of the wall, got absolutely detonated on impact, lost his sunglasses, lost his hat, probably briefly lost contact with several ancestors — and STILL held onto the baseball.

That’s not stupidity. That’s baseball DNA. That is why you play the game. That is why Sportscenter invented the 10 ten plays!

That’s “the run doesn’t score because I’m catching this ball no matter what happens afterward.”

And yes, he got hurt. Shoulder sprain. Concussion protocol. He’ll miss a few weeks. But since when did effort become something we criticize? Since when did “he played too hard” become an insult?

Baseball was built on lunatics doing unreasonable things for outs. Why? Because it's the greatest game ever made.

You know who else played like this? Aaron Rowand. That man once smashed face-first into the center-field wall in Philadelphia so hard it looked like he got hit by a city bus, then walked away bleeding because he caught the ball anyway. ESPN literally dubbed players like him part of the “All-Run-Through-A-Wall Team.” Aaron Rowand played center field like every fly ball had personally insulted his family.

And then there was Jim Edmonds — a human highlight. The guy treated diving catches like performance art. Half the time he’d leave his feet so dramatically you’d think he got launched out of a cannon.  Jim Edmonds basically created baseball pornography for SportsCenter. Before every phone became a television studio, people waited all night to see the SportsCenter Top 10 because some lunatic center fielder sacrificed his skeletal structure robbing a double in July.

That stuff MATTERED.

Now everybody immediately turns into a risk-management consultant.
“He should’ve protected himself.”
“He needs to think long-term.”
“He’s too valuable.”
“He shouldn’t risk injury in May.”

Man… what happened to us?

 

You play to WIN THE GAME. You play to steal outs. You play to make the pitcher walk back to the dugout screaming into his glove because you just erased a guaranteed extra-base hit.

And what makes Domínguez’s play even better is this: the kid easily could’ve coasted. He JUST came back from an elbow bruise. Nobody would’ve crushed him for pulling up a step early. Most modern players probably make the “business decision” there, let the ball bounce off the wall, and jog after it while pretending they almost had it.

Not Domínguez. He went full-send. And that’s why I respect it.

That’s also why I’ll always love guys like Harrison Bader. Sure, the guy gets hurt a lot. But every inning looks like his mortgage depends on making the next catch. There’s something refreshing about players who still play with chaos in them. Because baseball is supposed to have some chaos.

It’s supposed to have dirt-stained uniforms, guys crashing into walls, catchers blocking the plate, infielders diving into the hole, and outfielders running like their cleats are on fire. Not everything needs to be optimized by a sports scientist with an iPad and a protein shake.

Of course players should be smart. Nobody’s saying careers should end for one catch in May. But there’s a massive difference between being smart and being soft. And lately, the line between those two keeps getting blurrier.

So no, I’m not criticizing Jasson Domínguez. I’m applauding him. Because for one play, baseball looked dangerous again.

It looked emotional again.
It looked gritty again.
It looked like the game I grew up loving.

And honestly?
We need more of that.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

IN SOME WAYS PETE GRAY WAS BETTER THAN ANTHONY VOLPE

In 1945, Pete Gray gave Major League Baseball one of the most remarkable “you can’t make this up” seasons in history. Playing for the St. Louis Browns, Gray hit .218—not Hall of Fame stuff statistically, but when you factor in that he did it with one arm after losing his right arm in a childhood accident, the man becomes baseball folklore. Born Peter Wyshner, Gray wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to chase down fly balls in center field, leg out infield hits, or gun down runners. But he refused “no” as an answer. The war years had thinned the league’s talent pool, opening a door for him, but make no mistake—he shoved his way through it and made the majors on grit and sheer stubbornness.

The Browns signed him for $4,000 after buying his contract for $20,000, and on April 17, 1945, he debuted against the Detroit Tigers. A month later, in Yankee Stadium, Gray delivered a storybook moment—five hits and two RBIs in a doubleheader sweep over the Yankees. He’d play 77 games that season, mostly in left and center, and prove to the world that determination could close the gap between impossible and reality.

Now, let’s fast-forward to Anthony Volpe—Aaron Boone’s coddled pet project and the Yankees’ “elite” shortstop who, at the moment, is batting .219. Yes, that’s one point higher than Pete Gray’s 1945 average. The difference? Pete Gray was missing an arm. Volpe has two, and somehow they both come up empty at the plate far too often.

Volpe was a star in high school—Delbarton School, New Jersey. 2019 New Jersey High School Player of the Year. Strong glove. Speed. Solid bat. All fine and dandy… but that was six years ago, and high school trophies don’t mean much when you’re skipping college ball and getting vaulted straight into the pressure cooker of playing shortstop for the New York Yankees.

And here’s the problem: the kid wasn’t ready. He’s still not ready. He carries himself like someone who’s had everything handed to him, because—surprise—he has. When he makes a mistake, you see the palms go up, the face of disbelief, as if the baseball gods themselves are to blame. Accountability? Only if you count scripted postgame answers that sound like they were approved by a parent.

A month ago, the mask slipped. Meredith Marakovits asked Boone about a Volpe error, and Boone—visibly irritated—got up, looked her straight in the eye, and mouthed, “He’s effin’ elite.” Translation: “This is the company line, get with it.” 

Sorry, Aaron, but the rest of us aren’t buying the gaslighting. The Yankees already shipped off Oswald Peraza—a better defensive shortstop—just to keep Volpe’s spot warm. And for what? To watch him swing like he’s trying to hit flies off a picnic table?

Pete Gray fought through life with one arm, beat impossible odds, and lived his dream. Volpe, with every advantage a baseball player could want, is being anointed for mediocrity. Pete Gray earned his shot. Volpe’s getting a victory parade for holding a batting average you could get by closing your eyes and hacking.

 

Yes, in some ways Gray was better than Volpe. And a lot of it has to do in the fact that he earned his keep, despite the doubters.  For Volpe, he's losing favor among fans and yet the Yankees "Gaslighting" front office refuse to fold because they would have egg on their face if they admitted making a mistake.

What does that say about the Yankees? What does that say about the front office’s warped, spin-heavy “everything’s fine” culture? Simple. Pete Gray’s story was about grit. Anthony Volpe’s is about gifts. And one of those actually belongs in Yankee Stadium history.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

JUDGE IS THE BIG LEAGUE CHEW POSTER CHILD, BUT THERE WERE OTHERS

If you were a baseball-loving kid growing up, chances are you stuffed your cheek with a wad of Big League Chew and strutted around like you just got called up to the majors. It was sticky, it was stringy, and it was awesome. No tobacco, just pure sugar-fueled swagger—and maybe a little drool if you really committed to the bit.

These days, though? Rumor has it gum’s getting banned in some youth leagues. Why? Choking hazards. Yes, we’ve apparently reached a point in society where bubblegum is too dangerous for baseball. America: home of the brave, unless that bravery involves chewing grape gum in the outfield. We’ve gone soft, folks.

But thank the baseball gods, Aaron Judge is here to bring back a little edge—and a whole lot of nostalgia.

In a move that hits harder than one of his moonshots to center field, Judge will be featured on a pouch of Big League Chew. Starting this month, you’ll see his face on the Grand Slam Grape flavor at places like Dick’s Sporting Goods and Costco. It’s a full-circle moment for the Yankees captain—and for every one of us who thought we were hot stuff with gum in our cheeks and dirt on our uniforms.

Judge called it “surreal” in the press release. “Big League Chew has always been more than gum — it’s a part of the game,” he said. “I chewed it as a kid, and now being on the pouch is surreal.” Surreal, yes—but also incredibly well-deserved.

And because Judge doesn’t just hit homers—he gives back—a portion of the proceeds will go to his All Rise Foundation, which helps empower young people to become leaders on and off the field. Gum with a mission? We’re in.

But I found an interesting piece of info that isn't accurate (I don't think at least.) It was reported by Delilah Bourque on New York Yankees on SI that Judge is the first MLB player ever. But that's simply not true.  Back in 2013, Matt Kemp and Cole Hamels were on pouches of Big League Chew. Maybe because it's an actual partnership with MLB, rather than PLB Sports, who knows.  While my memory is sometimes foggy, I do remember the pouch, and so while it's not a big deal, it is a big deal for Judge and the Yankees. It's cool.

Now let’s rewind to how this glorious gum came to be. Picture it: 1977. A quirky left-handed pitcher named Rob Nelson, playing for the Portland Mavericks (aka baseball’s most chaotic underdog team), has an idea. What if players had a fun, chewable alternative to tobacco that still looked the part?

Rob Nelson

With help from future film director Todd Field (then a batboy) and Yankees pitcher Jim Bouton, they cooked up Big League Chew—literally in the bullpen. By 1980, it hit stores with its signature foil pouch and cartoon ballplayer, and the rest is bubble-blowing history.

Since then, Big League Chew has sold over a billion pouches, earned a spot in the National Baseball Hall of Fame, and remained the go-to gum for anyone who wants to feel like a slugger—without the nicotine habit.

Now, with Aaron Judge leading the charge, the gum is getting a second wind. Maybe kids will start chewing again (safely, of course). Maybe grape will become the flavor of champions. Maybe—just maybe—we’ll all remember that baseball is supposed to be fun.

So go ahead, grab a pouch. Blow a bubble. Feel like a kid again. And give a nod to Judge, the face of a new era in gum-chewing greatness.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor