The Second of August marked the 25th Anniversary of the death of Thurman Munson, the late Yankee captain. For those who know me well, the 1977-1978 Yankee teams made a huge impact on my outlook on life and sport. At the heart of that team was team captain Thurman Munson. To be honest he wasn't my favourite player; that was Graig Nettles, the third baseman, yet Thurman Munson always made me feel like the Yankees had a chance - He was a 'clutch player' as they say (even though stat-heads dispute such things exist). Above all, he was the first team captain of the Yankees since Lou Gehrig, and the untimely death like Gehrig's only reinforced the tragedy.
My best friend growing up in new York was a kid nick-named Smiley, and Munson was his man on the field. When I saw Smiley again in 1988, all we could talk about was the Yankee mini-dynasty of the 1975-1980 vintage when we were growing up. I can still recall the regular line-up that Billy Martin would trot out:
CF Mickey Rivers
2B Willie Randolph
C Thurman Munson
RF Reggie Jackson
LF Lou Piniella
3B Graig Nettles
1B Chris Chambliss
DH Jim Spenser
SS Bucky Dent
My favourite Munson moment was when he had that bang-up fight with Carlton Fisk, fuelling the long-dormant Yankee-Red Sox rivalry. Munson slid into home and got up fighting Fisk who blocked the plate. I also remember his up-right posture at the plate and the way he used to rock his bat in his hands as he waited for the pitch. It wasn't a stance I could copy because it felt like you were staying away from the zone too much; and yet when you see photos of Munson after the swing, he's leaning right over the plpate, his body weight beautifully shifted over in a line-drive swing.
Let me tell you what I hate. I hate it how in 'Kingpin', those Rhode Island assholes, the Farrelly brothers tried to invent and pass on the term a term, 'To Munson, meaning to flush it down the toilet when you had it all'. Now, I love the film, but the next time somebody pipes up and says, "Doesn't Munson mean...?"they ought to watch out for a knuckle sandwich from me. Trust a pair of embittered Red Sox fans to come up with that.
I can understand why Yankee haters hate the Yankees and their fans. They contend every year with their big payroll from an avid, demanding market that pays to see winners, starting with their ornery boss, George Steinbrenner. There are so many band-wagon fairweather fans too; and god, where were they when the Yankees couldn't get it done in the 1980s?. I myself can easily claim I am not a band-wagon fan; I loved them through the fruitless 1980s, and early 90s, following them on tiny snippets of newspaper articles I could find. Until the internet came along, it was quite difficult. This is what I had to say about Munson's passing 15 years ago:
Because God so loved the famous Captain of the (Hallowed) New York Yankees, he
made the plane Mr. Munson was riding on plough in to a hillside somewhere in the
Midwest of the States. Had he survived the crash, he probably would have died of
boredom on the way to the hospital. God loved him, so he didn't have a chance. I think I will be living for a very long time. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon, bottom of the fifth inning, one down, we were batting for two more runs to ensure our win against Eddie's Gang. An old lady walking by told us of the Morte de Munson and we cried. The colour of the orange smog glistening sunset at five o'clock of an angry New York August day smelled of desolation. "Was that it?" I wondered frantically. Yes, that was it. I saw a wicked man watching us from behind a poo-brown Cadillac. He told me he was God several days before and promised to prove it to me. I still didn't believe him, and Thurman Munson, #15 Captain and Catcher of the New York Yankees had to die (inducted into the great Hall of Fame in the sky) because of our failure to believe this beggar was God.
Okay, so I was a crap writer then I'm still crap now. Why are you reading? :)
Even recalling this stuff makes me cry. Apparently I am not alone. 25 years and I still cry. Now I'm much older than the 32 year old man who died, trapped in a fallen plane, and I find that sort of unbelievable.
I still cry when I think about Thurman Munson.
- Art Neuro
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