Becoming Mr. October (9780385533126)
Page 33
I have never curbed what I have to say. Speaking my mind even got me banned from the Yankees’ locker room for a little while in 2012. But I will never start tailoring my opinions to what other people think I should say.
The fact is, as far as we’ve come as a nation, there is still a ways to go. There is still a double standard applied to some black athletes, such as LeBron—there is still resentment that never seems to be directed at white athletes, no matter what they do. There was a poll a couple years ago that listed “the most hated athletes in America.” The top five were all black! And they were usually “hated” for doing the same things that white athletes do, that all of us do, like accepting a big new contract.
We have to recognize these double standards within ourselves. We have to recognize how much we pile on players simply for having a different skin color.
We have to do better. We can do better, and do better everywhere in society, not just at the ballpark.
For me, when I came to New York, I was still growing—more than I realized at the time. I was a young man, and I got blindsided by a lot of things I didn’t expect. Things I had never encountered before.
I got through them, with the help of God, of my friends and family. It’s the sort of thing you might call a learning experience, except the learning and the growing never stop.
I think I’ve learned to work my way through life, to keep the Man Upstairs top of mind every day. I think I’ve come to appreciate people more as I grow older, and I can’t tell you how much I enjoy being with my family, my daughter, and friends all the time now.
It was a great opportunity to make the sort of money I made in the free-agent era, even though I had larger offers in other places. My agent, Gary Walker, gave me the direction to New York. I was afraid. But he wanted me to go to the Yankees to both compete against their great history and to be a part of that history. In the end, it was not about the money. I know that sounds hard to believe, but it’s really not. It’s pretty cool being known throughout the country as Mr. October. It’s cool to stand in a sold-out major-league stadium and hammer a ball into the bleachers and hear fifty-six thousand people going wild, chanting your name. But you know, the chants end, the game ends, your career ends. And the same people might be booing you tomorrow.
What it is in the end is what my dad always drilled into us. It’s being glad to have the chance to provide for myself and my loved ones. It’s being grateful to have had the chance to compete at the highest level and show what I was capable of—not to be judged by the color of my skin or anything else but what I was able to accomplish. That to me is what we were all looking for.
I am grateful to have had my chance. I am so grateful for my time in New York, my time in the game. I need to remember to give thanks every day. I am eager to continue the journey. I can’t wait to see what’s around the corner.
Acknowledgments
I want to give thanks to those who helped me through this journey.
My dad, Martinez Jackson, and my mom, Clara Jackson, who were both there when it counted. My brother (Sarge) Joe Jackson, who helped with all his big-brother guidance. My sister Dolores Burton, a mom to me when I was in need. Beverly, Tina, loving sisters. Sluggo, a brother with all his support, of course, and Elissa, my lieutenant and a best friend. Ahhh, family.
I’d like to thank my friend and agent, Gary Walker, for his weekly word of prayer in 1977 to 1978. Bill Bertucio, for his friendship and loyalty.
Frank Kush was about toughness, he started me on my way at Arizona State University. Bobby Winkles, who taught me discipline and countenanced no back talk. Johnny McNamara, who was like a father. Charlie O’Finley, so tough, but he taught me the ways of the world to come.
My attorney and friend, Steven Kay, who worked so well with the Boss. And my other attorney and friend, Ed Blum, the “Sheriff,” still helping me to stay between the lines.
The Boss, George Steinbrenner, was tough on me at times but always treated me as family. Fran Healy, a friend, on the inside, he told me things he heard people say that I couldn’t believe, and kept things from me he felt would hurt too much. Fran was there every day, and stayed with me in the city. I now know Who put him in my space.
Dick Howser and Stick Michael, who always had an encouraging word. Kenny Holtzman, Catfish Hunter, from the days of the three world championships we won in Oakland and two more in New York. We were still “we.” Gator, Willie Randolph, and Mike Torrez, a thank-you to you all.
Tony Rolfe, a New Yorker, for helping me cross some bridges. Ralph Destino, my friend from Cartier. Jim and Trudy Woolner, friends who listened (RIP). Matt Merola, my New York agent and like family, always. Mike Lupica, a friend to talk to on rides home from the ballpark.
Jenny, for good memories; Betsy, a special person; and thanks to my friend Gara.
These were some of the people in my life during these periods of growth. And I’ll tell you all the really neat part of what you just read, they’re all still close to me.
At Arizona State, I loved playing for Frank Kush, who taught me so much. Could I have excelled in the pros? Take a look at the film of me getting off the field at Yankee Stadium after the last out of the 1977 World Series. Now that’s some broken-field running! Collegiate Images/Getty Images
Charlie Finley and Dick Williams, before the start of the 1972 World Series. Playing for Dick, a terrific manager, was a treat. Playing for Charlie was … well, an adventure! Both of them look pretty glum—probably because I tore up my leg in the ALCS and would not be playing. We won anyway, which shows you how much depth we had. Sports Illustrated via Getty Images
Two in a row! That’s me on the left, celebrating the A’s victory over the New York Mets in the 1973 World Series with Dick Williams (middle) and Catfish Hunter (right). I was named the MVP of the Series and the American League that year. Catfish won twenty-one games during the season and a critical Game 6 in the Series, to keep us alive. The Mets should’ve drafted me when they had the chance! Ron Riesterer/Oakland Tribune
“A team of gunslingers.” That’s me on the right with two of my best friends in baseball, Dave Duncan (left) and Ken Holtzman (middle). Ron Riesterer/Oakland Tribune
The start of a beautiful relationship. I was working for ABC in this picture, covering the 1976 American League playoffs. By the next month, George would be doing his best to sign me for the Yankees. Please note all that beautiful hair I used to have! AP photo
Putting on the pinstripes! The Yankees announce my signing, November 29, 1976. From left, that’s the immortal Yogi Berra, Thurman Munson, and Roy White, who is placing my first Yankees cap on my head. For some reason, Billy Martin is nowhere in sight … AP photo/Marty Lederhandler
A proud moment for us all. That’s my mom and dad at the Versailles Terrace with me on the day the Yankees announced I would be bringing my skills to New York. AP photo
Me with my dear, departed friend Catfish Hunter, who battled through so many injuries and illnesses to make a success of his time in New York. I’m told that only four players in major-league history have played on consecutive World Series champions for two different franchises. Two of them were Hall of Famers Babe Ruth and Herb Pennock—the other two you see in this picture. I think that’s more than mere luck. MLB Photos via Getty Images
Somehow, we made it this far. From left: Billy Martin, Mickey Rivers, Willie Randolph, Thurman Munson, and me, announced as the starting lineup before Game 3 of the 1977 World Series. AP photo
Billy and I clowning in the outfield before Game 5 of the 1977 World Series. You would never guess that we were in the middle of yet another running feud. Life with Billy was always … complicated. AP photo
Game 6, 1977. Hitting the first one out off Burt Hooton. I was locked in that night like I never was before or after. New York Daily News via Getty Images
Circling the bases after the first of three home runs I would hit that night. My feet were already off the ground. They would stay that way for the rest of the eveni
ng. New York Daily News via Getty Images
The reception in the dugout after that first home run in Game 6. It was the closest the team had been—literally!—all year. For once, nobody’s worrying about who’s shaking whose hand. New York Daily News via Getty Images
Waving to the fans in the Canyon of Heroes during our ticker-tape parade in 1977. It was terrific—though I couldn’t wait to jump in my new Rolls and head for the Berkeley Hills. New York Daily News via Getty Images
Explaining myself after the Great Bunt Controversy of 1978. I had knowingly brought things to a head and had sparked a confrontation. As it turned out, this would stop the bleeding on a Yankees team that was falling into chaos and allow us to get back into the race. AP photo/Requena
“We’eeerrre baaaack!” Thurman and I, back in the World Series in 1978. It was our time of year. Lifetime, Thurman hit .373 in the Series; I hit .357. He was a tremendous clutch hitter and someone who played through all sorts of injuries. Sports Illustrated/Getty Images
Ron Guidry, “Louisiana Lightning,” in 1978, the year he won the Cy Young Award and should have won the MVP to boot. It was one of the greatest years any pitcher ever had, and he single-handedly kept us afloat for most of the season and then won the playoff game against Boston. Ron was always a real gentleman and one of my best friends on the Yankees. MLB Photos via Getty Images
When he came to the Yankees in 1978, Goose Gossage went through pretty much the same hazing I got from Billy Martin, but he was tough enough to not let it keep him from having a great year, on his way to a Hall of Fame career. Here he is closing out the Dodgers, after he closed out the Red Sox in the playoff. In the World Series that year, he pitched six innings, allowed no runs, one hit, one walk, and struck out four. Sports Illustrated/Getty Images
A few more pounds, a little less hair … but look at that smile! Acknowledging the fans at the annual Baseball Hall of Fame ceremonies in Cooperstown in 2011. On the left is Dennis Eckersley, who made the Hall in 2004. I made it in 1993. It was one of the proudest days of my life, and both my parents were there, something that put a smile around my heart. Getty Images