The New York

by Bill Branger

  “Bigots. This is the same crowd that didn’t want Jackie Robinson to play. I think it’s a sin that Toronto whupped us in the World Series. I thought this game was about exporting American ideas. If we export ideas we can’t go back on them when they do us one better, can we?”

  “You want to explain that?” He held the tape recorder right under my nose.

  “America is doing our best and showing others how to do our best. I don’t recall that Castro said he invented the game, like the Russians used to do. Now we kiss Russian ass bigtime and we forget all that cold war stuff, which is okay by me, but I think we give credit where credit is due. Take George. I’ve had my differences with George, but he said to me just this morning that he hoped more American ball players would learn the Cuban work ethic when it comes to knuckling down to the grindstone and doing what they had to do.”

  “You agree with that?”

  “Hell, no. I’m an American ball player, ain’t I? And I just threw a no-hitter, which isn’t bad for an old relief pitcher, is it?”

  The Daily News guy laughed and said he would quote me accurately and I said it was more important that he quote George accurately because he knew how George was, always trying to slip out of something. He said he knew. ‘Deed, he did.

  I went into my cubbyhole and there was the entire U.S. Government waiting for me. I didn’t take off my coat or say anything.

  “You’re trying, aren’t you?” Baxter said first.

  “Trying what?”

  “Close the door” he said to Sills. No Neck did.

  “You’re fucking with Uncle,” Baxter said.

  “I’m trying to win the pennant,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly what?”

  “You forget the conversations we’ve had?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “I can hang an indictment on your ass tomorrow,” Baxter said.

  “For what?”

  “For what we were talking about.”

  “Oh, that was just talk.”

  “It was fucking serious talk, Shawn. Don’t shrug that kickshitter attitude at me. You’re in deep doo-doo.”

  “Doo-doo? Kickshitter? Do people in Washington really talk baby talk like that? I thought it was only that president we had once.”

  “Funny guy,” said Sills.

  “I don’t talk to people like you. Kickshitter. What a laugh,” I told him.

  “These Cubans are not going to win the fucking American League pennant”

  “All right, you tell me why not.”

  “Because they can’t.”

  “Why can’t they?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because of the game. It’s an American game.”

  “So what?”

  “Because.”

  “Oh, why don’t you just blow it out your ass, Baxter, I got to get dressed for the game.”

  “I want you to understand something, cowboy. Fidel Castro let us use his ball players for a considerable amount of consideration.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like oil, for one thing.”

  “All right, you made your deal, I don’t need to know about it.”

  “But we didn’t intend for him to take over major league baseball. George Bremenhaven is a fool. It was his idea to carry the water on this, take in the Cubans in the most liberal city in the country. Well, it worked out fairly well. But they weren’t supposed to win this thing.’’

  “You want me to fix it?”

  “We want you to look out for your best interests.”

  “Like what?”

  “Stop the fucking winning,” No Neck said.

  “Is that right, Mr. Baxter?”

  He stared right through me. “You’re thick, you know that? You could end up testifying to grand juries for years for fucking this up.”

  “So you want me to fix the game.”

  “Not fix, not fix. You’re encouraging this … rabble team. What was the point of that guy’s speech last night? Raul?”

  “You bugging the locker room, too?”

  “We do what we have to do “

  I put my hand to my mouth. “Is nothing sacred? You’ll be wiring jock straps next.”

  “Why can’t you leave well enough alone? Castro’s got recognition for baseball and that makes everyone feel warm and friendly in Havana, that’s all we wanted. Not give the fucking pennant away.”

  “Nobody gives anything away in the Bigs. You take it, is all.”

  “You take it and you’re in trouble the rest of your life.”

  “Well, that’s as may be. But I’ll have my moment of glory.” I thought of something then. “Last little bit of sun on my parade before we wind it down.”

  “You don’t want to win that bad,” Baxter said.

  I just smiled. “Pardner, you don’t know what I want that bad. Maybe I didn’t even know until the last few days. Maybe I still don’t know. But I can feel it, Bax. Can’t you feel it?”

  We ended the conversation then. They left very sullen.

  One other thing.

  Raul, Tío, and I went over the locker room and found two bugs, both hidden in boxes. One was in the electrical box and one was in a hot water transfer box on the wall. We drowned the bugs in the shower.

  Then the boys gathered around me and I gave them my last speech of the regular season. Riccardo was there, too, as our honored guest, and he got a Yankees cap out of it as well as good box-seat tickets. He also did the interpreting for me because I wanted the Spanish part to come out just right.

  Especially when I played the tape.

  The tape was real tiny in a real tiny machine. It had been strapped inside my waistband. They make those things real small, you know? Not the kind you can buy at Radio Shack.

  First Baxter would talk and then Riccardo would translate and then I would talk and Riccardo would translate and then Baxter would talk and Riccardo would translate and it was quite a conversation. There were parts in it I hadn’t picked up on at the time.

  When it was over, I thanked Señor Riccardo and he went out of the room and down the tunnel to the stands.

  Then I stood up and said, “Friends, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

  “And those government men,” Raul said.

  “I spit on them,” I said. And then I spit on the floor. “I’m proud of you boys and I don’t give a shit what happens out there from now on. We are the team of destiny and you all know it. Even Tomas Butterfingers knows it.”

  Tomas grinned at me and shook his head.

  “The world is going to know it. Everyone stands against us, but we aren’t going to lose. Not tonight and not forever. We are destiny, compadres. We are the New York Yankees. Forget Cuba and the men from Washington and forget Castro and forget your wives and sweethearts and all the rest of it. That’s for tomorrow. Tonight and in all the tonights into October, we are destiny. We are going to win the fucking American League pennant.”

  They held their collective breaths because they saw I wasn’t finished.

  “And then, muchachos, you know what we’re going to do with the pennant?”

  Raul smiled. His English was better than most.

  “Shove it up their ass,” he finished.

  “In Spanish, please,” I said.

  And he complied.

  36

  It took until the end of September, but the New York Yanquis won the American League East.

  Now that baseball is divided up into six divisions, with three in the American League and three in the National, winning the American League East is not the big deal that it used to be. We were tired at the end of the season, but as far as the owners were concerned the season was just beginning. There is no reason to have playoff games except for owners’ greed. And the owners would say it all started with the players’ greed, so you have to concede a point or two to both sides.

  Winning the East was the story of the world for
a couple of days. What no one noticed was that I went down to the U.S. courthouse on my day off and had a chat with the U.S. attorney.

  He started in about Jack Wade and all that Mickey Mouse stuff and I stopped him.

  I had copied the tape, of course. I gave him the copy and he played it.

  I just sat there with a can of Sprite staining the rosewood table we were sitting at. When the tape was finished, he played it again. Then he said he thought it was illegal to secretly tape the conversation of two agents of the State Department and I said there was illegal and then there was illegal and fixing baseball was more illegal than making a tape.

  He said he would think it over.

  (As far as I know, he is still thinking it over.)

  George Bremenhaven came down to the clubhouse before our first playoff game to try to put a good face on it. He asked me to translate for him and I was glad to do it.

  “Men, I never thought you could do it. No, no, strike that, Ryan. Men, I always knew you could do it.”

  — Men, he thinks he was fucking you before but now he has ended up fucking himself.

  Many smiles all around.

  “Men, I know that some of you do not want to return to your unhappy homeland and I can’t blame you. I want you to know, I have extensive contacts in our government and you are all welcome here, in America, welcome here even in New York, the greatest city on Earth.”

  — He wants you to defect. It’s the only way he can show face with the other owners.

  — Tell him to go fuck his fat Yanqui ass (Tío said). “Tío said to go fuck your fat Yankee ass,” I translated.

  George went red all over and shouted, “Tell him he’s fired, the cock-sucking Commie prick.”

  — He says you’re fired, you cocksucker of a Communist prick.

  — Tell him we could not have won without hating him for kidnapping Raul’s wife (Suarez said).

  “George, Suarez said they could not have won without hating you for kidnapping Raul’s wife,” I said.

  “What the fuck are they talking about? I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Oh, come on, George. Take a bow. It was great motivation. You should get a TV infomercial on motivating ball players.”

  “I never kidnapped her, the dumb bastards kidnapped the fucking maid,” he shouted again.

  — He says his goons got the wrong woman.

  — He admits it? (Raul said, picking up a bat).

  I stood up and stood between them. I said to George, “George, Raul wants to turn your head into a squashed watermelon, I think you motivated enough for tonight.”

  “Jesus Christ,” George said.

  “Yeah. Say good night, George.” I’d always wanted to say that.

  That was just frosting. We kicked serious ass that night and I did three innings of relief as a star turn. Gave up no runs on two hits and two walks, which was my usual speed. What the hell, we won.

  And won and won and won.

  Raul had ended up the season hitting .381, which was enough to ensure that he would be the American League player of the year but no Ted Williams. We were in the Series and the boys were the toast of Broadway. The only fly in the ointment, if you can call it that, was Romero, the head bean counter. He defected in the U.S. courthouse. Naturally, we had to take him in. I mean, the U.S.A., not us Yankees personally.

  I ended up the playoffs by flying down to Houston. I am not an extravagant man so I charged the ticket to George and the team, but I did fly first class because I owed it to myself. My first season as a big league manager (and last season as a player) and I pretty well steered a gang of Cuban kids to the pennant. Hell, I might turn out to be the manager of the year.

  I wanted to tell Charlene Cleaver that I wanted her to be Mrs. Ryan Shawn. I had a ring with me that would pop your eye out and I was wearing my best brown suit.

  I might say here that I wasn’t exactly sure what Charlene would say to all this. (I had noticed that she waxed and waned about me and was seriously concerned about my bad eating habits, combined with her feeling that I might be mentally retarded in places.) But I rented the best Buick I could find and drove out to her apartment with as much confidence in myself as winning the pennant can bring to a manager.

  She had made the reservations at Tony’s and I carried a great big bouquet of yellow roses for her. She was impressed by the flowers, I could tell, and even though I had overdosed on the Old Spice, she didn’t comment on it. I was getting to like Old Spice. Castro was right about that.

  I gave her the ring when we got in the car and said that I wanted to marry her.

  She said, “Ryan, are you doing this because you won the pennant?”

  “I’m doing it because I wanna marry you, Charlene.”

  “Because I’m not going to go off and marry someone just because he thinks he should be celebrating something.”

  “Now why would you say that about me?”

  “Well, I just want you to know that getting married is different from playing baseball games “

  I had six or seven replies to that, but I was smart enough not to offer any of them up.

  And she was smart enough to take the ring.

  I guess getting married is just about getting smart enough. At least, I hope that’s the way it all turns out down the road.

  You might just say the sun was shining out on my personal parade and it felt as good as everyone always said it would.

  37

  The funny thing was we were going to be facing the Cincinnati Reds in the World Series, which led to all kinds of creative headline writing in the sports pages. Some people don’t know that the Reds became the Redlegs for a while during the McCarthy years because Cincinnati did not want to look like it supported Communists. Silly, isn’t it? Now there were real Communists in the World Series.

  When baseball is at its best, it is a feelgood game and it gives pleasure in and of itself. I figured the pleasure I felt had spread to Charlene and to my little parade and the sun felt good. And the pleasure had even spread to old George, who probably didn’t even know the shit that was about to hit him.

  I flew back to New York for the start of the World Series. It was a night game, because television is the tail that wags the baseball bats these days. There were more people willing to watch night games, which meant more money from sponsors for commercial minutes. Which meant that little boys who dream about being ball players have to go to bed without seeing the game because they got school the next day. Which is a shame.

  Charlene came along with me because she had some vacation days and she had never seen a World Series.

  We went out the eve of the Series with Mr. and Mrs. Guevara and we had a good old time of it, speaking in two languages and a bottle of champagne.

  The next morning I went out to the Stadium early to set up for the TV interviews and to get some personal business done. The last thing I intended to do was to spend quality time with George Bremenhaven.

  The guy who waited for me in my manager’s office was not from the news media, not by a long shot. His name was Johnson and he showed me a plastic identification card that said he was a lot more important than I was.

  I went upstairs with him to George’s office and there were more people like Mr. Johnson, government people. We were ail going to have a chat, apparently. I was at ease. I had a tape and they had the same one and we ail knew where we stood when it came to intimidating a poor old shit-kicker from El Paso, Texas.

  “Look,” I began, “before any of you guys start talking about your secret stuff, I just want you to know I don’t know anything about anything and I would just as soon stay out of it.”

  “Sure,” Mr. Johnson said, “except you’re right in the middle of the deep doo-doo”

  “This is insane,” George said, looking fit for the part. “These double-dealing bastards —”

  ”Shut up, Mr. Bremenhaven,” Johnson said. “What we have here is a delicate balance involving several federal agencies and
a foreign government that we are trying to establish a working relationship with.”

  “I don’t see that I fit into any of that,” I said, starting to get up. I had been all through this with Baxter back in the bad old days.

  “Sit down,” Mr. Johnson said.

  I sat.

  “You know Deke Williams,” Mr. Johnson said to me.

  “Yeah. We were on the team together.”

  “You met him in Havana in July.”

  “Saw him there, he was getting into the fish business.”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “Mr. Bremenhaven has been named in a criminal complaint. We have arrested a certain Salvatore Bucci on smuggling charges and he, in turn, has mentioned that Mr. Bremenhaven paid a certain amount of money to two men to kidnap Mrs. Maria Guevara last August.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Except that Mrs. Guevara has relayed your suspicions to her parents in Havana who, in turn, relayed them to President Castro. This doesn’t make our job in the State Department any easier, you see that?”

  “Well, I don’t really see what it’s got to do with me.”

  “What it has to do with you is dealing with the Cubans over the next few months. If Castro blows his top again — and he is a somewhat unstable man —- then it mars all the progress we’ve made by using the Yankees and baseball to establish a friendly people-to-people contact with the Cubans. You follow me?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “George Bremenhaven may or may not have been involved in a criminal conspiracy to kidnap Mrs. Guevara. We don’t really care and we have no interest in pursuing this. But President Castro cares. And cares deeply. And so does the management of major league baseball, which does not want to lose its antitrust exemption. Am I being very clear?”

  .”Somewhat clearer but it still doesn’t involve me —”

  “It involved you, you shit, when you told Raul you thought I’d kidnapped his fucking wife,” George said.

  “That was just a suspicion based on a character study,” I said.

  “You’re fired. As of now.”

  Mr. Johnson held up his hand. “No one is fired, Mr, Bremenhaven. You’re not going to have the say on that any more.”